Hard times as Vinny's dream turns to nightmare

AGAINST THE ODDS:  TO VINNY Fitzpatrick, the wispy-haired curmudgeon peering over half-moon spectacles reminded him of Mister Gradgrind, the fact-obsessed teacher in Hard Times.

It had been nearly 35 years since Vinny had been force-fed one of Charles Dickens's less humorous novels - about the working conditions in the fictional industrialised city of Coketown in 19th-century Britain - by the Christian Brothers in Joey's.

Now, here he was, in Ireland's own version of Coketown being asked what he felt were highly personal questions in a dictatorial manner by someone he had taken rather a dislike to.

The setting was the registration office, where Vinny and his better half, Angie, were being grilled by "Gradgrind" ahead of their nuptials on December 6th.

Without a marriage-registration form, there could be no marriage, hence the presence of Vinny, in his best suit - his only suit - at the registry office on a blustery October Monday morning.

The questions had come thick and fast and, for a while, the boxes were all ticked. Vinny had remembered to bring his driving licence as ID. He had his PPS number and also a cheque for €150 to cover the cost of the form.

Angie confirmed the date of marriage, that it was a civil ceremony, the names and dates of birth of witnesses and details of the venue.

It was all tipping along until Gradgrind pushed his spectacles up onto his forehead, coughed, and said. "Now, I require some information to ensure you two are, shall we say, suitably matched."

He addressed Vinny directly: "You, Sir, can you confirm your full name, date of birth and place of residence?"

"Vincent Finbarr Fitzpatrick, born 31st of December 1957. I live at 1, Causeway Hill, Clontarf," he replied.

"I see," said Gradgrind. "Tell me, have you been married before?"

"No," said Vinny.

"Have you ever cohabitated?"

"Er, no," replied Vinny, adding, "What's that got to do with anything?"

Gradgrind stared Vinny down. "I ask the questions here," he hissed.

"The house you reside at - when did you purchase it and what are your mortgage repayments?"

Vinny felt the blood rushing to his jowls. Who was this pen-pushing geezer to ask about his personal life?

He took a couple of deep breaths before answering.

"It was left to me by my parents. There's no mortgage on the property. I've lived there all my life," he said.

"I see, I see," said Gradgrind. "What is your occupation and what is your annual salary?"

Vinny clenched and unclenched his fists but Angie, leaning over, patted his arm and whispered, "Let's get this over with, love. No head-throws now."

Vinny coughed. "I'm a bus driver with Dublin Bus, where I've worked for 29 years. I'm paid €46,000 a year, not including overtime," he said.

"Hmm," said Gradgrind, continuing, "And how would you say your general health is?"

Vinny blurted out about liking a drink - in moderation, mind - and being a little overweight but that he was about to embark on some radical lifestyle changes.

"Have you any other vices?" queried Gradgrind.

Vinny looked askew at Angie, who shrugged. "Well, I have the occasional bet. Nothing too big, the odd tenner here, 20 there," he said, while crossing his pudgy fingers out of Angie's line of sight. After a pause, Gradgrind lowered his pointy chin and studied Vinny over his glasses.

"I'm getting a picture here, one I'm not sure I'm comfortable with," he said. "In front of me I see a middle-aged man who has never lived with anyone bar his family, has never had to support anyone except himself, and has never left the house in which he grew up. I also see a man who is clearly overweight, patently unfit and reckless with money."

As Vinny shook in silent anger, Gradgrind switched his attention to Angie. He went through the same procedure, asking her full name, birth, address, occupation and so on. Turning on the charm, Angie breezed through the questions with a smile aimed at disarming the dictatorial interrogator opposite.

She crossed and uncrossed her shapely legs, which caused Vinny's heart to flutter but didn't cause Gradgrind to bat an eyelid.

"I'm an eminently practical man," he intoned. "I see a professional lady here, some years younger than her fiancée, I note. Unlike him, she has been married; unlike him, she is a parent and, with no disrespect to bus drivers, is a successful, self-made businesswoman

"Also, unlike her partner, she has had to pay her share of the mortgage on the property where she lives. Indeed, she points out she still has mortgage repayments to meet.

"She is a picture of health and is a model example of citizenship, of someone who has worked her passage in life. I see far greater merit in the character and standing of Ms Mooney than I do in you, Mr Fitzpatrick, I'm afraid to say," he added.

There was a pause while Gradgrind sat back in his chair, arms folded, shaggy eyebrows furrowed. "Having considered all the facts presented to me, I have come to the opinion that this world would be a better place if Ms Mooney didn't marry Vincent Finbarr Fitzpatrick," he said.

"By the rights invested in me, by the founding fathers of the city, I refuse to process your registration for marriage."

Vinny had had enough. "Look, I don't know what you're up to here. But if you want to step outside and sort things out, let's do it now because you're getting under my skin," he snapped.

"Okay I'm not blessed with movie-star looks, I don't live in a fancy house and I may drive a bus for a living but I'm not ashamed of what I am, so don't try and make me feel bad about myself.

"I love Angie, she loves me. It's simple and uncomplicated. We're getting hitched on December 6th, with or without your bloody form," he added, voice shaking.

With that Vinny moved forward towards Gradgrind, swinging a right-hand haymaker. He missed and lost his balance, and as he toppled over put out his hand to break his fall.

It was some time later, he knew not how long, when Vinny came to on the floor of the front room of his homely dwelling in Clontarf. His arm was draped over a cushion.

There had been no Gradgrind, no grilling, no refusal of a marriage-registration certificate. No hard times. Smiling, Vinny slipped the cushion under his head at a comfortable angle and soon fell back to sleep.

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