Tisn’t often people tell you what they think of you, but when they do it can put you back in your box fairly lively. My encounter with the truth came about in a roundabout sort of a way, like all encounters with the truth in Ireland.

Aside from the council, I have never had a real job to speak of and if I had lost my council seat in the election I’d have been in some quare spot of bother.

You’ll remember I was exploring this possibility with Superquinn a few weeks ago and she told me she heard rumours that Lily Mac is retiring from the post office. She said ’twould be an ideal business for the two of us, I could do the customer relations bit and she could do the books. In fact, she said that win, lose or draw in the election campaign, the taking over of the PO would be a good move.

Two days after the election and I was still aching with tiredness, when Superquinn texted asking me to call to her. I didn’t tell the Mother where I was going, she isn’t too impressed with the proposed post office venture.

Superquinn had tay made when I arrived.

“We have to talk about this post office thing,” says she. “We’d better get in there before someone else.”

“Like who?” says I.

“Like Percy Pipplemoth Davis,” says she. “He has been sniffin’ around the place like a dog on the trail of tripe.”

The mention of that fella’s name was enough to bring me out in a rash. The thought of him soft-soaping all my loyal voters as he hands them out their pensions is enough to drive me to distraction.

“How do you know Pipplemoth is interested?” I asked.

“Oh Lily Mac tells me he has her pestered, he’s in and out every day with suggestions as to how she might increase business, how the place could be laid out better, he even suggested that she might open a little café. Now we all know that Lily’s culinary skills don’t stretch far beyond the boilin’ of an egg, but he knows damn well what he’s at. He’s hoping she’ll recommend him to the head bucks in the GPO as a worthy successor.”

“Well that sneaky, conniving auld hoor,” says I. “He’s always trying to carve my world out from under my arse.”

“Don’t worry about him,” says Superquinn. “As you know, I own the building housin’ the post office and I could make life very difficult for anyone who takes over. But more importantly, there are two questions I need answered. Number one: is Lily Mac really retiring?”

“Well,” says I. “Why don’t you call in and tell her you heard rumours and as the landlady you’re wondering should you be lookin’ for a new tenant. Now, what’s question number two?”

“I need to establish if you are really interested in this.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Maurice,” says she. “You never held down a full-time job in your life and to run a post office will take discipline. The place will have to be open every morning at nine o’clock and not close until half five.

“You won’t be able to come and go to every funeral, wake and cock fight in the four parishes like you do at present. What’s more, if you’re out drinkin’ till all hours you’ll still have to turn up and face the public every morning, no matter how big a head you have on you.”

“Are you accusin’ me of being drunken, careless and unreliable? If that is the case why have the people of this constituency and beyond returned me to the council at every election since 2004?”

“I’ll tell you why,” says she. “Because you’re a nice, harmless auld divil who wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose unless you are told to say it. Once you fill the few potholes for them, smooth the way for the occasional plannin’ application and turn up at funerals, they’ll forgive you anything. But being a nice, harmless auld divil won’t run a business.”

“A nice, harmless auld divil, so that is what you think of me?”

“That’s what everyone thinks of you, Maurice. You’re a bit like the Labour Party, if you were executed for having a set of political beliefs ’twould be a travesty of justice.”

What a thing to say? That was a well-aimed kick in the personal and political goolies.

“I have no more business here,” says I, standing up to leave.

“Ah Maurice,” says she. “Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what? It might be news to you, but harmless auld divils have feelings too you know. Being upset and annoyed isn’t the preserve of bossy, opinionated, pushy auld cows like yourself.”

Maybe all this talk of change is rubbing off on me. CL