My next door neighbour Peggy is fit to be tied over the water charges – I’ve never seen her so incensed in all the years I’ve known her and that’s saying something, believe me. According to her, it’s a fright to God that an elderly, inoffensive woman at the end of her days can’t be left in peace without having the fear of God put into her by tax after tax is being slapped on her. I swear, you only have to close your eyes to hear the violins playing! She says they can stick their water charges and any further charges they think up because it’s over her bleddy dead body that they’ll be getting their money, so it is. Enough is enough, she says and the fecking politicians won’t be getting another penny out of her.
She’s so incandescent with rage that Enda Kenny or any of his ministers have only to appear on the television and she starts turning this alarming pinky, purply colour. I honestly fear that the charges will be the cause of her bursting some blood vessel or something. I try to tell her that whatever about the water charges, she’d want to be minding herself at her age or she needn’t worry about paying any charges because ‘tis inside in her grave her rage will land her. But no, I might as well be talking to the wall for all the good it does me. When Peggy gets on her high horse about something, I’ve noticed she’s like a tsunami, there’s just no stopping her.
She says that ‘tis aisy for the feckers to hit the little people. ‘Fecking bullies is what they are,’ and they should be downright ashamed of themselves to be hopping off the ordinary Joe and Joan Soap in the street. Herself and her friend, Lourda Kennefick and the entire Active Age Club, are all off to Dublin on Wednesday on the free travel pass for the big march against the water charges. I hope to God herself and Lourda aren’t planning on doing anything outrageous to make a holy show of us in front of the whole country. Herself and Lourda are capable of anything when they get together and I honestly wouldn’t trust that Lourda Kennefick as far as I could throw her.
When I dropped in to Peggy the other morning for a coffee, what was my woman doing but watching a You Tube clip of the Tanáiste being barricaded inside in her car, drowned wet after being struck with a water balloon in the protest above in Jobstown. You know, the ‘peaceful’ one a few weeks ago? She was so engrossed in the clip that she never heard me come in until I was right behind her and then, she looked dead shifty and tried to block my view of what she’s been watching on the screen. But unfortunately for her, she’s too late as I’ve already seen it.
Oh of course, she denied she was up to anything. But I have grave doubts and am only very sorry that I ever showed her how to work a computer, so I am. The woman doesn’t have an ounce of shame in her and if she does anything out of the way above in Dublin, I’ll never forgive myself so I won’t.