— The poor cunt.
— All his life.
— Did he die?
— Today.
— No. Same as Shirley?
— Same day, not sure abou’ the time. Yeah, he was always called Shirley. An’ he went bald in his thirties.
— Hang on. Tha’ Shirley? Is she a man?
— Different one – you’re barkin’ up the wrong Shirley. Tha’ Shirley just shaves her head – it’s a lifestyle choice, like. You wouldn’t’ve known this lad. He moved to England, somewhere.
— To get away from bein’ called Shirley.
— Tha’ an’ a job, yeah.
— Come here, but. Shirley Temple. The real one, like – the original one. You know – all those fillums. The little dresses an’ ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’ an’ tha’.
— Wha’?
— It was fuckin’ weird. Wasn’t it?
— Very fuckin’ weird.
7-3-14
— See the city’s full o’ Nazis.
— Wha’?
— Nazis.
— In Dublin?
— So I heard. Bono was talkin’ to them.
— Well, tha’ would turn anyone into a Nazi, havin’ to listen to tha’ cunt. Wha’ was Bono doin’ talkin’ to fuckin’ Nazis?
— There’s a conference of them. In the Convention Centre. The Nazis an’ Fine Gael.
— Hold on. Fine Gael aren’t fuckin’ Nazis.
— Merkel’s there as well.
— She’s not a fuckin’ Nazi. She’s only a German. Yeh can’t be callin’ the Germans Nazis. They’re grand, the Germans. I like Merkel.
— I kind o’ do as well. There’s somethin’ about her – she doesn’t give a shite.
— That’s it. She’s one o’ the lads. Annyway, look it. It’s the European People’s Party that’s in the Convention Centre. They’re not Nazis. They just look a bit odd.
— No uniforms, no?
— No.
— Shite. I was goin’ to bring the grandkids down to have a look at them.
— No, they’re just right of centre. A bunch of heartless cunts, but not Nazis – in fairness. Borin’ as fuck, I’d say. Imagine goin’ for a pint with a gang of Fine Gaelers an’ Christian Democrats from Belgium.
— An’ Bono.
— Fuck sake. Give me the Nazis, anny day.
11-3-14
— See Christine Buckley died.
— Saw tha’. Sad.
— Very sad. Great woman.
— Great fuckin’ woman.
— Wha’ was the name o’ tha’ place, where she exposed the abuse?
— Goldenbridge.
— That’s it. Hard to imagine a place with a name like tha’ could be so fuckin’ evil, isn’t it?
— I know wha’ yeh mean. You’d kind of expect hobbits in a place called Goldenbridge.
— Well, tha’ was the problem, wasn’t it? If the place had been run by hobbits, they’d have looked after those poor kids properly. A bit of love an’ tha’. Not like the fuckin’ nuns, batterin’ them.
— It’s nearly twenty years.
— Wha’?
— Since tha’ programme Christine Buckley was in.
— Yeh serious?
— Yeah. 1996. Said it on the radio. Is the country any better, d’yeh think?
— Well, if it is, it’s because o’ Christine Buckley, an’ them.
— I met her once.
— Did yeh?
— Corner o’ Mary Street an’ Jervis Street. She was standin’ there, like she was waitin’ for someone. An’ I knew I knew her, but I didn’t know her – d’yeh know wha’ I mean? I knew her face. An’ I said, ‘Are you—?’ An’ she goes, ‘That’s right – Diana Ross.’ An’ she bursts ou’ laughin’.
8-4-14
— Peaches Geldof.
— Jesus, man, it’s sad.
— So fuckin’ – just—. Sad.
— I know nothin’ about her. Except she’s Geldof’s daughter an’ she was in the magazines.
— She was only twenty-five.
— Terrifyin’. It’d have yeh wanderin’ around the house, checkin’ the windows.
— Textin’ the kids an’ grandkids, makin’ sure they’re alrigh’.
— Exactly. I drove past my young one’s flat, just to make sure. I didn’t go in or anythin’. I just wanted to – I don’t know – be useful, or somethin’. A father – yeh know?
— Yeah. An’ Mickey Rooney died as well.
— I know nothin’ about him either.
— A child actor, by all accounts.
— Not fuckin’ recently, but.
— He was in a lot o’ fillums with Judy Garland. So they said on the radio.
— The only one o’ hers I seen is The Wizard of Oz, an’ he’s not in tha’, I don’t think. Unless he was one o’ the hobbits.
— Munchkins.
— Yeah. Or – now that I think of it – was he the friendly lion?
— The cowardly lion.
— Fuck off now. There was nothin’ stoppin’ him from bein’ both friendly an’ cowardly. It’s easily managed.
— It wasn’t him. Tha’ was Bert Lahr.
— Okay.
— She had two kids.
— Saw tha’. Two little lads.
- - - - - - - - - - -
22-4-14
— See David Moyes is gone.
— The wrong man at the wrong time.
— That’s not wha’ you were sayin’ last year.
— No, I always had me doubts – in fairness. I never doubted his honesty or his work ethic—
— ‘He’ll be perfect for the job, wait an’ see.’
— Are you fuckin’ readin’ tha’?
— ‘He’s mini-Fergie. A cranky cunt – and I mean that as a compliment.’
— A little black book? Where’d tha’ come from?
— ‘He’s an excellent man motivator and his tactical acumen has long been under-fuckin’-estimated.’
— Yeh fuckin’ prick.
— ‘He’ll be in the job for twenty years. That’s the United way. We’re not like other clubs.’
— Okay. Did yeh never hear of fuckin’ irony, no?
— Goin’ back a few pages. ‘Whoever replaces Fergie, he’ll be given the time to establish himself. We’re not called Man Unitedski.’
— Yeh cunt.
— Here’s another one. ‘That’s why we’re the biggest club in the world. We have values.’
— Well, come here, yeh cunt. You’re not the only one with a black book. Here’s one from way back. ‘There’s no way I’d ever marry tha’ one. She has a mouth on her like a fuckin’ can opener.’
— I never said fuckin’ tha’.
— 22nd of April, 1981.
23-4-14
— Well, the journalists got it right, annyway.
— About David Moyes?
— Yeah.
— They’re fuckin’ brilliant, aren’t they?
— He was never the right man for the job.
— Never.
— We couldn’t see it at first but – thank fuck now – the journalists could.
— He wasn’t even the righ’ man at Everton.
— He was shite there too.
— For eleven years. Pulled the fuckin’ wool over everyone’s eyes.
— It took Roberto Martinez to rescue them. To move them up from sixth to fuckin’ fifth.
— A genius, tha’ fella.
— Buyin’ Aiden McGeady.
— Stroke o’ genius, tha’.
— From Red Star Glasgow, or wherever the fuck he found him.
— Changed the course o’ the club’s history.
— World history.
— Meanwhile Moyes bought Juan Mata.
— A shite player.
— A shite player who was one of the world’s most exciting players, ignored—
— Inex-fuckin’-plicably.
— B
y José Mourinho.
— Until Moyes bought him an’ he became shite overnight.
— Cos o’ Moyes.
— Arrives in Manchester in a helicopter an’ immediately turns to shite.
— An’ we never knew.
— But the journalists did.
— Cunts.
— What about Ryan Giggs?
— He’s only temporary.
— Yeah, but—
— Wha’?
— Is the physio’s wife safe, d’yeh think?
— I’d have me doubts.
25-4-14
— See using your phone while drivin’s been made illegal.
— It’s been illegal for years.
— Yeah, but it’s really illegal now. A thousand-quid fine if you’re caught.
— Yeah, but it’s only for a few days. It’ll be back to normal after the weekend.
— Shockin’ though, isn’t it? First the drink.
— Then the smokin’.
— Now yeh can’t even drive up the quays an’ do your online shoppin’ at the same time.
— There’s no pleasure left in life, is there?
— Last week – listen. I hit a woman with a pram – outside Artaine Castle, righ’. When I was havin’ a quick gawk at the Paddy Power’s website. But – and this is my point, this is why it’s bad law. If I hadn’t been choosin’ a horse, I’d have been goin’ way quicker and I’d have killed the poor woman. And, in fairness, she saw my point, once we got her down off the roof.
— What about the baby?
— Wha’ baby?
— In the fuckin’ pram.
— There wasn’t a baby. It was her husband – her fuckin’ life partner. She was bringin’ him home from the Goblet.
— Was he hurt?
— Fuck’m. He was textin’. So he wasn’t in control of his vehicle.
30-4-14
— See Bob Hoskins is after dyin’.
— Hadn’t seen him in anythin’ for a while.
— He mustn’t have been well.
— No.
— He was one o’ the lads, wasn’t he?
— Brilliant. Just his face – the expressions, yeh know.
—Fabulous. From the very beginnin’. Fuckin’ way back.
— Pennies from Heaven. D’you remember tha’ one?
— I do, yeah. Brilliant. Your one, Gemma Craven, was in it as well.
— I used to like her.
— She was Irish, wasn’t she?
— We won’t hold that against her.
— Mona Lisa.
— There was no way she was fuckin’ Irish.
— The fillum.
— Yeah, yeah – brilliant.
— I didn’t like Roger Rabbit.
— Know wha’ yeh mean. He was an irritatin’ cunt. But Hoskins was good.
— Can’t think of a bad one he was in.
— Cos he was in them.
— Probably, yeah – good point.
— The best, but. The Long Good Friday.
— Ah, Jesus. Magnificent.
— D’you remember the end, in the car, when he knows he’s fucked?
— His face – yeah. Brilliant.
— He was frightened, grand, but he looked nearly happy as well. Impressed, like, tha’ they’d snared him.
— D’yeh think he looked like tha’ this time?
— When he knew he was dyin’?
— Yeah.
— I hope so.
— Me too.
3-5-14
— See Gerry Adams is after bein’ arrested.
— No, you’re wrong there. He went voluntarily.
— But—
— An’ while we’re at it, he was never a member o’ the IRA.
— That’s a load o’—
— And, in fact, he was never even called Gerry Adams.
— Wha’—?!
— An’ there’s no such thing as the IR fuckin’ A.
— Hang on now—
— There never was a man called Gerry Adams. It’s all a creation of the London and Dublin administrations, in cahoots with the media, to undermine Sinn Féin’s election campaign.
— You’ve fuckin’ lost me, bud.
— If there is such a place as Dublin – an’ I have me doubts there as well.
— You’re on your own.
— Not for the first fuckin’ time.
— Gerry Adams isn’t Gerry Adams. That’s the theory, yeah?
— Stands to fuckin’ reason. It’s the only logical conclusion. He’s all a myth. The beard an’ the teeth. An’ the trigger finger. Did I say tha’? I hope not. I fuckin’ deny it.
— They’ve made him up?
— I think so, yeah. The only alternative is tha’ he made himself up an’ got a bit carried away.
— What abou’ Mary Lou?
— What abou’ her?
— Is she real?
— Big time.
4-5-14
— ‘What A Wonderful World’.
— Fuck off.
— Louis Armstrong.
— Fuck off.
— Great song.
— Fuck off.
— Number one in May 1968.
— Fuck off.
— The last time Sunderland beat Man United at Old Trafford.
— Fuck off.
— It stayed at number one for four weeks.
— Fuck off.
— Ah now. Georgie Best scored for United.
— Fuck off.
— Good oul’ Giggsy.
— Fuck off.
— An’ the Class o’ ’92.
— Fuck off.
— Playin’ the United way.
— Fuck off or I’m leavin’.
- - - - -
- - - - -
- - - - -
- - - - -
- - - - - - - -
- -
— Biggest-sellin’ single of 1968.
— Fuck off.
9-6-14
— See Rik Mayall died.
— Sad.
— Desperate. Younger than us.
— Remember The Young Ones?
— Ah, for fuck sake. There was nothin’ like it.
— ‘His name’s Rick. The P is silent.’ Best line, ever.
— I always associate The Young Ones with me first video.
— Yeah – yeah. They both came at about the same time, didn’t they?
— I’d tape The Young Ones an’ watch it when I got home. There was once – when I got the video, like. A chap in work gave me a dodgy one. Debbie Does—
— Dallas.
— No – Dungarvan. It was Irish-made – made me proud. It was fuckin’ rough, I’ll tell yeh. But, annyway. I came in an’ my ma was in the kitchen. She was stayin’ a few days.
— She only lived around the corner.
— Yeah, but me da was howlin’ at the moon.
— Grand.
— So, she says, ‘You said you’d tape Coronation Street for me.’ An’ I thought, ‘Oh, bollix – she’s after seein’ Debbie.
— Oh Jaysis—
— No, it was grand. I’d taped The Young Ones over Corrie. I made her watch it with me, an’ the kids all got up to see, cos she was laughin’ so much.
— That’s nice.
— It is, isn’t it?
11-6-14
— The mother and baby homes.
— Shockin’.
— That’s the thing, but.
— Wha’?
— Yeh kind o’ get used to it, don’t yeh. The stories – all the fuckin’ misery. It’s been goin’ on for years. Am I makin’ sense?
— Kind of. I think so, yeah.
— I thought it was over, d’yeh know what I mean? All the inquiries, and the bishops an’ tha’.
— Consigned to history, like.
— Exactly – spot on. An’ then, when they’re on about eight hundred babies dumped in
a septic tank, or whatever the fuck—
— Nuns with buckets o’ babies.
— Yeah – I mean, I haven’t seen a nun in fuckin’ years, with or without a bucket. They’re like the fuckin’ dinosaurs.
— Long gone.
— We’ll only be seein’ them in cartoons soon. But then— Yesterday, I’m readin’ abou’ the kids in the mother an’ baby homes tha’ were used for vaccine tests. In 1973. An’ I think, ‘Oh – my – Jaysis.’
— I was workin’ in 1973.
— Me too. Or, I wanted to be. But those kids, like.
— They’re younger than us.
— Much younger than us.
— So, it’s not history, is it?
— No, it fuckin’ isn’t. It’s current affairs.
23-6-14
— Three pints.
— One’ll do me.
— No. Three pints is a binge.
— Says who?
— Heard it on the radio. Some fuckin’ survey, or somethin’.
— That’s fuckin’ mad. I’d need three pints before I decide whether to go on a fuckin’ binge or not.
— I worked it out earlier. I’ve been on a fuckin’ binge since 1975. Three pints, two or three times a month, constitutes harmful drinkin’.
— So – wha’? You’ve been drinkin’ yourself to death for nearly forty years?
— Apparently.
— Well, you’re not very fuckin’ good at it, are yeh? Yeh look grand.
— Thanks. I’ll tell yeh wha’ the problem is. An’ it’s not the drinkin’.
— Wha’?
— The drinkin’s grand. I did me own survey an’ most Irish people are happy enough with the amount they drink.
— How many did yeh talk to?
— Just the one.
— Fair enough.
— The problem is, the fuckers – the doctors – tha’ do these surveys. They haven’t a fuckin’ clue what a good binge is. They’ve no righ’ to use the word.
— It’s ours.
— Exactly. So they can fuck off. Three pints in a row isn’t a national crisis. It’s a fuckin’ necessity. It’s probably the only thing tha’ stops us from bein’ Swiss.
25-6-14
— Yeh have to admire Suarez, all the same.
— Go on – why?
— Well, if yeh were goin’ to bite an Italian—