I live in Dublin, Ireland. Sometimes. Most times I live in my head, quite unaware of my surroundings – if you know what I mean… If you succeed in tracking Sean Walsh, please let me know, ok? I've been searching for him for years…
“And to tell you the truth, Dad, I know it’s a lovely piano but I’d sooner be out with the lads and I dread Missus Glass going over me scales with me and The Robin’s Return gives me the pip – there’s times I could drown him, the same robin!
And anyway, Mister Van Dessel says I’m not too musical and that I’ll never be the singer me brother Mickey is and that mebbe I’d be better off serving Mass, not singing at it…
And he should know because he’s from Belgium where they make all the organs and he has a tuning fork and can read music the way I read the Champion or the Hotspur…
And Dad, Dad! Wait’ll I tell you!
Didn’t Missus Glass call to the door one rainy day there last week
and me upstairs in front of the big mirror, practicing me draw
and shooting straight from the hip just like Hopalong Cassidy.
And what do y’know, doesn’t Mammy let her in and there she is in the hall, a wee fat wan with three chins and the glasses perched on a button nose. And before I know where I am wasn’t Mammy calling up to me –
John? Missus Bottle is here!..
Oh, well you may laugh…
And the penny never dropped – honest to God! ‘Goes back into the pub, not a feather out of her, leaving me to drag me heels over the linoleum and down the stairs to face the music… Trying to keep a straight face, pass it over, not let on… And Missus Glass standing on the mat with a face on her like a wet Democrat…” *
*Democrat: the local, weekly newspaper.
(Full text available on Amazon Kindle and Smashwords.com as Asunder. )