Young Offenders and Old

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Someone who reads my blog mentioned to me that it’s sort of become an online diary of my everyday life. That’s true. Well I’m no Yummy Mummy who teaches yoga. Or a millennial idealist who is passionate about gluten free bread. I have no skills to teach the world. I can’t teach someone how to knit their way to inner peace. I can post my observations however.

Yesterday after work I went to see the new Irish film ‘The Young Offenders’.

It’s a Cork version of ‘Dumb and Dumber’. It is very loosely based on a true story. Two Cork teenagers – Conor and Jock – are best friends. It is 2007. A shipment containing 61 bales of cocaine capsizes off the coast of west Cork. Each bale is worth seven million euros. Our heroes decide that the best way to escape their humdrum, dreary lives is to find a bale. Then they will be quids in. How they plan to convert the drugs into cash doesn’t enter their simple little heads. That’s an unnecessary complication for our adolescent knights.

So they steal two bicycles and set off on their adventure, furiously pursued by an obsessive compulsive Garda, who is determined to catch the anonymous bicycle thieves of Cork City.

Filmed over the summer months it’s a caper movie, following their adventures as they approach their destination. It cost nothing to make, and has become the most popular Irish film in years. I can understand why. The two lead actors (who had never acted before) have an amazing chemistry and look genuinely believable as lifelong friends, and as individual parts of the missing link – snazziliy attired in their tracksuits, bumfluff moustaches, acne and fake gold signet rings. The humour is as black as night as befits the location of the movie. The Cork countryside looks beautiful.

It’s a lovely film – incredibly funny and sweet. The only problems I had with it – and they were slight – is the fact that the villain was physically disabled. And this was played for laughs. The repeated jokes about male rape in prison was also a bit unnecessary. All told though it’s that unusual beast – an Irish comedy film that is actually very funny.
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Still smiling at the adventures of Conor and Jock, I made my way to the bus this morning.

Beyoncé and Bruiser were nowhere to be seen. We’ll meet again.

Clearly an earlier bus had not arrived as the throng of people waiting to board was larger than usual. .

Discreetly positioning myself, and strategically using my elbows as the bus pulled in, I was among the first to board. I sat in my usual spot. I was grateful that the person I was sharing a seat with was reading a book – the lack of earphones meant I would be spared their choice of music.

What new horror was this though? The bus was crowded. Meanwhile some genius decided that it would be easier to hear the person she was speaking to, by putting them on speakerphone. At top volume.This is my preferred way to win friends and influence people – involve them in your personal business, even though they have no desire to be so involved.

The woman was about my age, and had a slightly feral look. Look at her the wrong way and she’d lamp you. The bags under her eyes were majestic and resembled rucksacks. The missing front tooth completely the urban chic look. She had that strong inner-city Dublin accent that had been enriched and matured by her two pack a day habit. She was talking to a man, that I assumed to be her solicitor. He sounded quite well spoken and posh. Perhaps he was her brother. That seemed unlikely. He advised her that the charge she was facing was disorderly conduct in the Shamrock Pub. And that   Little Thomas would be before the Children’s Court on 29th September.

The conversation ended.

She proceeded to ring her Ma. The cracks in the Ma’s voice were so noble they were almost crevices. Ma was hungry. Never fear – daughter was en route with some cheese rolls. I mentally bid her farewell as she got off the bus. I hope Little Thomas is OK.

I am wondering whether I should be posting this and other people’s private business on my blog like this. Theoretically it is intrusive. My rationale is that I am included against my will, in her business, so I feel no guilt about reporting on it. It’s not like I am identifying her. And seeing as she has doubtlessly been barred for life from the Shamrock Pub, it’s not like you’re going to run into her there.

 

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