Yesterday I got the bus from Shannon, aka the blank from hell. I paid for my fare and got back a haunted fiver. I don't think it was the Ballybunion one but I have photographed it as a precaution, should it ever pass through my hands again.
So this morning I get on the bus into town and produce the fiver. The driver looks at it and says, "I can't take that, have you anything else?" I laugh, "I have a fifty if you want that. You know, I got this off a Bus Eireann driver yesterday." "Why did you take it?" he says. I didn't want to tell him that when the driver took out his wad of notes yesterday that I secretly wanted the haunted fiver. "Sure just get on, don't worry about it"
Amazing, a Bus Eireann driver showing kindness. Perhaps this fiver isn't haunted.
I get into town and I'm late enough at this stage. However, I get a text saying my lift to work is still in bed. I'm off the hook again. This haunted fiver is a puzzling addition to my inventory. Could it instead possess some kind of power of protection?
As I cross Sarsfield Bridge, the blessed fiver saves me once more. Some idiot boy racer slaps his precious shamwagon into the kerb behind me. Startled, I look behind me, expecting that my last view of the world will be of a Schivic being driven by a 90 degree cap with earrings. Instead I see a pavee's precious Punto bounce harmlessly (for me anyway, his bumper had seen better days) off the kerb. A little confused, I wander closer to the side of the bridge. Suddenly, out of the fog, a bird shits. I hear it strike the bridge beside me, the mix of water and pulp surely creating splashback. I examine my coat. There is none. Amazing.
So is this fiver haunted or blessed?
No you muppet, it's just a fucking fiver that's been sellotaped together. That stuff happened just because it did. It would have happened anyway.
