Mongs –

Sat down to write. The house was quiet. Nairobi, our daughter, was asleep. I was in serious danger of doing something creative. Then Michelle came back and said: ‘I lost your card.’

‘My debit card?’

‘Yeah. I lost it. I’m looking for it.’

‘Where’d you you lose it?’

‘I don’t know, if I knew that it wouldn’t be lost.’

‘Well where were you?’

‘The shop.’

‘Which shop?’

‘Same shop I always go to.’


‘No, why would I go to Spar? That’s miles away.’

‘What you buy?’

‘Bananas and a few bits. What’s that matter?’

‘We might be able to narrow down when it was used.’

‘Some Mong came in and distracted me when I was paying.’

‘A dodgy Mong?’

‘All Mongs are dodgy!”

‘Do you think he stole it?’

‘Maybe. He was shouting and messing, trying to put me off.’

‘Who was working?’

‘The tall fella.’

‘Sure he’s sound. He wouldn’t steal it. it’s probably still in the shop somewhere.’

‘He might have thrown it in the bin by accident. It might be in my bag here.’

She emptied out her bag. A load of shite fell out but the card wasn’t there. Then she said: ‘I’ll go back over.’

‘Hang on, I’ll go.’

I went over. The tall fella said. ‘Usually women find these things in their bags or the cards have been stolen.’

‘Well you can rule out the bag. Why would someone steal it?’

‘To buy stuff on the internet. Have you cancelled it?’

‘Banks are closed.’

‘Hmm…that’s unfortunate.’

‘I’ll just have to empty the account online.’

‘Oh, that’s a good idea.’


I went home. Michelle asked: ‘Did you find it?’


‘Shite. I bet that Mong stole it when he distracted me.’

‘Sure what’ll he do with it?’

‘Buy stuff off the internet.’

‘Sure there’s nothin in it anyway.’

‘Yeah, but you know what Mongs are like.’

Then the phone rang. It was the tall fella. ‘We found your card.’

I went back, asked: ‘Where’d you find it?’

‘An old lady found it.’


He pointed at the wall. ‘Over by there.’

‘Ok, thanks.’

‘Lucky, lucky.’ He said. ‘These things always get lost.’

‘Michelle was sure there was a Mong after stealing it.’

‘What’s a Mong?’ He asked.

‘Kind of hard to explain.’ I said.

Then, back at the house. I sat down to write. What’ll we write about, Micky?

I don’t know….Mongs?


Buy Mick Donnellan’s Novels here.








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