Wednesday, November 24, 2010


Hello young people. Take a seat. Are you comfortable? Good. Now listen, we’ve been talking to your mammy and daddy and we’ve decided it’s for the best that you broaden your horizons. We think you should go travelling. Travelling is great. I did a bit of travelling myself when I was a lad and it was one of the best experiences of my life. Myself and a few boys from the Cumman went to Medjugorje. It was fantastic. We saw the baby Jesus dancing on the sun and the foreign birds were filthy. My mate Cormac got a bit of a gobble. Would you like a gobble yourself? I bet you would. Gobbles are lovely. If you’re a bird there are loads of nice lads around too. Antonio Banderas types. They write romantic poems and all that. The girls love that sort of thing. You wouldn’t get it at home though. Sure, all our poets are drunks.

But I’m digressing. Where were we? Oh yes. We were thinking, your mammy and daddy and us, that when you’re gone you should stay gone. I mean, you won’t be gone gone. Only a little bit gone. You’ll still have the Facebook and Skype so you’ll kind of still be around. A bit like a smell. A bit like a recurring odour. Or maybe like a sort of ghost. Yeah, a ghost. Think of the Skype as a kind of séance where you can catch up with loved ones after you’ve moved on. Sure, there’s no reason to hang around here. What’d be the point? You’re surplus to requirements. . . .I’m sorry. Did that sound rude? I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean, emm, how should I put this? Well, it’s like a sum really. A bit of long division and you’re the remainder. Did you ever see them remainders, over there to the side, looking unhappy? Wishing they were part of the equation. No one wants to be the remainder. Ah no, sure remainders are shite. What you want is to be a whole number. A whole number being read a romantic poem by Antonio Banderas or getting a gobble off some filthy bird called Monique.

Ah, I can see you’re excited by the prospect. I can see your eyes widening. That’s excitement right? Great. Now listen, we’ve packed your bags and made some sandwiches. We’ve put in a couple of Clubmilks and Galtee rashers too so you needn’t miss the taste of home whilst abroad. Oh, you’re going to have a marvellous time. You’ll thrive overseas. There’s no need to thank us for this opportunity. No need at all. Sure, it’s no trouble and we’ll see you when you’re a bit older and over the odd Christmas or maybe at the funeral of one of your parents. We’ll catch up properly then. You’ll have a lovely tan. You’ll be looking good and feeling great. You’ll be happy you left. Really, you will be. You’ll be delighted altogether. I’ll tape you the All Irelands and send them over too. You’ll be fine. No need for tears. No need for them tears. Ah stop. Stop crying. Will you stop crying? You’re too big to be crying like a baby. What age are you now? Six. Sure six is too old to be crying. Dry those tears. You’re causing a scene. This kind of emotionalism will get you nowhere. Christ. Right. That’s enough with the pep talk. Guards, take them away.

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