One of the lads coughed into his elbow. I stepped back from the laptop. There was a movie on the television lately and these mutants came out through the screen and did horrible things to people in their own living room.
The trad lads were worse. It was 3am and I couldn't sleep. I was worrying the night away.
Much as I wanted to, I couldn't escape the awful music. I was transfixed by the screechy banshee fiddle playing.
The man black-guarding the accordion elongated the instrument to its widest. It was like a fisherman showing the length of the one that got away. The rush of wounded wind was a death rattle.
I vented there in our sitting room. The lads brought out the worst in me. Which was good in a way, as it saved my loved ones, or the cellmates, as I call them.
Then I thought of a plan. Those who open up their pubs behind closed doors and their customers should be forced to listen to the Corona Ceili Band. They'd be begging for jail after two tunes.
I know some of you are under awful financial pressure but this isn't like letting in some of the gang for a lock-in. This is a lock-in, in a lockdown. You are giving us all a bad name and you are putting our own people in the way of fatal harm.
Then one of the two sang a long, lonesome republican song with more verses than the Book of Psalms.
The singer hit a high note. It was the shriek from a man who catches his penis in the zip.
The last time I heard a republican dirge it changed the course of Irish history. 'Come out ye Black and Tans' brought down a government.
Strange isn't it, that so many people didn't check on the success of the Government in bringing down the unemployment rate to just over 5pc, We will need those skills again.
The virus gave the Government the chance to atone for mistakes made in the past. It learned from experience that straight talking is the only way. The Government has gone from a group of forlorn losers to forever heroes.
The dangers of populism are now hitting home. Our friends in the United States and Britain will suffer many unnecessary casualties. They have been downed by friendly fire. There was no stopping the Corona Ceili Band. The dynamic duo played a polka with their eyes closed. They were heading for the other world on the primeval thoroughfare of Celtic mysticism.
Maybe they didn't see the comment on FB Live, seeing as their eyes were closed. It was from a music lover. "By any chance lads, are ye playing 'The Bats of Wuhan'?"
I couldn't take any more and before long I found myself tuned into an online Q&A.
One of the participants asked: "Is it OK to have sex during the pandemic?"
"It depends who with," was the best answer.
The virus, or the wirus, has changed the way we relate. The V in north Kerry is as silent as our pub.
The online forum on lovemaking got me thinking of what will happen indoors.
The next time Herself says she has a headache, I am fairly certain there will be no "ah go on, ah go on, sure won't it pass the day?"
The randy man will take her word, in the times that are in it; and in a reversal of the usual relationship etiquette, he'll banish Herself to the spare room. And if he sniffles and coughs up a small planet, Herself will hardly say "will you shut up complaining, it's only man-flu".
Now the response will be to commit Himself to self-isolation and book him a ticket for Croke Park and the testing.
'Tis nearly four now, and I'm typing away. Some of my detractors might say these columns have being putting them to sleep for years.
Strange the things that go through your head at this hour of the night.
I was just thinking now that bad and all as things are, there are always those who are worse off.
Here I am worrying away and I only own a small pub on the side of a hungry street. The owners of the multi-billion Bats are not loved right. The Batman franchise must be up all night. Will Batman go the way of Corona lager? Is Robin entitled to the €305 a week Covid-19 pay from the department?
Find out next week here in the next episode.
The other person who is worse off is the town drunk. He reminds me of the lads who used to hang around the street corner hoping for a Good Friday pint back in the days when we had to close.
He is barred from our pub for life and if it was possible to bar him for longer, well then I would. The enforced abstinence is doing the drunk no harm at all, but you can see he is gasping for drink. One of my sources told me the town toper complained "my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth". Ah you poor oul' cratur.
The town drunk is old-school and drinking at home will do him no good at all because there is no one at home for him to annoy, other than himself.
Among the debris, small flowers bloom in the spring sunshine.
'The Avondhu' is a local newspaper of great quality. They post me a copy every week.
The regionals are suffering badly. The cost is less than the price of a frothy coffee. The coffee lasts only a few minutes. The paper will do you the most of a week. Them indoors might read the real news and come the next election, they will be full of due diligence.
You owe it to Ireland to buy the paper.
The coffee can only be consumed by one person.
A newspaper is communal property.
This diamond in the rough appeared in the entertainment section of last week's 'Avondhu', a small local paper with a big heart.
The 'Avondhu' heading is: "One of the unexpected consequences of Covid-19: Where once you'd be sneezing to hide a fart, now we fart to hide a sneeze."