1977

The two of them are very drunk on a Thursday afternoon which means that they must have started late on a Wednesday night, hit a peak on that night, rode the trough into Thursday morning and are now skittering down the slope to the end. There is nothing new or novel in any of this. One of them is wavering and indignant, the other listening with a face that looks like he cares what the other is saying.

- I’ve done all that…you know….stuff, says the first.

- Yeah.

- And it’s not going to make any fackin difference to any of them because of what it did to me. He jabs his chest to make the point. – You know?

- Do. Yes. I do.

- And they’ve never taken anything from me but my blood and the life I have here with my fackin family, Tony. And they’ve made me prostitute myself for that sake and they’ve broken me. Look at the state of me now. What am I to fackin do about that?

- Don’ know really. He lists the bottle and tips more whisky into each glass. Outside a car drives by. The clock ticks on the mantelpiece. Maybe children are paying far away somewhere. Far away where we cannot see them.

- You know?

- Do. Yes. I do.

We look about the room as if making to plan an escape. Even my sister who is normally forgiving of his excesses is looking like she’d rather be anywhere but in this room right now. He alarms us both by waving an arm with an outstretched finger in our direction, making a point to the other as though he really didn’t know who we were.

- And they take the shit for all of this. We all take the shit and they take it the worst and I’m sorry they did that to me to make me come away from my family.

Dry your eyes. We took the shit because you are, were and always will be a grade one, premier league, crème de la crème alcoholic malcontent with no remorse and no feelings for anyone but yourself and that habit of yours of blaming anyone and everyone for your chronic weaknesses.

Thanks. Thanks a lot.