Tommy: Howaya Peteen.
Peteen: Hah?
T: Howaya Peteen.
P: Hah?
T: HOWAYA PETEEN.
P: HOWAYA TOMMY.
T: ANY CHANCE YOU MIGHT TURN THE HEARING AID ON?
P: OK
T: Good Man. Tell us about New Years Eve 1907.
P: Who wants to know?
T: It’s me. Tommy Gilmartin, from the far bog. You’re nephew.
P: Oh, Mikey’s youngest son, the nosey little bollox with the girls hair, is it?
T: Er, yeah, I suppose so.
P: I never liked you.
T: Ok. Any chance you might tell us about New Years Eve 1907.
P: They said you were queer.
T: Lookat, I can go and talk to old Stevie Vaughan just as quick.
P: No doubt. He is queer too.
T: Allright, good luck. But there was a bit of cash in it.
P: New Years Eve 1907? Times was hard.
T: “Times was hard.” Look Peteen, I’m not a fucking yank y’know. I’m
asking about New Years Eve – not the conditions in the workhouse during the famine.
P: Fuck off so.
T: I will. And I’ll take the hundred and fifty euro fee with me.
P: New Years Eve 1907. I spent it in a hay barn hiding out from the Tans.
T: The Tans didn’t arrive until 1920.
P: Hah?
T: How old are you Peteen?
P: I’m 97. And I’m still as horny as a ram. (Don’t get any ideas.)
T: Ah for fucks sake!! You weren’t even born n 1907!
P: Or maybe I’m 107. I forget.
T: Yeah, well you can forget this too. Good luck.
Showing posts with label New Year. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Year. Show all posts
Monday, January 1, 2007
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