Two More Pints (7 page)

— S'pose.

— They're only a bit mad. Wha' they are is cold-blooded businessmen an' the madness is actually an asset. It's wha' you'd be lookin' for in the job interview, like. ‘Would yeh work well as part of a team?' ‘I'd shoot the fuckin' team.' ‘You're in.'

— Okay.

— But the Americans. Like the latest one – a Buddhist with a history o' violence. Yeh couldn't make it up.

— Stop there now. Your man over there – don't fuckin' look!

— Tonto?

— Yeah – Tonto. He's a fuckin' Buddhist.

— Is he?

— Kind of a Catholic Buddhist, but yeah. An' he has a history of violence. An' here's the point. He's still violent. He'd kill us all now, except – why?

— He doesn't want to be barred.

— And?

— He doesn't have a gun.

— Exactly. There's mad fellas everywhere but in America they give them guns.

— See Stephen Ireland's granny died.

— About fuckin' time.

— Jesus, man. That's fuckin' harsh.

— Yeah – okay. I'm sorry for her troubles.

— She's dead.

— Grand. An' it's sad. But it can't've been easy bein' that prick's granny. Sure, he announced she died – how long ago?

— Six years.

— Is it six?

— Yeah.

— Where did they fuckin' go?

— Incredible, isn't it? I can't even remember now why exactly he said she'd died.

— Did he not say tha' more than one granny died?

— A selection of them, yeah. They all denied it.

— Some fuckin' tulip. Imagine not playin' for your country.

— I've never played for me country, so I find it easy to imagine.

— Yeh know what I mean. You get the call—

— At my age?

— No, listen—

— I was always shite at football.

— Just listen. Yeh get the call. No. One of your grandkids – a few years down the line – gets called up to play for Ireland.

— Okay.

— You'd be chuffed.

— Oh yeah.

— But he says he can't play cos his grandda's after dyin'.

— Tha' would be me, would it?

— Yeah.

— An' I wouldn't be dead.

— No.

— I think I'd see the funny side.

— Would yeh, but?

— No.

— See Dublin is the twentieth most reputable city in the world.

— Tha' right? What's above us? Baghdad, Limerick, the other African one – what's it? – Kajagoogoo. An' Damascus. Am I righ'?

— No, you're way off. It's based on reputation.

— Yeah.

— Good reputation.

— Good?

— Yeah.

— I think that's the first time I've ever heard ‘good' go beside ‘reputation'. I remember, this cunt of a Christian Brother – this was me first day in secondary school – he grabbed me by the hair beside me ear an' he said he'd heard I had a reputation an', I'll tell yeh, it wasn't a fuckin' compliment. There was nothin' good about it. Stamped me for life, it did.

— Well—

— The wife even hesitated when the fuckin' priest asked her if she wanted me to be her lawfully wedded husband.

— Did she?

— She looked at the best man – my fuckin' best man – an' he nodded, an' then she said, ‘I do.' It was touch an' go, but.

— Who was the best man?

— That's a different story. But these fuckin' polls. They're all me hole, aren't they?

— Hang on.

— Wha'?

— I was your best man.

— No, yeh weren't. Were yeh?

— Think so.

— Fuck. Wha' weddin' am I rememberin' then?

— Wha' colour are your kids' eyes?

— Ah Jesus. Is this me local or
University Challenge
?

— Okay. An easier one. How many kids have yeh? Is it the four?

— Think so, yeah. I get them confused with the grandkids.

— Same here. But you've four, yeah?

— Yeah.

— Grand. Movin' on, so. Eye colour?

— Okay. Righ'. There's three blues, like herself, an' a brown.

— One brown?

— One kid, two fuckin' eyes – both brown.

— Okay. Say the Guards came into your house an' took him away cos one o' your neighbours said he looked nothin' like the other kids.

— Wha' neighbour?

— Don't worry about the fuckin' neighbour. Stay with me. You'd have to show proof tha' he was yours – a DNA test an' tha'. An' you'd be the first item on the mornin' news an' the RTE crime correspondent would be there, even though no crime was committed. It'd be fuckin' appallin'.

— Yeah, but the blue-eyed kid in Greece—

— That's the thing, but. Here, like. In fuckin' Ireland. A blue-eyed kid in among the dark eyes. A little angel in with the gyppos. Must be stolen. But a dark-eyed kid in among all the fair hair? Where's the fuckin' crime correspondent then?

— At home.

— See Lou Reed died.

— Wha'?

— Lou Reed.

— He's after dyin'?

— Yeah.

— He can't've.

— I know wha' yeh mean. But he has.

— But – he – ah, fuck it.

— Sorry.

— There are – listen. There are the ones tha' die young—

— Like Hendrix.

— Yeah. Amy Winehouse an' tha'. An' there are the ones tha' don't die. Ever.

— Keith Richards.

— Exactly. An' Iggy Pop.

— An' Lou.

— You're positive about this now?

— Yeah. He's definitely dead. It was in the news.

— Fuck.

— He was good.

—He was fuckin' brilliant. Remember tha' one, ‘Vicious'?

— I do, yeah.

— I smashed me ankle cos o' tha' song.

— How come?

— Dancin'. Fell off me fuckin' platforms.

— Yeh wore platforms?

— Once. Bought the fuckin' things tha' day. Executin' one o' me dance moves on the kitchen floor – an' gone. Jesus, m'n, the fuckin' pain. It still gives me grief when the weather's damp.

— Great song, but.

— No argument. Tha' whole album,
Transformer
– one o' the best.

— ‘Walk on the Wild Side' – he shaved his legs an' became a she.'

— When yeh hear words like tha', when you're a teenager. In the early 70s, like.

— Did yeh ever shave your legs?

— No. Decided against.

— Same here. How's the ankle?

— Fuckin' killin' me.

— See the chap with no arms was convicted for arms possession.

— Wha' the fuck are you on about now?

— It was in the news. The body parts they found in Meath. An arm found in the woods an' the torso in the river an' tha'.

— What exactly is a fuckin' torso, an'annyway?

— I know what yeh mean – where does it start an' end. Annyway, they named the fella that owned the various bits – the Guards did. They knew him, an' he had a prior conviction for arms possession. It'd make yeh laugh.

— No.

— No. You're probably righ'. It's ironic, but.

— Everythin's fuckin' ironic. Isn't it? These days. Do we even know what it fuckin' means?

— Only kind of.

— I forgot me keys – oooooh, that's fuckin' ironic.

— Calm down, for fuck sake. Yeh goin' home early to watch
Love/Hate
?

— Fuckin' sure. Have to watch it live.

— Best thing ever on Irish telly.

— No argument. Come here, they'll probably find an arm that used to be owned by a fella tha' did time for arms possession.

— That'd be a bit far-fetched.

— True. But the lads diggin' up your man's dead ma last week was brilliant, wasn't it?

— Class.

— See Yasser Arafat was poisoned.

— Was he? Hang on but – is he not dead?

— I just told yeh. He was poisoned.

— A good while – did he not die ages ago?

— 2004.

— So, why – just to be clear. He was the Palestinian fella, yeah?

— Yeah.

— With the scarf.

— That's Yasser.

— So, why did it take so long to find this ou'? Was it the HSE did the tests?

— They had to dig him up – exhume him, like – to prove it.

— Wha' was it – Chinese?

— Why would the fuckin' Chinese poison Yasser Arafat? No, the smart money's on the Israelis.

— No – the food, I meant.

— Chinese food?

— Yeah.

— For fuck sake.

— Are yeh seriously tellin' me there isn't a Chinese takeaway in Bethlehem?

— Listen—

— Kung Po Camel.

— It was radioactive polonium.

— Then it was the Russians. That's their department. Or—

— Wha'?

— The Shinners.

— Sinn Féin killed Yasser Arafat?

— Maybe.

— Come on – fuckin' how?

— Shergar.

— The horse?

— They sold him to the Chinese.

— The Palestinian Chinese?

— An' the Russians injected the stuff into Shergar. The Kung Po camel was really Kung Po poisoned racehorse.

— What abou' the Israelis?

— They hadn't a clue.

— Was Gerry Adams in the IRA?

— Is he dead?

— No. Was he in the RA?

— 'Course he was.

— He keeps sayin' he wasn't.

— He's lyin'.

— How d'yeh know?

— It's obvious.

— But how can yeh know? For certain, like. Were you in the IRA?

— Don't be fuckin' thick. Yeh might as well ask me did I play for Tranmere Rovers.

— Now you're the one bein' fuckin' thick. Tranmere Rovers never shot an' ‘disappeared' innocent people. Did they?

— Not as far as we know. But, look it, John Aldridge managed them for a while an' Aldo would never do annythin' like tha'. Or anny of the Italia 90 squad.

— What about Roy?

— Roy wasn't in Italy.

— But Adams.

— He's lyin'.

— Yeah. Why, but?

— He's been sayin' it for fuckin' years. It's part of the story – the fuckin' narrative.

— So he can't back down?

— He can. But he won't. But I'll tell yeh wha' he can do.

— Wha'?

— He can fuck off to his cottage in Donegal an' live with his memories.

— Retire?

— Yep. Get off the stage an' let Mary Lou an' the other young fella take over. It must kill all those relatives every time tha' lyin' prick opens his mouth.

— See Ireland is the best country in the world for business.

— Fuck that drivel.

— It's official – it was in a magazine.

—
Shoot
?

—
Forbes.

— Yeh know wha' that fuckin' means then? Just change ‘best country' to ‘country where you can do what yeh want and no one'll give much of a fuck', then you'll know why we're top o' the list.

— Ah now, that's a bit cynical.

— ‘Young, educated workforce' means ‘no tax'.

— Okay, okay – sit down. Where are we on Nigella?

— We're not on Nigella. That's the problem. She's a great young one.

— She's fifty-three.

— Exactly.

— She took cocaine.

— Even better. I love her. Anyway, she only took the cocaine when her first husband was dyin'.

— So she says.

— Yeh doubt her? Yeh cunt. When my first wife died—

— Hang on, hang on – fuck. Wha' first wife? Were you married before?

— No.

— Then what the fuck are yeh on abou'?

— Empathy.

— Wha'?!

— I imagined I had a first wife, dyin', like – just to see if I'd snort cocaine as well.

— And did yeh?

— Ah, yeah.

— Wha' was she like?

— The first wife?

— Yeah.

— Lovely.

— A bit like Nigella – was she?

— A bit, yeah.

— Just like mine, so.

— See Mandela's after pushin' Nigella off the front pages.

— Anyone else, I'd've been furious.

— Great man.

— That's puttin' it fuckin' mildly. Just walkin' out of tha' jail – d'yeh remember?

— I never thought somethin' as ordinary as watchin' someone goin' for a walk could be so incredible.

— D'you remember the Dunne Stores women?

— The strikers? I do, yeah. The wife's cousin was one o' them.

— Amazin', really. There we were, eatin' South African oranges an' tha'—

— Outspan.

— That's right – Jesus. And your woman on the checkout—

— Was it Mary Manning?

— Think so. She refuses to handle them. An' she's suspended an' there's the strike an' we all stop buyin' the oranges an' then the government bans them.

— Tha' would've been before Mandela got out o' jail.

— Yeah. Great fuckin' women.

— Nigella would've joined them.

— Probably, yeah. And d'you remember the day he came to Dublin?

— Same day the Irish team came home from Italy.

— That's righ' – Italia 90.

— Best tribute to him really, isn't it? The best Irish footballer ever an' the best politician in the world, side by side in the one chant.