On the Isle of Man.
C e r b e r u s - T h e D o g O f H e l l
The Isle of Man lies in the Irish Sea between Ireland and England.
In days of yore, the hours when pubs were open were not as convenient as
the thirsty populace liked. Some gentlemen, when graced with funds and
sufficient thirst, would depart from Dublin on the Friday evening ferry
for an excursion to this happy land.
By a fortunate happenschance, while the vessel was in Irish waters, the
bar was open. When the vessel reached international waters, the bar
could remain open, not having to conform to any national regulations. On
the Isle of Man, the pubs remain open until the ferry returns to Ireland
in the evening.
On the return voyage, the above held in reverse.
Thus, it was possible, for those suitably thirsty, to find relief on
a non-stop basis from Friday evening until Sunday morning when the ferry
arrives back in Dublin.
Some fellows undertook this odyssey. Just before the ferry returned,
they were having a "quick one" at a bar close to the dock. As nature
sometimes demands, one chap had to visit the jaxx and just about tripped
over some inebriated soul lying on the floor.
As he moved the fellow out of the way, his wallet fell out of his pocket
and spilled on the floor. While replacing the contents, our good
samaritan noticed from his papers that he lived in Dublin.
On returning to his friends at the bar he remarked " there's a fellow in
the jaxx and he's just paralytic. He must be heading for the boat and
didn't quite make it."
What to do ?
They decided that rather than let him miss the boat, they would
provide an escort. So, grabbing the available arms and legs, they all
headed off for a breath of sea air.
The new found friend was not suitably conscious on arrival in Dublin. So
they all piled into a cab to take him home.
On arrival at the address, they decided not to just drop him and run,
but to verify that in fact he lived there.
While two held the poor besotted soul up against a wall. out of sight of
the door, a third knocked on the door.
A delightful white haired old lady appeared in response.
"Good Morning. Tell me, does Peter O'Toole live here."
"Ah, yes" sez she, "I'm his Mother, but he's not here at the moment...
...he's over on the Isle of Man,
- on his honeymoon !"
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