Lord of the Fingers

         ‘How are you anyway?’

         ‘Not too bad. Things gone a bit weird around here, though.’

         ‘How so?’

         ‘There was big shit there last week. Cops all over the place.’

         ‘What was goin on?’

         ‘Some fella runnin around with a knife or a machete or somethin…’

         ‘Where was he goin with that?’

         ‘I think he was chasin some other fella, and then the other fella’s fingers were cut off. Did you not see it on the paper?’

         ‘No.’

         ‘The cops were goin around lookin in all the bins?’

         ‘For what? The machete?’

         ‘No. The fingers.’

         ‘Fuck.’

         ‘I know.’

         ‘Are you still writing Plays?’

         ‘I am.’

         ‘Did you see when the government got in they didn’t quote an Irish artist? I thought that was weird.’

         ‘Why?’

         ‘The most patriotic time in Irish history since the war of Independence.’

         ‘Yeah.’

         ‘And every artist in the country couldn’t work.’

         ‘They quoted Shakespeare, did they not?’

         ‘They did. And that’s what I didn’t like.’

         ‘Why? Because he’s English?’

         ‘No. Because If you walk down the street of any dead Irish town and ask the people – how’s your Shakespeare? What’ll they say?’

         ‘I don’t know.’

         ‘They’ll say – who cares? My pub’s closed, my shop’s out of business, my house is getting repossessed, who’s got the time to talk about Shakespeare? Unless you’re in Government.’

         ‘So if they quoted an Irish Playwright they’d be doing much better?’

         ‘It means that in all the time they had to organise, and talk about speeches, that somebody, somewhere must have said: Should we quote an Irish artist? And somebody else said: “No, fuck it. Let’s go with Shakespeare.” They don’t know their audience.’

         ‘They were voted in.’

         ‘They were. Would they be voted in today?’

         ‘Doubtful.’

         ‘Exactly. There’s lads goin around here getting their fingers cut off and the government are quoting Playwrights that died six hundred years ago. I don’t see the connection.’

         ‘Me neither.’

         ‘They’ll be gone by Christmas.’

         ‘Brought down?’

         ‘Fucked out.’

         ‘What then?’

         ‘Hopefully, the next crowd will listen. Are you writing anythin lately?’

         ‘I’m sending out a new novel?’

         ‘Any bites?’

         ‘Not a thing yet.’

         ‘Is it shite?’

         ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’

         ‘Rejection is usually a good sign.’

         ‘Except when it’s your bank card gettin rejected.’

         ‘There’s that too. How’s the other books sellin?’

         ‘Alright. Hard to know with Amazon.’

         ‘Sure every daft bastard is writing a book these days.’

         ‘Stiff competition.’

         ‘You should write about a fella getting his fingers cut off with a machete.’

         ‘I might.’

         ‘And the fingers get ate by a dog and they have to wait for the dog to have a shite to get them back.’

         ‘Sounds like a bestseller.’

         ‘I’m tellin ya. Who needs JK Rowling, boy? Lord of the Fingers…’

         ‘Eh…’

         ‘I better go.’

         ‘Sound. G’luck.’

*

Buy Mick Donnellan’s novels by clicking here.

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