It's completely typical this - completely bloody typical -
the Russian's leaving that is; or at least the manner of it - so typically
contrary - so typically contradictory; but it makes sense when you come to
think about it doesn't it - it makes perfect sense. I mean everything she ever
did while she was here was a contradiction, so why should her leaving be any
different?
She is - I think - quite the rudest person I've ever met. In
fact 'rude' isn't really the word, 'rude' doesn't quite do justice to the sheer
unadulterated contempt that she can
express for someone's very being just
because they've had the cheek - the motherfucking
temerity - to ask for a pint of strongbow and black on a Monday night.
But, to her friends, I've also never met a more truthful
person. A more honest person. Honest
even though it might cost her - even though she knows it isn't what the person she's
talking to wants to hear and even though she knows that they might doubt her
motives for saying what she's saying - and, indeed, not just her motives, but
also doubt her friendship entirely for what she's said. But even so, she's
still honest. Because that's what friendship is. Or at least the way she sees
it, anyway.
And I admire that a great deal.
I also don't think that I've ever met a more judgemental
person before - "really, is she
actually wearing that dress? With those legs? How old is she? That is
definitely not fresh."
But, to her friends, there's nobody quicker to help pick
someone up when they fall - no matter the cause of their fall or their failing.
[As I said, she's a contradiction - well she's actually more
like a contradiction, wrapped in a paradox balancing on ridiculously high heels
and wearing an inappropriately short skirt].
There's nobody I know more dismissive of people's failings,
their shortcoming and their weaknesses, than Iryna - but there's also nobody I
know more fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. Come the zombie
apocalypse I'll happily have her guarding my back any day….unless there are
mirrors around, that is - if there are mirrors about all bets are off - she'll
be checking herself out in a mirror and I'll be being turned into the Walking
Dead by a horde of flesh eating zombies.
[Just on a side note: part of the reason that Iryna is so
dismissive of people's failings is very much the thing which I love about her
the most - and that reason is the fact that she herself is so resilient and
courageous. There's no challenge she won't meet, no fight she won't fight; and
I admire that a great deal - mainly because my own personal motto is more along
the lines of 'no pie he won't eat, no challenge he won't back away from saying
'actually I think I'd better go and check if I left the iron on']
And so it makes sense that as she leaves we're caught in
this paradox - this contradiction.
I'm incredibly happy - and proud - of her for doing what
she's done. For giving herself this chance for a normal life - to get out there
in the world and live beyond the pub - to do the things she's spent half her
life wanting to get out and do; of course I am.
But at the same time I'm also tremendously sad to see her
go. Look at it this way: apart from her one year break I've seen Iryna pretty
much every day for the last 7 years - that's more than most of us see our
family. Of course I'm sad….and happy.
And hence the contradiction.
(Even in leaving she still manages to be infuriating).
Of course that's all the gay personal stuff. What
about Iryna as a manager, then?
Well, she could most definitely roll. Could roll hard, in
fact. Most definitely could do that.
Could serve like a demon, flirt with the blokes (all of them - at once) and
joke with the women. Run that pub like clockwork even in the middle of mayhem
and chaos at quarter past one in the morning, with the glasses stacking up, the
pot boy gone AWOL, the doormen on strike
and the drinkers on the edge of open thirsty revolt.
She could silence a crowd of great big six ft blokes who
were about to start swinging punches - just with a word and a look; and get the
most dour of old hardened drinkers showing her pictures of their grandchildren
after a couple of minutes of chat.
When she was behind that bar it was hers - she owned it. She
was the mad Russian captain of our little drunken ship.
Ladies and gentlemen - the Russian has left the building.
Salute her; we won't see her like again.
