There is a short river walk near me that optimistically calls itself the “Millennium Park.” I go there a couple of times a day to walk the dog, or maybe it’s the other way around.

Actually, river life is quite fascinating and I have seen otters on the riverbank and we even have a seal in our river and he and I have given each other the hairy eyeball some mornings. You’re never far from a rat of course, the rabbits are in abundance and hard at it too and the bird life is as varied as it is delightful. With clear skies in the early morning the jet trails from the States to Europe and back again, criss-cross the skies. Ships up to five hundred feet in length can pass you any morning and air traffic from Cork Airport often does its turns eastward to Heathrow over your head while you stroll along watching to see if the dog is taking a shit anywhere someone could step in it.

All very idillic I hear you think and it is except for the inevitable dozy holes to spoil it. You see, because it is a stretch of city river, the local authorities thoughtfully provide lifebuoys along the river’s banks for the possible unfortunates. They are in bright orange heavy plastic containers, wrapped in long ropes, (The life buoys, not the unfortunates), so that if you were to encounter some poor soul struggling in the water, you could literally throw out a lifeline. And yet there are home-grown langers whose night on the piss in town would not be complete without opening one of these bright orange containers and fucking the contents  into the river for no reason other than to tickle their own innate stupidity.

A few weeks back i was frantically waving at a small speedboat to rescue one such life buoy I saw floating near the bank on my side. In fairness to the guy, he detoured, picked it up and assured me he was from the local boat club and would return it to its rightful owner. Last week I saw one, tantalisingly out of reach, just float by me but later that morning at high tide, one of the other dog walkers I know, fished it out and lay it by a bollard for Council workers to retrieve. Three days later it was gone but I was to learn  later that some gormless fuck had simply tossed it back in when nobody was looking.

Which brings me to my evil thoughts.

Seething with righteous indignation as I stroll, I imagine in my mind’s eye the dopey empty space who thinks he’s a genius, firstly throwing the life buoy in and then minutes later, falling in himself. I have a vision which I relish as I walk along. The dope in the river is calling, “Help, Help,” and naturally full of concern initially, I rush down to the nearest orange container, only to find it empty. “Some fucking absolute prick has taken the life buoy,” I shout to the now drowning waste of space in the river. “What?” is his plaintive cry back to me. Then, and only then, in my mind’s eye at any rate, does the full crass ignorance of his make-up, dawn on him. The full nastiness of his whole useless persona comes home to roost where it belongs. And as a result of his drowning, the Council populate the riverbank with even more of these wonderful life saving devices. This morning early, I saw two such orange floaters sailing aimlessly down the central channel and out to sea and the evil thoughts returned with a vengeance.

But some way or other, those evil thoughts sustain me and give me relief!