Pól is leaning against a wall lighting a cigarette, which along with littering, which we saw him enjoying earlier, is the universal symbol for “bad boy.” Of course, he is an ineffectual bad boy, so he can’t get his lighter to work, and may also be trying to light the wrong end of the cigarette. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for everyone else in the entire world, just then a drunk Fia staggers past. He licks his lips grossly and shouts at her to bring her sweet cans over and light his cigarette for him. I’m paraphrasing, but not by much. Any other time, she would tell him to feck off and go be disgusting somewhere else, such as at a high velocity while falling off a cliff, but given what she’s been through lately, and the fact that she’s clearly plastered at approximately 10am, her resistance is lowered. She wobbles over and gives him her matches, and when he rudely demands to know who she is, instead of telling him her name is “Nunya Business,” she murmurs that she’s nobody, and disappears into the B&B. Pól stands there looking around creepily and then smiles yuckily, and we suspect that we will be yelling “No, Fia, no!” at the TV shortly.
Over at the shop, Pádraig runs into David and Gráinne on the cooking spray, chocolate biscuits, and outdoor furniture aisle. He’s found a letter for David on the kitchen floor and thinks it looks important, what with the “very important” and “do not leave on the kitchen floor” markings, so David opens it and discovers it’s an invitation to go interview for a job as a postman on October 12. That turns out to be today, so David hems and haws and says he’s not sure he wants to go, because he always thought his calling in life was to be repeatedly beaten up, taken hostage, and robbed by teenagers in his care, not delivering offers for double-glazing to shut-ins. Gráinne and Pádraig are very keen on getting him out of the house from time to time because he’s starting to depress the plants, so Gráinne says that in fact a lot of old shut-ins depend on the postman to make sure they haven’t died during the night, and Pádraig recounts the bible story about the postman who was transformed into a burning bush when Salome cut his hair. There is no way to argue with such compelling logic, so David rushes home to change clothes and remind himself which corner of an envelope the stamp goes on, and Gráinne and Pádraig look pleased with themselves, because they are very tired of having to look at him all the time.
Fia, her hangover, and her rapid descent into alcoholism have managed to stagger over to Gaudi and start popping paracetamol. She looks wistfully at Emma’s Facebook page, which is full of pics of her having a good time in London with the Jubilee Line and drag queens and the Eiffel Tower and so on. She ignores another call from her mother, who is doing some serious stalkadóireacht these days, and then Máire bobbles in to deliver Liam Óg and a heaping serving of guilt. She claims Liam Óg was crying for his mother all night because Fia didn’t come home until 3am, and also talks about a story in a magazine about an irresponsible young mother who had a glass of wine and then came home to find her baby had fallen into a nuclear reactor. Fia ignores her and asks if she can watch Liam Óg while she goes for a “cup of coffee” with Evan, and Máire agrees, because she does not know that “Cup of Coffee” is the name of a new cocktail Fia has invented that consists of equal parts vodka, gin, and paint thinner.
Fia, who is about 40 percent drunk already, arrives at the pub to help the lads celebrate their victory in the Dungeons & Dragons tournament. The final score was 3 decapitated wizards to 6 gnomes who will never walk again. Fia decides they need to celebrate with a round of shots, although to be fair, earlier today she also decided a round of shots was the way to celebrate finding a paperclip between the sofa cushions. Evan and Briain quit after one shot each, but Fia keeps ordering rounds and slamming them all herself. I think I saw this same scene in a Mothercare advert once.
David is on his way home from his interview when Gráinne runs into him in the street, sadly not with her car. She asks how things went and he’s his usual cheerful self, moaning that there were lots of other good candidates there and also he may have vomited on the interviewer’s desk repeatedly. The camera pans by them to Briain fuming because the ATM is refusing to give him any cash on the basis of him not having any, and also having inserted a slice of cheese into the machine instead of a bank card. Just then his old friend John Joe appears, having come home from Tenerife with completely white hair, which he blames on “too much sun.” Either that or he couldn’t figure out how to say “a box of Just For Men Natural Light Brown, please” in Spanish. Anyway, he and Briain have a happy reunion because they are TOTALLY old friends, and then John Joe tells Briain he should drop by sometime for a cup of tea, asking if Briain knows where he lives. Briain affirms that he thinks he might know where that is, but is smart enough to shut up before he apologizes for stopping up all of John Joe’s toilets.
After the break, Maggie wanders past just in time to see Fia throwing up on the side of the pub. We appreciate the show’s attention to detail, but I for one really didn’t need to see anything actually pouring out of Fia’s mouth. Anyway, Maggie is sweet and helpful, handing her tissues and a bottle of water from her purse, and offering to stay with her until she’s “feeling better.” That’s a very tactful way of putting it. Fia semi-agrees, but says she needs to go inside because she’s cold, and Maggie looks on warily as she heads back into the pub. If only Maggie had a radio, she would’ve heard Berni’s advert and been aware that there is a café in this town where she and Fia could go sit.
At the café, Berni is writing Celine Dion a check for €500 for a series of radio adverts. I’m unconvinced there is a lot of café awareness remaining to be raised using a local radio station in a town that’s a block long and only has 3 restaurants, but OK. Maybe if the spot mentions the days and hours when Berni isn’t there, business will spike during those times. Berni leaves and is replaced at the table by Labhrás, and I’m not sure whether that constitutes a trade up or a trade down. There is more of their Boris-and-Natasha-style scheming, which I will not summarize other than to say it stops just short of him holding up a bowling-ball-with-a-wick-type bomb and threatening Moose and Squirrel with it.
Back at the café, another meeting about Radio None has broken out. Micheál is impressed with all the money Muireann has raised, so Labhrás says he’s appointed her to the station’s executive board. Amy complains about the young people being pushed out, but Muireann assures her there will still be a place for them, and that place is out in the park sniffing dry-cleaning chemicals. Labhrás complains for a while about the Yoof Of Today, with their jump-roping and comic books and poodle skirts, and Micheál agrees to make Muireann Taoiseach for life just to shut Labhrás up, but Amy looks annoyed.
Pól and Fia arrive at the “old estate” he’s squatting at, and it turns out to be Suzanne’s House of Horrors from Season 20, AIEEEEE!!!! Now when I try to picture Suzanne I see Edina Monsoon in a kaftan and character turban, which I suppose was the look she was going for anyway. Pól clearly has “menacing,” “sexy,” and “yucky” mixed up in his mind, so he blends the three of them together in his mental blender and serves Fia a big glass of it. He tells her this dump is better than the last place he lived, which was prison, and I’d say it’s also better than the place before that, which was in a doghouse where Coílí Jackie shot at him periodically.
Fia is unnerved by all this, but she’s trying to play tough, and is also clearly off her head and flying so high an Aer Lingus crew is offering drinks and duty-free on her arse. Pól produces a bottle of something clear from behind the sofa, and then Fia puts on some music and starts dancing like Bez out of Happy Mondays, except without the maracas. Pól leers at her for a while and clearly wants to get on, get on, get on, get on, get on her groovy train. If you get these references, congratulations on still being able to read such tiny print at your advanced age. Stay safe in the hurricane, a chairde!