By what yardstick do you measure friendship?
When one is a friend, and when is one not? That is the question…
I once asked who I thought was a good friend of mine at the time, for the loan of three hundred and eighty two euro.
“What’s the two for?” he asked
“What two?” I replied
“You asked for three hundred and eighty two euro; I just want to know what the two euro is for that’s all. No harm in asking, is there?
“Oh that” I said while pretending to look over his shoulder nonchalantly at something in the distance “is the price of the booking fee”
“The booking fee for what?” he enquired
Christ! This was becoming more embarrassing by the moment. It was bad enough asking him for a loan in the first place. The man was worst than a tribunal judge and I’m sure if he were around during the middle ages: he’d have been one of the Spanish inquisition’s rising stars. “Well if you must know the three hundred and eighty two euro’s is to go towards a holiday”
His countenance and his attitude changed completely. “A holiday…” he murmured. “Abigail and I haven’t been on one in years… and besides you’ve just come back from one.”
“Well”, I replied, “that’s not entirely the case: it was after all a funeral”
“A funeral that lasted two weeks in Florida…” he said, “and what’s more, you hardly knew the man: he was just a friend of your girlfriend’s father. It’s not like you were bosom buddies and all-”. He was about to utter something else but stopped short at that.
There was no point in taking this conversation any further. Because he was the type of person who would ask you how and where you would spend his precious money, that’s if a body were lucky enough to get his hands on it in the first place. I knew I shouldn’t have asked the tight arsed bastard for anything. Now I knew the rumours to be true that not only had he still hung on to his communion money, but that he was also capable of peeling oranges in his pocket as well. Continue reading “Friends” »