Two More Pints

by Roddy Doyle

— 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.

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  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’.

  — Sad, tha’.

  — 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’.

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  — 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—