On Saturday afternoon, we headed to the Polo Club to watch the Hurling All Stars Challenge. As you of course know, hurling is…er…um…an Irish sport I have no hope in hell of explaining properly to you. See here for description.
Here are two hurling-related exchanges.
#1 (On the way to the match.)
Me: Traffic is bad, it looks like we might be late.
Alec: Oh, it’s all right. Each half will be 40 minutes long.
Me: But by the time we show up, it might be hurlf time!
#2 (Shouted conversation in Zouk later that night.)
Me: Pity you couldn’t join us for the hurling.
Jacob: Yeah, pity. It’s got some nostalgic appeal for me.
Me: Oh, why?
Jacob: When I was at boarding school, at end of term there would be this traditional ________ [insert name of Scottish equivalent of hurling, I didn’t catch it] match, and it was between the normal pupils and the prefects.
Me: I WAS A PREFECT YOU ASSHOLE WHAT DID YOU DO???!!
Jacob: Well, my “favourite” prefect lost a tooth.