A quick pint

"And all I'm shaying ish, can youu do dat fuhr me? That'sh alllll I'm shaying son."

Just five weeks into my new job, and my outreach worker skills are being tested to the limit. Except it's 10.30, I'm in my local, and Mog's left me talking to two very drunk Irishmen. And I don't think this is their first night in this place.

Forty minutes ago I was listening to an audio cassette called "Exploring Psychology AC1", and decided to reward myself with a pint at our local. Now I'm trying quite hard to blag an answer. It's probably not helping that Seamus is becoming rapidly less coherent and significantly more agressive. As far as I can tell, he wants me to look up a long-lost relative on a social services computer, but I'm really not sure. We've had a long chat after both strongly appreciated me drinking the Black Stuff, and Seamus seemed extremely interested in psychology. He says he's never known a psychologist, and I've been telling him about Pavlov's dog. However, communication seems to be breaking down.

Martin grabs his coat and me by the shoulder.

"Now, I'm going to go home" he says in a broad brogue I've warmed to instantly. "Now don't you go causing this fella any trouble." I shake Martin's hand.

"You're a social worker intya?" I nod. "I can tell you've got a heart of gold, cause yer hands are fucking cold."

I go over and join Mog, who gives me a grateful look. I think it's called taking a bullet.

I promised to meet Seamus there tomorrow night. It's been a good night.