Approaching Pearse Street

"I can't believe you go for lunch with a bird every day. It's just wrong."

I wasn't in the best of form today, cranky to a fault, ratty for no good reason. I wanted to quietly sneak off for an hour by myself but a couple of the lads were leaving at the same time. We went to O'Neills on Pearse Street for a carvery.

On our way there the subject of my usual lunchtime routine came up. More often than not I go with a female colleague, a close friend of mine outside of work who is in a different department, for an hour out of the office. Today she had a meeting and couldn't make it.

One of the boys sprang the quoted sentence to me and I snapped. I was very pissed off because I found the comment ignorant at best, misogynistic at worst.

I told him to explain himself.

"I just don't get lads being friends with birds. Never understood it. I mean, what could you possibly get from it?"

"I'm sorry??"

"Each to their own but I'm right on this."

I let it drop because I knew if I got into a heated debate with him, I'd say something I regretted. It was a very disappointing thing to hear from somebody I usually respect, not least his contemptuous use of the word 'bird.'

I love the company of women. I have many female friends, some close, some not so close, but I hold them dear and I regularly seek their advice on all sorts of things - not just subjects romantic, mundanities too. They look to me for the male point of view. Give and take.

Put me in the company of a large group of men and I retreat into myself. Not all of the time, but often. I can talk football and drink pints and talk about matters faecal with the best of them but it gets old very quickly for me. It's probably why I don't enjoy stag parties. The larger the group, the quicker things fall to stereotype. By the same thinking, I'd be unwilling to go drinking with a large group of women only. That would bore me.

I used to get slagged in work.

"He'll only come out to the pub if there are birds involved."

I heard that one a lot. Once or twice I tried explaining that I preferred a mixture because the conversation would be more varied and interesting, only to be told, "fuck off! You just want your hole!" Then I'd remember: never argue with fools or drunks.

I read recently that we've moved into an era where men and women have a far greater kinship with one another, that a man can be seen having a drink in female company without the assumption that he's trying to shag them, or that he's gay, or that he actually is in a relationship with one of them.

I think that's bullshit. I think an awful lot of men carry the same thoughts as my colleague, that a night out spent with anyone but 'the lads' is a great night wasted. I find that pathetic.

Griffith Park

I get off my bike and sit down beside her, looking at the ducks.

"Do you like them?" I ask her.

"The ducks? Yes. I like them very much. They're hungry so I brought them some bread."

"I saw you here yesterday too."

"Yes. They get hungry every day. What's your name?"

"I'm Patrick. Patrick's my name."

"How old are you Patrick?"

"I'm 11."

"You look 11. That's the age I would have put on you. I'm Mary."

"Hi Mary. How old are you?"

"Now Patrick, you never ask a lady her age. It's not nice."

I look back at the river below.

"But it's ok just this once. I'm 57-years-young. Are your friends here? Are you not playing with them?"

"Yeah they're playing football but I can't. I'm not very good so I brought my bike because I can do that."

"Ride your bike?"

"Ride my bike. I can do wheelies."

"You're some man for one man, Patrick."

She goes back to her bag of bread, a Brennan's packet with only the crusts left. She tears them up inside the bag, innocuous still secret, and lops them to the water five feet away.

"Mary, why do you come here?"

"That's a very good question. I don't know really, I like to. I need to walk every day because these old bones are... I like to walk and I find myself here."

"Ah."

"Yeah. It's quiet, you know, and it's good to get out of the house."

"Do you not like your house?"

"Yes I like it very much, but sometimes it doesn't like me so I go away for a while and when I go back, it's fine again. Do you want some bread?"

"No thank you. I'm not hungry."

"No no, to throw to the ducks!"

"Oh sorry, yeah, thanks."

We don't say anything for a few minutes, we just sit while I fiddle with the spokes on my bike.

She's crying.

"What's wrong? Do you want me to go?"

"No no, it's ok. You stay where you are. You have a very wise way about you."

She's smiling. But for her watery face she would seem perfectly nothing. Perfectly...

"Thanks very much. My mam says that too."

"Your mam must be very proud to have such a good son."

"No she gives out to me all the time!"

"She's proud of you. She should be. She is."

"Thanks. I'd better go, my friends are calling me. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Patrick, I'm just going to stay with the ducks for three more minutes and go home."