Pana Done Wrong: Cónal Creedon's seasonal story of a Christmas shopping trip in Cork
Patrick's Street in Cork. Picture: Denis Scannell
Patrick Street was mad – it was pouring out of the heavens. A gale-force wind had the Christmas lights thrashing around above our heads. Carol singers, shopkeepers, hawkers, everybody looking for money. I got the job of relief postman, doing double shifts. Only three weeks seasonal work, but it was worth it, you need money for the Christmas.
Anyway there I was, two hundred quid in my pocket, Christmas Eve and not a present bought. So I knocked off early and headed into town. I knew exactly what I was looking for.
A cap for my dad for Bingo, to stop him getting soaked waiting for the bus to the Glen Hall. He’d love that. For my sister Kathleen and her husband I was getting a big box of biscuits. See, they’d have loads of people calling around, the biscuits would be handy, and for the niece and nephew – two Cadbury Deluxe selection boxes. Of course, I had to get something special for my beautiful Yvette.
This was our first Christmas together as man and wife, her first Christmas in Ireland, her first Christmas away from home, and it wasn’t going too well. She had all these fairytale memories of French Christmases, yule-logs, sleigh rides, eggnog, port and brandy. I was worked to the bone, getting the post out. She was spending most of her time moping around the flat. Anyway I decided I’d make it up to her by getting her something special, something nice, something romantic – a bottle of perfume and some sexy underwear. The French love that kind of thing.
So, there I was Christmas Eve, two hundred quid in my arse pocket, outside Roches Stores, and who did I meet - only Tragic Ted.
- Ah Ted! Long time no see.
- Pluto man, how’re things?
- Good! Good! Workin’ like a dog though. Christmas postman, double shift. Just snatchin’ a bit a’ time to do a bit a’ last minute shoppin’, how’s yerself, Ted?
- Strugglin’, you know yerself, just back from England for the Christmas.
- How’s England?
- England? England’s a kip. Have ya time for a pint?
- God I’d love to, Ted - but to be honest, I really has to get me shoppin’.
- Sur’ look, I’ll come along with ya, we can go for de one after.
Now, This wasn’t exactly the plan, but what could I say. Anyway I was delighted to see Tragic, hadn’t talked to him in years.
First stop the Men’s Department Roches Stores for my dad’s present. One blue peaked cap. Perfect. No delays. We queued at the cash till.
- So eh! What do ya think, Ted? I held up the cap.
- Not bad, not bad.., but eh, what size is it? he asked.
- Size?
- You know like, is it 7, 7 1/4, 7 1/2, 7 3/4, 8, 8 1/4...
- Size?
- Like what size is yer dad’s head, Pluto?
- What size is me dad’s head? Jeezus Ted, I don’t even know the size a’ me own head? I didn’t even know that heads had sizes.
- Well, you’d want to know his head size before you go gettin’ him a hat, he said.
I explained I had no time to be measuring my dad’s head. All I wanted was a cap to keep him dry for bingo.
- For bingo? Why don’t ya get him somethin’ like a book, you know, like a book on bingo.
- Do they have books on bingo, Ted?
- They has books on everything.
A book on bingo, it was settled, we could get it later. I left the cap on the counter and walked out of the shop.
There I was, standing in a check-out line, a mile long in Dunne’s Stores, one big box of biscuits and two Cadbury Deluxe selection boxes in my arms.
- So eh, who are these for anyway, Pluto?
- Me sister Kathleen an’ her kids, I said.
Ted gave me one of those looks.
- Somethin’ wrong, Ted?
- No, no, not at all. I’m sure your sister’ll be delighted.
- But?
- No buts. But eh! I don’t think too many mothers would want all that sugar an’ sweets comin’ into the house, ya know like.
And he was right.
- So eh, what do ya suggest, Ted?
- I suppose you could always get ‘em a few books, he wasn’t joking.
I explained that we weren’t really a book family.
I mean the best book I ever saw was the Commitments, but I still haven’t read it, if ya know what I mean...
But Ted was making sense. So before we went to the bookshop, I had to get Yvette’s present.
Now, I wasn’t too happy having Tragic Ted traipsing after me around Brown Thomas’s perfumery and Women’s Underwear Department. Not the easiest thing for me to be doing on me own, not to mind having Tragic Ted and a langer load a store detectives on tow.
He talked me out of the perfume, saying that you can’t just buy a scent for a woman, it was something more personal than that, anyway he had me convinced that the biggest insult you could give to a woman, especially a French woman, was to buy her the wrong perfume.
- It’s as personal as dog’s piss to a bitch. he said.
So, we scrapped the perfume plan and headed off up to Ladies Underwear.
I was glad Ted was with me. I mean like I’m the sort of fella who’s too embarrassed to buy condoms, not to mind fingering me way through rows of lace, silk and satin suspender-belts, stockings, corsets, bustiers, basques, bras, boob-tubes, seamless, strapless, crotch-less, thongs, G-strings, French-cut, low-cut, half-cup, cotton, camisoles, baby-dolls and teddies – and that was only the first three racks. At the back of the shop I could see the leather, rubber and the odd ostrich feather.
- And they say men are sex mad!
I looked to Ted. He’s busy burrowing his way through the stock.
- Eh, can I help you gentlemen?
Her head pops up from behind a rack of bras.
- No, no we’re fine, says I.
- Don’t mind him, says Ted. - We’re lookin’ for something nice for his girlfriend for Christmas?
- Does anything catch yer eye? she asks.
I push my eyeballs back into their sockets, - Look, anything at all, says I.
- So, eh, what size would you like?
- About the same as yerself, maybe a bit fuller in de chest area and keener in de waist. I say She gave me one of those - Men! looks, and she lifts up a bit of a lacey thing.
- What about this? she says.
- That’s perfect! says I. - Just, put it in a bag.
- Hoi hold it! Hold it! says Ted. - Ya can’t just take de first thing that’s waved under yer nose, Pluto man. Ye gotta check out de merchandise.
- Ah, come on, Ted. I just wanna get outa here.
- Chill out man, now that we’re here we may as well do it right. Eh, excuse me Miss? You might show us that one there, like a good girl. Do you have it in red?
. . . and off they went down through the shop. I stood there like an expectant father in a maternity ward until eventually my choice was made for me. A nice silk French cut knickers, with matching lacy brassiere and suspender-belt, pink in colour, - Nothing smutty like black or red, says Ted.
. . . and two pairs of stockings, one black and one white. Prefect, Yvette would love this.
- So gentlemen, will I gift-wrap it for you?
- Not at all, says Ted. - We’ll eat ‘em here.
He laughs, she wraps.
. . . and then Ted turns to me.
- Are ya sure 32B is her bra size?
- Well, that’s the size of the bra she have at home...
- Yeah! But not all bras are the same.
- How’d ya mean not all bras are de same? A 32B is a 32B, isn’t it?
- Ah! For God sake! A bra isn’t like a sock, Pluto. It’s not like one size fits all.
- Look this is a 32B, and she’s a 32B, and no more about it!
I was beginning to get sick of Ted and his all his guff at this stage.
- 32B or not 32B, that is the question, said Ted. – But have it your own way, and he stepped back. But he had planted the seeds of doubt in my brain.
- What exactly do ya mean, Ted?
- I’ll put it this way, he said. - A 32B, is a 32B, is a 32B, but there’s no guarantee it will fit her. Different cuts, fabrics, structures and suspension, ‘tis like buying a cover for a two-seater couch, you has to try it on.
- So what are ya sayin’, Ted?
- I’m sayin’ put ‘em back on the rack, and save yerself a belly full a’ heartache, ‘cause believe you me, if it’s too small, she’ll think that you think she’s gettin’ fat, and if it’s too big, she’ll think her Bob-a-lou-ees are too small.
- Her Bob-a-whaties?
- Look! I’d say you’d save yerself a belly full of grief if ya bought her a good book.
Well what can I say, only that solved everything, all I had to do was get a few books. So, meself and Ted went to the Valley for a spiced beef sandwich and a pint just to get into the spirit of things, and then on to the Hi-B, we stuck our heads into Counihan’s for a rum and black on the way. I called drink. Ted called a drink. Then it was my call again. And that’s the way it went for the afternoon.
At twenty to six on Christmas eve, meself and Ted made a mad staggering dash to Waterstones to pick up a few books, stopping off along the way at Elbow Lane to roll-up a one skinner.
So that was it, that was the Christmas I bought my dad The World Book of Anthropology, Waterstones were clean out of books on Bingo. I got my sister and her family an atlas they’d never been outside Cork in their life. And, I got Yvette a book on French cookery. What can I say, Tragic Ted is one right tulip to go shoppin’ with… It was my first Christmas with the beautiful Yvette, and my last…
