Micheál, who is carrying a big box of poison ivy or something around town for some reason, runs into Fia, who’s taking up space at an outdoor table we’ve never seen before in front of the café. Today’s special is existential despair, which comes with a side salad. He asks if she’s dropped off her CV to the radio station yet, but she lamely claims that she hasn’t had a chance because she’s rushed off her feet with Liam Óg. Of course he’s nowhere to be seen, but she’s pretty sure she saw him yesterday, or maybe it was the day before. Anyway, she’s going to make a mental note to find out what happened to him as soon as she finishes flipping through this issue of Overburdened Raver magazine she shoplifted. As Micheál is asking her to do some volunteer labor at the station this afternoon, Pól wanders up and starts mimicking him behind his back, which is actually pretty funny, but does not make us want to punch him any less. Struggling and ultimately failing to keep a straight face, she tells him that yes, yes, radio is the wave of the future and that she’ll be over there to do some unpaid work at half past her hole. She adds that Máire will throw a shit fit if she asks her to look after Lester Óg or whatever his name is again, though, because she’s been depending on her way too much lately. By “lately” she means “since right before the placenta came out.” He wanders away with his box of coca leaves and Pól sits himself down so they can rap for a while about how square and ungroovy grownups are. They shrug a lot about how boring everything is, especially their ennui, and then he pulls out a little baggie of what we are sure is Rooibos or possibly Oolong tea and suggests they go, you know, smoke it. She makes the first good decision she’s made all season and says she better not, which means we’re sure she will by the end of the episode.
At the pub, Dee is complaining to Mack that she doesn’t have any friends anymore, which she blames on having moved to Ros na Rún. While we’re sure her being 400 percent more terrible this year than last has absolutely nothing to do with it, she probably has a point that it’s harder to make friends in a town with only 12 people, half of whom are Bobbi-Lee. Also, where did she move here from? Galway? I didn’t get the feeling it was hundreds of miles away, so she could always take a bus to wherever her friends live, or maybe if she asks around she’ll find someone she knows who drives a hackney. Now that we think of it, we know Dee has a car, from that time she and Mack had a car chase around the block. Mo stops by to ask if Dee’s talked to Katy since the wedding, so Dee lies and is like, oh my God!, they totes talk all the time, because they are BFFs! Considering what she does for a living, you’d think she’d be a better liar. Just then David arrives in his new uniform, which looks very sharp indeed, but Tadhg and Mack make fun of him anyway, just on principle.
Sufficiently harassed, Postman Pat goes back outside to his truck just in time for Bobbi-Lee to run over and start digging through the back looking for a parcel she’s expecting. Interfering with the post is considered a criminal offense, unless you’re Bobbi-Lee, in which case it’s considered foreplay. David drags her out of the back of the van and shoos her away from his sack, telling her that he delivered her parcel to the pub, actually, since that’s where it was addressed. She takes great delight in informing him that it’s a delivery of new undies and then runs inside to break them in, and it’s probably better that we don’t stop to think about why Bobbi-Lee has her mail-order knickers delivered to the pub. Gráinne comes over to ask how things are going, and he acts like a big sulky baby, so she trots out her speech about how postmanliness is next to godliness again and reminds him that they also need the money, so he should shut the eff up and get back to work. That last part is implied.
At the front door of the B&B, Máire is thanking Micheál for giving her his briquettes, which we hope is a euphemism, and then he says he’ll come back later to deliver his wood and drop it at the back of her house. We had no idea Máire and Micheál had that kind of relationship, but we like them both better now that we do. There is, of course, talk of Fia’s nascent career in radio, which everyone in town except Fia seems overly excited about, and then he adds that she was fretting earlier that she’s been depending on Máire too much to care for Liam Óg. Well, he has started calling Máire “Mammy,” and calls Fia “that drunk lady who throws up here on bank holidays.” Hilariously, Micheál tells Máire that he knows she’s busy, but that she should really be less wrapped up in herself and spend more time worrying about Fia. After we all finish wetting ourselves laughing, he bogs off, but pauses long enough to make fun of a nearby David’s new uniform. Frankly we think this is by far the best we’ve ever seen David look, so everybody needs to shut up about it.
After the break, David is hanging out in a customer’s kitchen, as postmen on Irish and British soaps do. If the postman came into your house in America, you’d shoot him and then call the police and claim it was self-defense. Anyway, the customer in question is Máire, who’s banging on about how all she ever gets are bills, and how sad it is that no one writes letters anymore. Well, if she’d try sending some letters other than anonymous notes calling local women harlots for showing too much ankle, maybe she’d receive some nice letters once in a while. David, who’s been standing there awkwardly for what we imagine is several hours, apologizes for having to upset her and then produces some piece of junk mail addressed to Peadar. He says he wishes he could’ve thrown it down the sewer like he did the rest of today’s mail, but the sewer is full now, and also the street is flooded for some reason, so he had no choice but to deliver it to her. She tells him it was his duty to deliver it as the new postman, which reminds him why he’s standing in her kitchen in a uniform, and sadly says it’s not the first piece of mail she’s gotten for Peadar since he died, which David finds absolutely shocking for some reason. We get mail addressed to people who lived at our house 15 years ago, so I’m not sure why David finds all this so unbelievable, but we don’t have the energy to argue with him right now. She burbles that she wishes Peadar and his good advice were here today of all days, presumably because he could advise her how to get David to go away. He asks if something’s bothering her, and she says “I’m fine” in her patented tone that means “Please continue asking what’s wrong,” so he asks her to put the kettle on so he can sit down and have a nice leisurely cup of tea with her. Well, thank heavens he delivered Bobbi-Lee’s new emergency knickers before he decided to start skiving.
David leaves and Fia arrives, which we would normally consider a trade up, but given the way she’s been behaving lately, we’re not so sure anymore. Máire tells her about the chat she had with Micheál earlier, and that to address Fia’s semi-existent concerns about leaning on Máire too much, she’s gotten Liam Óg a spot in the crèche (or, as the incorrectly encoded subtitles keep calling it, the “crÁeche”). Fia thinks this is totally iontach, because the crèche is conveniently located halfway between the pub and the beer aisle at the shop, or as that section of town has become known,“the Fia District.” Máire also reminds her about the meeting about the radio station taking place at 5 o’clock today in the pub, which Fia hasn’t heard about and has not yet decided whether she gives a shit about, either. We also don’t get the impression that getting Liam Óg into the crèche took much effort at all, so we wonder why it didn’t occur to any of them before. Maybe they kept seeing it on the sign as “crÁeche” and thought that was some kind of French pastry.
At a different table, David is telling Gráinne he had an OK day at work, though he’s bursting for a wee after all the cups of tea he drank and also his arse hurts from sitting on it all day. He adds that loneliness is an awful thing, and he’s seen a lot of it today due to the fact that Ros na Rún has the most shut-ins per capita of any town in the EU. It’s true, you can look it up. Gráinne is only semi-listening, however, because she’s just discovered while sitting here that she has a uniform fetish, so she tells David to go home and prepare himself, because she’s going to ride him like a roller coaster. It’s the Ros na Rún equivalent of the Simpsons where Marge orders Homer to make sweet nuclear love to her, but only if he keeps the Mr. Plow jacket on.
John Joe and Dee are toasting Katy and Jason with glasses of champagne, by which I mean John Joe is toasting Katy and Jason while Dee drinks as much champagne as possible as quickly as she can in hopes of forgetting Katy and Jason exist. He gets a phone call from a woman whose car full of orphans with gluten sensitivities is broken down at the bottom of a river or whatever, and he tries to tell her he’s too busy to come fish her out because he’s drinking with his depressed daughter. Eventually Dee tells him to just go, because she’s perfectly capable of drinking alone. “Independent Women, Pt. 1” and so on.
Tadhg has hiked up to Maggie’s house and starts to open the gate, but then pauses and thinks about what he’s doing. Eventually he decides he’s making a mistake, closes the gate again, and walks away slowly. Of course, Maggie is secretly watching all this through the window, and looks anguished—and also a bit like Han Solo frozen in carbonite—when she sees him turn and walk away. He disappears, and then inside the house, we see her gravely turn her back to the window, a single tear running down her face. We like Maggie, but we would feel a lot sorrier for her if not for our sinking suspicion that this storyline will eventually end in Frances being hurt, which we are very much opposed to. Team Frances!