I got a letter from Pearse last week. Jesus Christ you wouldn’t believe it man, you can breathe here. Do you see that town over there, that town was suffocating me. You should get out, I’m telling you. I’ve got a job till July in a nondenominational school and it’s great. The children are barking but it’s great. I’m busted half the time paying a fortune for this rat trap of a flat I’m in but it’s great. Derry gave me the pip, I reckon it was Derry put me on the drink in the first place listening to people that had the backbone of a fruit fly not to mention the culture of a cockroach. And that’s not even talking about the Father O’Flynns that have brought the place to its knees. The whole bloody country’s down with rabies if you ask me with their medieval religions and politics, emphasis there on the eval.
Tell us this, did you ever wonder how in hell Ireland turned out so many great writers? Well that’s it. I’ve just said it, they turned them out. On their ear. Bloody well chased them. I don’t think there’s another place in the world celebrates mediocrity the way Ireland does.
Anyway I’m on the wagon again, back with AA and all. I’m going to whack it this time. You know what else is wrong with the ones in old Oireland Jerry? They’re hooked on the colonial yoke, that’s what, it’s the serf thing, minds frozen in aspic. I’m not counting you and the other dreamers I saw taking on the cops that day I was leaving, absolutely not, you and them are deemed extremists by the high and wise, but sure you know that anyway don’t you?
Even the ones over the border in the so-called Republic of Oireland that are supposed to be shot of the Brits can’t get enough of the queen and of course their excuse for a parliament in Dublin is nothing but old wine in new bottles, did you ever hear them talking? The rubbish? And you know what it is? Their minds were that long in jail they’re like a man when he’s let out after whatever number of years gets all jittery and goes and starts rattling at the prison gate to be let back in.
Or you know what it’s like? It’s like those sad cases that would do anything nearly to get the shite beaten out of them by some dominatrix. God knows who our fellow countrymen would get to abuse them if the miracle ever happened and they got browned off with Queen Lizzie and Holy Mother Church.
You’ll have to excuse the rant Jerry boy but it’s only when you get out of that place that you really begin to see it for what it is and then the anger wells up. By the way I take it you escaped the attentions of the Stormont delegates at scenic Burntollet? Somehow I couldn’t see you letting yourself get a second dose after Duke Street. More important, are you getting ass? Because nobody deserves it more than you. What about that mad Marxist that got you batoned? She’s probably the only thing that’ll save you from Rome. Then hand in your notice and get her to come to Manchester with you. No security of employment here as far as I can see but sure security is the enemy of progress.
Take it easy,
Pearse
No address. How does he expect me to write back?
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The Wake - Table of contents
HumorTHE YEAR is 1968 and the Swinging Sixties are still swinging - though not in Ireland. But wait! An old woman dies in a northern Irish town and her wake becomes a rendezvous for lesbians, bisexuals and political revolutionaries. And in there among t...
