What happened when our Dublin-born reporter DAN DOONER unwittingly found himself on the bog?
It was the end of September and I had managed to resist and avoid all previous requests for me to appear at this place they called ‘the bog’. ‘They’ were my girlfriend’s family and they had told relations in America how “the Dub has a grand short back for it anyway”, as they laughed at me in the kitchen.
My excuses were varied and ingenious. From “I’m working late sure, yous’ll be home an’ all by the time I get out!” to “Ah I have to pop up to the oul lad this weekend, he needs a hand with a nixer.” The use of the Dublin vernacular seemed to confuse them, so I laid it on thick: “Sure yous go down and it’ll be done in no time, happy days,” I said, to their obvious bemusement.
So then it was, two Saturdays ago. I was watching Sky Sports with a mug of tea when the phone rang. No panic, it was the step-dad.
“Howiya! Are you at home?”
“I am, yeah!”
“Will ya do me a favour? I’m after coming away without the wheelbarrow. Will ya throw it in the back of your car and bring it down?”
“Sure, where are ya?”
I spat my tea out as he gave directions. How could this have happened? He was a Dub like me. More of a Dub, if age was the yardstick.
“Grand, I’ll be there in half an hour.”
It turned out that bringing the wheelbarrow was only part of the favour as he needed a hand with quaint chores like ‘filling bags’ and ‘carting it to the van’.
To be honest, I’d never been to ‘the bog’ before and I was surprised with how therapeutic I found the work to be. I don’t really get the memes depicting kids being dragged there during the summer. I found it a great way to clear the head and it was quite rewarding knowing that my hour of work would heat a home…for an evening. I may even consider helping out next September again.