Back Behind The Taps.

This is Eamonn, proprietor of one of the local boozers.
He's been gone for a while, leased the place out, got his head away from the Bedlam that running an Irish pub invariably entails.
Some might brand him as a Go-Boy, but not me.
Back in the day, just after The Princess was born, and I a lowly sub-contractor to a financially lethargic company, the bould Eamo regularly saved my Aerodynamic Irish Arse.
Often, having clawed my way to the end of another chequeless, single -income month, Eamo would refuse to run a tab for me.
He would sub me cash, instead, still gritty from the till, to pay for coal and nappies and petrol to be paid back when the next cheque arrived.
Never made a note in a ledger, trusted your word on the amount indebted.
And now he's back behind his taps, and, for me, a small part of a better world is back in place.
Failte, Eamonn, is doigh liom go mbeidh tu linn go Deo go brach....