Over the years, I’ve made many public service announcements in this newsletter in an attempt to make life easier to navigate for us all. Normally, these announcements are immediately preceded by some mishap by yours truly. These have included speeding tickets I didn’t deserve, gas leaks that nearly blew my kitchen up, eye drop-induced temporary blindness, wrongdoings committed against me, and an assortment of idiotic moments. Well, I have another one.

Catherine has gotten into eating a lot of beans recently. (Please, no jokes.) Red beans. Butter beans. White beans. Chickpeas. Black beans. You name it. She has fallen in love with a company called ‘The Bold Bean Co.’ for their posh beans. I would be too afraid to ask her if she loves me as much as those beans. They have these amazing recipes that are a taste sensation and are now a staple in the Heaney household. They are delicious.

Several weeks ago, on a Sunday evening, Catherine was preparing dinner, and she asked me to open the big glass jar of chickpeas. The lid was a bit tight. I said ‘No problem honey’ and swooped into action, keen to impress her with my strength and not let those beans steal my thunder.

That lid was really on there. Properly stuck. I sat at the kitchen table and flexed my biceps. To no avail. But Catherine wasn’t looking so it was fine. Ego still intact. I stood up and tensed my stomach and every muscle in my body and tried again. No joy.

I realised it was time to stop messing around, so I went under the sink to get the marigold gloves. To be sure, I put both of them on. And I squeezed with all my might. At this point, I was sweating, red in the face and cursing expletives at this mo?!*$ %@!*?& jar.

Catherine had now realised I wasn’t succeeding and asked me if I was ok. I just stood there panting. It was time to get medieval on this jar. I departed for the garage. In the garage I had all sorts of tools and also a pair of thicker black rubber gloves.

I won’t go into the gory details of what happened in the garage that day, and thankfully, no one could hear my screams, but I wrestled with that jar, at times on the floor, for a good 15 minutes. I ran it under boiling hot water. I ran it under freezing cold water.  And it still defied me. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghh!

I collected myself as best I could and walked back inside.

With eyes down and my head hung low, I admitted to my wife that I had failed and could not open this jar. Catherine simply took the jar and, in one smooth movement, pierced the lid with a corkscrew. The vacuum seal released, and the jar was open. Glorious chickpeas were her reward.

I could have cried. I didn’t know that was possible. I have never been defeated by a jar before. My hands were red, raw and a shaking wreck. The muscles in my right hand had formed into a claw shape, and I had to massage them back into life. 

It is now weeks later, and my hand is still not right. I confided in some friends that I had sustained an injury while failing to open a jar of posh chickpeas, and they accused me of having the most middle-class injury they ever saw. Who needs friends, eh?

So I do recommend The Bold Bean Co. for great beans (www.boldbeanco.com) that taste superior in every way, but do not attempt to open these jars without a corkscrew nearby. They will rob you of your self-esteem, so don’t even try it. Corkscrew every time.

Conor