Winter Olympics – Two for One Vodkas.

The Supervisor was partial to a Hot Chocolate and a power trip. I got to work and he said: ‘You lost your jacket?’
He took a sip and asked: ‘How?’
‘It wasn’t there when I woke up this mornin…’
‘You know you need that, right? You can’t work without it, it’s policy, you need to talk to Craig. He’s in the office.’
I walked into the office and Craig was reading an article in a local paper. He gave it a second for dramatic pause, like he was just reaching the end and didn’t want to be interrupted. After, he put it down, said: ‘What?’
‘I lost my jacket.’
‘You lost your jacket, what, how? Where?!’
‘I was looking for a Midget pole dancer. She was supposed to be there last night and…
‘What?! Back up…’
I told him they were doing “Two-for-One Vodkas” down in the Ocean Port. It was a dark blue place with a pole in the middle and lots of shifty types with baseball caps and checkered shirts. There was a pool table too but it didn’t work half the time and the tips of the cues were always gone so when you hit a ball it made a sound like breaking teeth. There was a rumour about a Midget dancer so we went down to check. I was about to tell him I was also working as a journalist, doing an article about it but he cut me off with an incredulous: ‘Why were you looking for her?!’
I decided to keep it simple with: ‘Curiosity. And they were doin Two-for-One Vodkas.’
‘Christ, are all Irish guys this stupid?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t speak for them all.’
‘So what do you need?’
‘A jacket.’
‘What colour?’
‘Ok, you look about Extra Large, I’ll see what I can do.’
‘This could be a security threat, you know?’
‘I know.’
‘I mean, what if some guy comes in wearing your jacket and tries to steal somethin…’
‘I know, like a Forklift.’
‘Or a box of Hot Chocolates.’
‘Don’t get smart.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
I looked down at the paper. He’d been reading an article I’d written myself a week before. My name and picture beside it. Something about the Olympics or Hockey or something. Craig still hadn’t made the connection. I know this because he said: ‘I don’t even know who you are, how the hell can I just give you a jacket because you walk in here and say you want one?’
‘I have I.D.’
‘Eh, can I see it?’
He looked at it. Good scan. Frowned. Looked at me like a guard at an airport with a Passport. He handed it back with a sigh, like he was satisfied. ‘Ok, there’s one in the cupboard over there.’
‘Over here?’
‘No, the top one there. It says: “Jackets.” Do you think you can handle that?’
‘Oh right.’
I took one down, opened up the plastic and said: ‘I’ll put it on here so, in case I get mugged or somethin on the way out?’
He sighed again. ‘That’s a good idea.’
He took back the paper, started reading, laughed a bit. Mostly ignored me. When I had the jacket on, he looked up and went. ‘Fits you.’
‘Thanks. Enjoyin the paper?’
‘Yeah.’ He pointed at my article, with my name and picture beside it and sincerely asked: ‘Have you read this guy?’
‘He’s good, smart, funny. I like his style.’
‘Good for you, Craig. Can I go back to work now?’
‘Yeah, you’re on the clock, I’m docking you fifteen minutes for this, get out of here.’
‘Right so. Bye now.’


Fisherman’s Blues (Paperback)

Fisherman’s Blues is the hilarious new novel from Mick Donnellan.Dark and audacious, written in a distinct West of Ireland vernacular, it covers a myriad of genres from Crime Noir to comedy and an odd bit of religion. Fresh in its language, vivid in its descriptions, the book sings with the signature style of all Donnellan’s previous work, and a bit more. Delving into the lives of drinkers, lovers, thieves and scam artists, the story weaves a web of intrigue and curiosity that ends with an unforgettable bang. Not without its poignant moments, the plot hinges on the chaotic consequences of three unlikely comrade’s attempts to save their lost relationships, while unintentionally ruining the plans of a rising criminal’s efforts to take over the city. The question is: Can they succeed? And if they don’t, what then? And where have the women really gone?


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