Two pints, p.6
Two Pints, page 6
— Yeah –
— You’re worried.
— I was. I’m ashamed to admit it. I think the world of him – he’s a great little lad. But annyway, he’s lookin’ at magazines and chattin’ to the granny an’ tellin’ her all his fashion ideas.
— God—
— Now, I’d never want to interfere with his – like, his natural leanin’s. You with me?
— Yeah.
— But I did.
— How?
— I bought him a tiger. A cub, like.
— To turn him away from the sewin’ machine?
— I hated meself. When I realised what I was up to. But I needn’t’ve worried.
— How come?
— He went to school this mornin’ wearin’ a little tiger-skin waistcoat.
— He made it himself?
— He smelt like the back o’ the chipper after a long weekend. But I’ll tell yeh—
— Naomi Campbell will be wearin’ his stuff.
— She’ll be fuckin’ lucky.
4-9-12
— DID YEH SEE your man winnin’ his medal last nigh’?
— Brilliant.
— What’s his name again?
— McKillop.
— Wasn’t he brilliant?
— Fuckin’ amazin’.
— But I’ll tell yeh – the bit tha’ got me. When his ma – like, when his ma presented him with the medal. I was nearly cryin’.
— It was a fuckin’ disgrace.
— Wha’?!
— Did yeh not hear?
— Hear wha’?
— The story.
— Wha’ fuckin’ story? If you’re—
— Just listen, will yeh.
— Go on.
— Righ’. They had Kylie Minogue lined up to give the poor lad his medal.
— Fuck off.
— Serious.
— Jesus. Why Kylie, but?
— Ah, for fuck –. Listen. Say you’ve just won a medal. There’s an Oul’ Lads Olympics an’ you’ve won gold for – say – the synchronised arse scratchin’. Okay?
— Okay.
— Can yeh think of annyone you’d prefer to see comin’ at yeh with your medal than Kylie?
— No.
— Well, that’s wha’ they had set up for poor McKillop.
— You’re fuckin’ messin’.
— It’s on YouTube. His ma pushed Kylie out o’ the way – split her head open against one o’ the pillars. And she walked ou’ with the fuckin’ medal.
— Fuck off.
— Poor Kylie needed stitches.
— I’m not listenin’.
— Made me ashamed to be Irish.
— Fuck off.
About the Author
Roddy Doyle was born in Dublin in 1958. He is the author of nine acclaimed novels, two collections of short stories, and Rory & Ita, a memoir about his parents. He won the Booker Prize in 1993 for Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha.
Roddy Doyle, Two Pints
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— You’re worried.
— I was. I’m ashamed to admit it. I think the world of him – he’s a great little lad. But annyway, he’s lookin’ at magazines and chattin’ to the granny an’ tellin’ her all his fashion ideas.
— God—
— Now, I’d never want to interfere with his – like, his natural leanin’s. You with me?
— Yeah.
— But I did.
— How?
— I bought him a tiger. A cub, like.
— To turn him away from the sewin’ machine?
— I hated meself. When I realised what I was up to. But I needn’t’ve worried.
— How come?
— He went to school this mornin’ wearin’ a little tiger-skin waistcoat.
— He made it himself?
— He smelt like the back o’ the chipper after a long weekend. But I’ll tell yeh—
— Naomi Campbell will be wearin’ his stuff.
— She’ll be fuckin’ lucky.
4-9-12
— DID YEH SEE your man winnin’ his medal last nigh’?
— Brilliant.
— What’s his name again?
— McKillop.
— Wasn’t he brilliant?
— Fuckin’ amazin’.
— But I’ll tell yeh – the bit tha’ got me. When his ma – like, when his ma presented him with the medal. I was nearly cryin’.
— It was a fuckin’ disgrace.
— Wha’?!
— Did yeh not hear?
— Hear wha’?
— The story.
— Wha’ fuckin’ story? If you’re—
— Just listen, will yeh.
— Go on.
— Righ’. They had Kylie Minogue lined up to give the poor lad his medal.
— Fuck off.
— Serious.
— Jesus. Why Kylie, but?
— Ah, for fuck –. Listen. Say you’ve just won a medal. There’s an Oul’ Lads Olympics an’ you’ve won gold for – say – the synchronised arse scratchin’. Okay?
— Okay.
— Can yeh think of annyone you’d prefer to see comin’ at yeh with your medal than Kylie?
— No.
— Well, that’s wha’ they had set up for poor McKillop.
— You’re fuckin’ messin’.
— It’s on YouTube. His ma pushed Kylie out o’ the way – split her head open against one o’ the pillars. And she walked ou’ with the fuckin’ medal.
— Fuck off.
— Poor Kylie needed stitches.
— I’m not listenin’.
— Made me ashamed to be Irish.
— Fuck off.
About the Author
Roddy Doyle was born in Dublin in 1958. He is the author of nine acclaimed novels, two collections of short stories, and Rory & Ita, a memoir about his parents. He won the Booker Prize in 1993 for Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha.
Roddy Doyle, Two Pints
