After the storms, the traffic was backed up on the Clontarf Road on Monday morning to the extent that the 130, like many other Dublin Bus routes, was not so much running late, as crawling late.

Not only were the city’s arteries clogged, but the bus shelters were jammers too following the temporary closure of the Dart due to damaged overhead lines at Raheny and Kilbarrack.

In his cosy cabin, for the heaters were on full blast, Vinny Fitzpatrick was conscious he was already over capacity and was forced to leave some folks behind, which pained him greatly.

At the stop by the ‘The Schooner’ pub, for example, he was unable to find room for Gwen Cadwalader, a long-standing customer and leading light in the Clontarf Warblers, the local choral society.

As Vinny shrugged resignedly, and raised his hands in supplication, the blue-rinse octogenarian had thwacked her brolly passionately on the bus doors. “You have a duty to bring us into town, Vincent,” she implored.

If the 56-year-old wore the pained look of a man suffering from piles, it wasn’t just because he was leaving his regulars stranded. He had other troubles too.

Financially, he was in a pickle as his wagering had become increasingly wayward and his biscuit tin stash was down to bare crumbs. With Ruby Walsh back in the saddle after surgery, he badly needed ammo.

Lack of income

A lack of income wasn’t helped by his daughter Niamh pitching tent in Brian Boru Avenue, where he could hardly charge her rent.

Not that he begrudged her a bit of it; he’d happily let her stay there forever it if meant she was safe from the heavy-handed greasy so-and-so, who called himself her husband. There were also the state’s punitive charges galloping at him and Angie thick and fast, the latest being the water ruse.

As scams go, it was the most underhand scheme by a government which was in for a rude awakening at the next general election – Vinny had half a mind to stand as an independent again in the new-look Dublin Bay North constituency, under the slogan, “Let’s Flush ‘Em Out”.

What was troubling Vinny most of all, wasn't to do with fiscal or flutter affliction; rather the state of play at Goodison Park, home of his beloved Everton. The Premier League table never lies and Everton's position of 17th out of 20, one place above the drop zone, couldn't be ignored.

One win from seven games, the most goals conceded in the division, including six to Chelsea, was relegation form and brought to mind Captain Boyle's comment in Juno And The Paycock – "the whole world's in a terrible state of chassis".

Everton blue

Vinny’s world had revolved around Everton blue for over 50 years, since their title win in 1963, the year he first met his childhood hero, Tommy “Eggo” Eglington.

For all the peaks, and a fair few troughs since, Vinny never passed up a chance to remind the lads in Foley’s of Everton’s tungsten-like Irish link, and the club’s 60-year unbroken membership of the top flight of English football.

Right now, that participation was in jeopardy and Vinny could feel a shiver in his creaky timbers.

As he shifted the bus into second gear and trundled on for 50 yards before grinding to a halt – even the bus lanes were backed up – Vinny had a grim sense of foreboding.

Everton didn't expect to be where they were, unlike QPR, Burnley and Palace, all serial scrappers, for whom 36 points was the high water mark of the season. For Everton, the ambitions were more lofty under manager Roberto Martinez but Vinny felt his boys in blue were in for a rocky ride.

If they seemed a little distracted – most recently against the dreaded Red Rags on Sunday – it was because the Europa League was proving just that, a distraction.

Mid-week trips to France, Germany and far-off Russia were fine and dandy when they came wrapped up in expensive Champions League bunting, but the low-key Europa League was a grim supporting act.

By December 14th, when QPR were due up at Goodison, Everton would have crammed in another three European group games. “And God knows where we will be by then,” said Vinny aloud.

It didn't help that Seamus Coleman and James McCarthy, two of the club's brightest talents, were missing from the trenches through injury – which was grim tidings for Ireland too with the Euro qualifiers coming up.

Riddle

As for Aiden McGeady, he remained a riddle. Capable of lighting up any game, the Glaswegian conjurer could also vanish down a tunnel by the corner flag at the start of games, only to re-emerge at the final whistle.

All decent wingers were judged on crosses, assists and the odd goal. For McGeady, one goal in 25 appearances, so far, for Everton wasn’t quite in the class of Eggo, who chalked up 76 league goals in 394 games and once scored five against Doncaster.

Another Irish lad, Darron Gibson, was fit again after injury but seemed incapable of threading a pass longer than five yards, in contrast to his early days at United when he had hair and a far greater range of passing.

As he considered Everton’s plight, Vinny heard a sharp rat-a-tat-tat at the door as he nudged into the stop at Clontarf Road station. It was Gwen Cadwalader, brandishing her umbrella again.

Admiring the old lady’s tenacity for tracking the bus, he opened the doors with a resigned smile. “We’ve always room for a super trouper like you, Gwen,” he said.

Hauling herself into the chariot, the old-timer wheezed for a bit before bending down towards Vinny.

“I couldn’t afford to be late for my hair appointment, Vincent,” she said as demurely as possible for a lady of her vintage. “One has to make the most of what one has at our stage in life.”

At that, Vinny let out his first belly laugh of the day. “Good on ye Gwen, my aul segotia. Sure, blue is my colour too,” he grinned.