THE TRAVAILS OF DANNY T. Damn it, I've got off the train a stop too soon. Oh well, It's a beautiful autumn morning and I'm early. I'll enjoy the stroll. Then I spot it - an oasis, an early-opener oasis at that. The Limbo Bar! For goodness sake! What an odd name. I couldn't walk past a name like that. Gotta be a story behind it. I'll enter but only to seek knowledge. I'll brace the custodian and say, “What ho, merry barkeep, why is this pleasant establishment named The Limbo Bar?” He will doubtlessly answer, “Buggered if I know. What'd yer want to drink?” I enter, look around for a favourable spot to perch and I'll be damned! Despite the Stygian gloom I spot me old mate, Danny T. He doesn't notice me, he's studying a short glass of something that looks like it'd been preserving dead things. Dark, swarthy, forty year old Danny T! He looks like the Adams Family version of a Mediterranean murderer. He's a gloomy bastard at the best of times but I can get a laugh out of him - sometimes. “Danny! You evil bastard! I thought somebody would have fed you to the maggots by now.” He looks up, recognises me, turns to the barman and says,”My boy, abandon all hope, Vincent the Vile is here.” And to me, “Vince! Did the rash clear up? Don't sit so close. Unless you're gunna lend me ten bucks.” “No!” “Well, buy me a drink and I'll tell you a true story. It's got the lot. You'll be able to write it up, publish it, get rich and never have to bother me again.” “No!” “Vince, this story's about life and how wonderful it's supposed to be, right? Divine, a gift of God, even. But Mate, I've looked over the edge into the inferno. I've spat in Satan's eye. I've seen it all, but life's just a comedy written for the amusement of the gods.” “Danny, you lyin' bastard, I'll buy you a drink, but if you tell me your story's about your dog getting run over, I'll jam yer tiny head into your glass.” While this is going on the bartender plonks drinks down in front of us and holds his hand out. I don't remember ordering this round but I paid and told the bartender if there's another round he'd be paying. “I've always thought that the lack of a good woman in your life has turned you into a hard man,” Danny told me. I glared at him. “The story, you bludger. Before I tear the remains of your liver out.” “Awright Mate. Listen.” ---- “At the midpoint of my life I found myself in a dark forest, lost and terrified. But the story started earlier. I'd read that the road to paradise started in hell but in this case the road to hell started in paradise. Or a rather nice facsimile. “I'd stopped over in a country pub and was chatting to Lucy, a friendly barmaid. Not many customers bein' mid-week and I was buying her a glass of sherry now and then. She was bangin' on about having to work the late shift because of her young friend, Mary. "She paused, looked around and whispered, 'she got herself preggers! You coulda knocked me down with a feather. Last one I would have expected. Right little goody-two shoes, that one. So here I am stuck with the late shift.' “I sympathised and told her that it was all part of life's journey and will we have a last drink? It's pretty late, goin' on closing time and she's lookin' good,” Danny continued, “Bein' a gentleman with no thought of gaining a reward, I shifted the tables and chairs about while she mopped out. Well, you know how beauty awakens the soul? Shut up, Vince, I've gotta soul! When she asked me if I'd walk her home, being late, dark and her a vulnerable young lady. Young! She couldn't see young in the rear-vision mirror. Not too vulnerable either. I'll bet she doubled as the bouncer here. I might add, I don't mind the fuller figured woman and it seemed as though she was prepared to share all her fulsomeness with me. With all the attendant dimples and pimples, it'd make for an exciting and interesting mutuality. But fat or thin - equal opportunities, thy name is Danny. But you know me, Vince, ever the gentleman, so I enacted stage one, and walked the lady home.” I said, “Of course you did.” “We took a short cut through the dark forest and arrived at her house. I was thinking if we kept the room dark this could work out. But not a worry. Lucy led me over to a shed and leaned up against it, “Sorry, I can't ask you in, me old man's asleep and he can the very devil if aroused." “Well what can I say? I've always been adaptable. Between their pet dog peein' on me leg and the need to beat a hasty retreat if necessary, love still triumphed. We promised each other our undying devotion and said our sad farewells. Vince, I gotta tell you, it was a spiritual moment in time. Uplifting! Our souls reached out and touched----.” I couldn't help myself! “Spiritual? Uplifting? Beethoven's Ninth is uplifting. Michelangelo's ceilings are uplifting. You're just a pair of middle-aged yobs having a knee-trembler up against an outdoor dunny. As for your souls touching--- It wasn't your souls!” “Vince, you have the sensitivity of a bucket of bricks. I felt love burgeoning and you're doing your best to crush it. You're just jealous Mate, and crude,” he said, glaring. I bit my tongue, counted to ten and said politely, “Carry on Danny. After love burgeoned with the saintly Lucy ---” He looked at me suspiciously and continued. ---- “I staggered back through the bush with a smile and a cheerful whistle, wondering if I should get a course of antibiotics. Pregnancy wasn't an issue, I'm pretty sure. It was a lovely night, late summer, midnight, a full moon and I was definitely a happy man. Naturally, this is where the gods laughed. Suddenly, I could hear hounds baying. It sounded like a chorus of lost souls crying for forgiveness. Not a worry. Oh - Oh, they're getting closer. Did that miserable husband unleash the dogs? Nah. Surely not over a bit of adult consensuality. I looked over my shoulder and there they were. The hounds from hell! Three huge, slavering monsters with glittering yellow eyes. They were coming straight at me. I saw a near-by tree and went straight up! Tarzan would have been left in my wake. They're leaping up, snapping. No. Jaws that size don't snap, they destroy. “Sit! Sit!” I yelled. “Nice doggies.” I knew what they were. I'd seen photos. They're Rhodesian Ridge-back Mastiffs used in Africa to bring down lions. If they were serious they'd chew through my tree trunk in about three bites.” “Ah well, Vince, I've got to get going. Tempus fugit, my friend. Catch you later” Danny. got up off his bar-stool and went to leave. “Hoy, where do you think you're going?” I said. “I bought you a drink, didn't I? Now finish the story or I'll get really, really angry.” “I didn't think you were interested and I've finished me drink, Mate.” “Don't mate me, you bludger. One more drink and that's it.” “You're a hard man Vince, but I'll accept one more drink,” Danny said graciously. ---- “Now this is where the story gets a little odd,” Danny continued. “I heard a querulous cry, 'Girls, where are you? Heel, right now or no treats', and along the path skipped a little chappy with long white hair and whiskers. He appeared to be wearing a long red nightgown and fluffy slippers 'Oh, there you are, you naughty girls. Daddy's not happy. Now come and sit to heel'. Damn me if they didn't! They crowded around him, licking and panting." “I say, that chap up the tree. Why are you up there?” “I'm getting closer to God.” I told the daft twit. “When you've finished praying, come down and I'll introduce you to my girls.” “Vince, I told him where to go with his girls. He stamped his little foot and pouted. But he wasn't moving. I think he thought he'd found a playmate. Me! I de-treed reluctantly and told him I was lost and could he help me find my way back to the town? “Certainly, my boy,” he said, lingering over a long, limp handshake. “I am Virgil, the resident poet of our little town, Flora. But first I'll introduce you to the girls. This is Moss. This pretty one is Blossom and the last is- can you guess?” “No,” I said to the ranting ratbag. “Not a clue.” “She's Sweetie,” he simpered and the ugly great brute simpered back. “I should have guessed, It was on the tip of me tongue,” I told the moonstruck loon. “I'm Danny, now tell me, Virgil mate, why are you and the dogs out here in the middle of the night?” “A call to arms, Sir. A lady in distress. No nobler cause. My neighbour, Beatrice, a saintly, older lady, was conducting her midnight ablutions in the combination outdoor toilet and garden shed when it was besieged by large grunting, squealing animals. Rocked it to its foundations, she said.” Oopsie! I thought. “Fortunately, she had her phone with her and texted me. The girls and I sprung to the rescue.” “Virgil, you're a wonder. Now can you please point me in the right direction to get back to town.” “I'll do better than that my boy," he trilled. "I'll walk you home and recite some of my poetry for you,” “Oh, great!” Into what circle of hell had I descended? ---- “Danny.” I said, “I don't believe a word of it. I'm hoping you will descend into hell.” Mind you, I'm thinking, what daft twit could make up that load of rubbish.