Meself and Miaow Cow were out for a bite in Malahide there last night. And sure then we had some food after it, wha? Wha? Eh, nudge, wink? I'm an awful man etc. etc.
Never mind. We were happily tucking in beside the seaside when suddenly, there the luminaries appeared. Steve Staunton, and as he might haltingly say himself, eh, the lads, eh, of the Are-land team, out for dinner.
I first spied Stan on his way back from the jacks. He looked faintly embarrassed and I wondered had he splashed the front of his trackie or something like that but quickly computed that it was all due to natural shyness. Not comfortable in the public gaze like. He joined the rest of the Irish party over in the corner and I immediately began taking sly glances over to see who I could recognise. Miaow Cow's interest was similarly piqued and she began adding important observances such as Steve Finnan being cute and that "they're all much better looking up close, they don't look as nice on the telly. Who's he again now? Ooooh. Why are they all called Kevin or Stephen?"
I was keeping an eye on Andy Reid to see was he wolfing down a burger and chips while the rest had their pasta and chicken, but I couldn't see around the portly man of the match v Germany to ascertain what his dinner was. I can confirm that he still hasn't shaved though if anyone's wondering.
Annoyingly, there was a slightly drunk eejit talking much too loudly in the restaurant all the while and he offered a running commentary on all the players as they filed past on their way out. There's John O'Shea there, he said helpfully, 'Man United he is', as a reddening O'Shea walked by. Similar wisdom was dispensed on matters Kevin Doyle, just in case his dizzying ascent to Premier League stardom has made him forget incidentals such as his name and club and stuff. Then he grabbed Robbie Keane's hand and gibbered breathlessly: "Yep here he is now the captain of the team, yeah, the captain. Robbie like. Keane." Keano wasn't sure where to look but he played safe and opted for the floor before extricating his arm and fleeing. Meanwhile, drunk clown's wife had gone over to the other players remaining at the table and was rabbiting some shite or other to bemused looks from Liam Miller. For Jaysus' sake woman.
Stephen Hunt was next to walk past and seems a right character. He robbed drunk lad's wine bottle and pretended to make off with it before coming back and plonking it on the table with a flourish, a big grin and a wee shake of his mad mop of curls. He bounced off chuckling to himself and then started chatting up the waitresses. A right little jester, he needs watching does that lad.
Poor old Bobby Robson went past next, all alone and limping very heavily and just looking like a really frail, lonely old man. It'd break your heart.
Then, while we were paying, Stan and his backroom homies walked past the till. Miaow Cow ventured a bashful starstruck greeting and he said hello back, thereby making Miaow Cow feel more special in one split second that I could manage in the previous hour, despite treating her to a slap up feed. Sheesh.
By the way I had salmon and she had chicken, and Kevin Kilbane needs a haircut.
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