AGAINST THE ODDS:As December 6th looms Vinny Fitzpatrick is faced with the difficult choice of where to go on the honeymoon - he knows where he wants to go.
On a break in the Clontarf garage canteen last Monday he almost spilt his tea with anger when he heard how a driver on the 27B route had left a dozen passengers stranded on the Ardlea Road on Dublin's northside that morning because no one put their hand out.
As the 27B was the only bus which served the entire Ardlea Road - the 20B terminated at one end - Vinny felt it was only right for passengers to have a reasonable expectation that the bus would pull in for them.
"It's different on a main thoroughfare served by several routes, but not half-way down the Ardlea Road where there's one bus every 20 minutes. That's a mortal sin in my book," he fumed.
"Compare it to the Bus Éireann country routes. The buses always pull in for people at designated stops in the middle of nowhere whether they are signalled to or not. The same principle should apply on Dublin roads served by one bus. If I was in Harristown garage, I'd string the driver up by the short and curlies and put him on the late shift for a month."
It was a passionate discourse from Vinny and one which the controller, a long-serving veteran of the fleet, "Socket" Toomey, noted from the adjoining table where, as always, he sat alone.
Few drivers cared as much about their job as Vinny Fitzpatrick, thought Socket. Few understood the routes better and few went out of their way to provide the public as best a service as possible.
Vinny was a conscientious driver, not one of those who hared from terminus to terminus so they could have a fag break and read the racing pages.
He was also reliable and flexible in terms of working hours - being a bachelor helped, I suppose, thought Socket.
The word back from the inspectors was always the same: Vinny was a cheery soul who always had time to say hello and offer a smile for his passengers.
In an industry where the turnover of workers was increasingly high, Vinny had remained loyal to the service, and to the passengers. In many ways, he was a role model for bus drivers.
Cleaning his glasses - something he did out of habit, as they were rarely dirty - Socket considered Vinny as potential material for controller of Clontarf Garage.
The top brass in Dublin Bus were looking these days for younger types to run the show, but Socket, who was due for early retirement shortly, was leaning strongly to recommending Vinny as his successor.
"All you have to do, Vinny, is keep you nose clean until Christmas my son, and the job's yours," mused Socket as he pushed back his chair and headed off to his private eyrie.
Later that evening, the man who would be the controller king of Clontarf bus garage was in Angie's warm, welcoming kitchen on Mount Prospect Avenue where, spread out across the table, was a clatter of travel magazines, a pot of tea and a box of chocolate Kimberley biscuits.
Angie was cranking up the honeymoon revs ahead of their marriage on December 6th and Vinny wasn't exactly bowled over by the options.
As an accomplished skier, Angie was eager to try the slopes of Alpe d'Huez, where she and her ex-husband, Big Fat Ron, used to slalom many years ago.
To Vinny, the notion of strapping on skis and plunging half-way down a mountain in a shiny suit with a pair of sticks for balance was utter madness.
He had his own ideas about going on the piste, and the slopes he'd like to roll over, and they had nothing to do with going anywhere near the Alps.
"To be honest, Ange, I'm no Franz Klammer," he said, munching his third Kimberley. "Is there anywhere else that catches your eye?"
Angie's next suggestion was a cruise on the Danube to the life, music and times of Mozart, another no-no for Vinny who got sea-sick crossing the wooden bridge to the Bull Island and, anyway, abhorred classical music. "Not my cup of tea either, love."
Angie lobbed up several other suggestions, Lake Garda, the Algarve, Barcelona and Rome, but Vinny didn't nibble.
Instead, his mind drifted to the type of holiday, or rather honeymoon, that would appeal to him. Take this weekend, for example. There was racing at Haydock and Aintree on Saturday and Sunday, while his beloved Everton were at Wigan on the Monday night.
Now that's the sort of thing I could buy into, he thought, before saying: "What about a honeymoon with a sporting theme, love? We could fly to Manchester or Liverpool, take in a match, a day at the races, visit a couple of Indian restaurants, sample the local brewery's finest. We could stay in a swanky hotel, one with a pool, that sort of thing. You could even do a little shopping."
Angie said nothing. Instead, she reached for the pot of tea and leant over to give Vinny's cup a refill. As she did, she deliberately dipped the angle of the pot and hot tea spewed out on to Vinny's lap.
With a roar, Vinny jumped up. "Janey Mac! Go easy Angie, will you. I'm scalded."
Sensing he wasn't getting any sympathy with his tea, Vinny sat down gingerly, dabbed his nether regions with a towel and looked a tad sheepishly at his stoney-faced fiancée.
"Guess my suggestion doesn't meet with your approval," he said. "Sure, I was only having a lend of you, Angie, you know that."
Angie raised one of her pencil-thin eyebrows as Vinny went on. "What about going to one of those German cities, like Cologne, Nuremberg or Dresden, where they know how to do Christmas markets properly? It will be all frosty breaths, shining lights, mulled wine, that sort of thing. We can get all our presents there too."
Angie leaned over, planted a kiss on Vinny's cheek, and smiled.
"You know, Vinny, underneath that bluster, you're an aul cod."
"To Vinny, the notion of strapping on skis and plunging half-way down a mountain in a shiny suit with a pair of sticks for balance was utter madness. "To be honest, Ange, I'm no Franz Klammer," he said.
Vinny's Bismarck
2pts Lay Navan O'Mahony's to beat Kilmacud Crokes (6/4, Boylesports, liability 3pts).
3pts Ireland to draw with Poland (9/4, Corals).
1pt e/w Mr Pointment in Becher Chase (6/1, Paddy Power).
