The Almond Bun Trilogy (2) – The Bun Strikes Back

There’s a garage I pass every day on Dorset Street called “George Cosgrave Cars”. Except it isn’t really called that. The sign is made of big plastic letters, three-dimensional if y’know what I mean. If you could hold up the “G” on it, it would be kinda cubic as opposed to flat. I’m not sure if there’s lights inside them, but they’re the kind of letters that were probably built and hung up on the front of the garage separately. So imagine, if you will, the process involved in creating this sign, advertising Mr Cosgrave’s business to the passing public. Mr Cosgrave asks the sign company for a quote on a sign. The sign company asks him what he wants it to say. “George Cosgrave Cars”. “Ok” says the sign company “would you like that in two-dimensional or three-dimensional format?” “What do you mean?” asks Mr Cosgrave. “Well with two-dimensional, you’ll have your name up there for everyone to see and it’ll do the job you want it to.” says the sign company. “So why mention the three-dimensional option?” asks Mr Cosgrave. “A three-dimensional sign will give your company an edge, it’ll give your company the depth that two dimensions just doesn’t give. It wouldn’t be just print on a wall; it’d be objects protruding from it. And do you know what those objects would spell out? The name of YOUR company. Your company cannot afford to ignore the vast potential of a three-dimensional sign. It would be more than a sign, it would be a landmark!!”

“But how much would it cost?” asks George. “Naturally, it’ll cost more than the two-dimensional sign. You’re talking about the craft and skill that goes into constructing each and every letter in the name of your glorious company, not only giving it length and width but also depth. Depth is the factor here, in the future there will be two types of company. Those with depth. And those without, who will also be without the car-buying custom of the good people of Dublin 1. You, my friend, will most definitely be with.”

So George puts down the deposit and the signmakers get to work on their newest contract. Each character in the name of the company is carefully stencilled out, using a standard and familiar Arial font. Each letter about three foot high, two foot across AND not only that, they’re also a full twelve inches DEEP. It took around two weeks to individually construct every single letter. At the end of those two weeks, the men from the sign company came out and installed the sign in it’s prominent position above the second floor windows of the garage. The sign, clear for all to see on Dorset Street across the road from the Big Tree pub, reads:

“GEORGE COSGRAVE CAR’S”

Each character, individually designed, created and installed and not one person working on the process of turning Mr Cosgrave’s vision into reality noticed the “CAR’S” fiasco. Which brings me to the horrible realisation that a person working in the sign company constructed a comma which was entirely unnecessary. A comma whose presence could only be justified if the sign was referring to something about a car belonging to George Cosgrave himself. For example; “George Cosgrave Car’s rear-view mirror”. Even in that unlikely circumstance, an extra comma and S would be needed after “Cosgrave”. But this is all speculation; the fact is, otherwise known as “what I’m getting at with all this”, that this sign, with it’s entirely unnecessary comma, is possibly the biggest public display of stupidity since hordes of angry parents protesting against child abuse on a housing estate in Portsmouth last summer descended on the homes of registered paediatricians, demanding that they leave their area. And the worst thing in my opinion is thinking of all the staunchly unionist Nigels and Barbaras heading down to “the South” for cheap shopping and taking in the sights of the N1, of which Dorset Street is part. What must they think? After enduring inhuman traffic in Dundalk, maniacs over-taking them in souped-up Hondas across the Bridge of Peace outside Drogheda, Gardai standing beside mangled Fiestas on the roadside near Balbriggan, more jams at Swords, half of the M1 from the airport to Whitehall taken up with Port Tunnel works and finally they reach the leafy glades of Drumcondra and they begin to say to each other “It doesn’t seem all that bad, I don’t know why we don’t come here more often?” Then they see George Cosgrave and his inexcusably simple and highly visible grammatical error, slap their foreheads and turn back to Norn Iron. George Cosgrave has a lot to answer to.