each other. They knew they would. Itwas funny that, how you could just decide to like someone. They were home and dry before they were both sitting down.
—What’ll yeh have, Des?
—Coffee, thanks.
—Anything with it?
—No.
They were men who didn’t eat buns in public.
—So, said Des.—Tell me about celticpunk. Dot com.
Des was Southside.
Rednecks and southsiders need not apply
. But that kind of shite didn’t seem to matter much any more.
—So, said Jimmy.—Here’s what happens. Someone googles the Irregulars and —
—Who’d do that? Des asked.
—Well, I did, said Jimmy.—Before I came out. Did you?
—Yeah.
They laughed.
—There yeh go, said Jimmy.—People like us. Old heads, music fans. And actually. Kids. D’you have kids, Des?
—I do, yeah, said Des.—Well. One.
—Boy or —
—She’s in Germany, said Des.—With her mother.
—That’s messy, said Jimmy.—Is it?
—It is, said Des.—I try to get over every six weeks or so.
—Does she speak English?
—I speak German.
—Do yeh?
—I do, yeah. I lived there for a long time.
—Back to google, yeah?
—Okay.
—So anyway, said Jimmy.—We both googled the Irregulars and we got stuff about Irish history. No surprise there, that shite’s never far away. And grammar. Verbs and shite.
—Yep.
—Nothin’ about the band.
—Nope.
—We’ll sort that, said Jimmy.—That’s what we’ll do. Get it up near the top of the list.
He hadn’t a clue how that was done, but he’d find out – himself and Aoife would.
—You mentioned kids.
—Yeah, said Jimmy.—Yeah. I forgot. I got carried away. Yeah,so – kids. Teenagers, like. Like my own lads. They love the old stuff.
—Really?
—Oh yeah, said Jimmy.—Absolutely. And it’s not just mine. All kids. Boys especially. So —
The coffee had arrived. They both drank it black.
—Our job, said Jimmy,—will be to push the Irregulars, the band like, up the charts. I mean, we get a Wikipedia page up and maybe a website, if the other lads are interested. Have yeh spoken to them yet?
—Not yet, said Des.—I wanted to hear a bit more first. To make it a bit more – less vague. And to meet you as well. And, well.
He picked up his cup.
—I haven’t spoken to any of them in years, he said.
—I don’t remember, said Jimmy.—Did yis break up, yeh know, dramatically?
—Not really, no.
—Good, said Jimmy.—That’s probably good. My crowd but. The Commitments. Fuckin’ hell.
—No, said Des.—Only, there’s been no contact. So it would be a bit awkward, I suppose. But if I know a bit more, it’ll make it easier.
He smiled.
—That’s the theory.
—Grand, said Jimmy.—That makes sense. So. We build your presence there. Website, Wiki. Info, discography.
—It was only the one single.
—Doesn’t matter, Des. It’s still a discography. And here’s the real trick. Links.
—Gotcha.
—Links. Wiki to the website. Website to Wiki. Wiki to us.
—celticpunk.
—Exactly.
Jimmy was giving Des Aoife’s research. She’d done most of the early homework while he was at work selling cars.
—Where they’ll find the single and the B-side for sale, upload or download.
—Great.
—Like iTunes, said Jimmy.—But boutique. More personal. Welcomin’. Not just buy or fuck off. There’ll be pictures, info, a where are they now. A nice obituary for Necko.
Des nodded.
Jimmy rested for a bit. He was loving it, too much. He didn’t want to get carried away. Or make Des greedy.
—And, he said.—But this might be a bit tricky. Given the fact that Necko’s no longer with us.
—What? said Des.
Perfect.
—Reunion gigs, said Jimmy.
—Jesus, said Des.—I don’t know. I haven’t played in years.
Jimmy said nothing.
—And Necko, said Des.
Jimmy nodded.
—How would we manage it? said Des.
—Well, said Jimmy.—It’s tricky.
—Tasteless?
That was a surprise.
—No, said Jimmy.—Well, I don’t think so. There were four of yis. Is there a
—What’ll yeh have, Des?
—Coffee, thanks.
—Anything with it?
—No.
They were men who didn’t eat buns in public.
—So, said Des.—Tell me about celticpunk. Dot com.
Des was Southside.
Rednecks and southsiders need not apply
. But that kind of shite didn’t seem to matter much any more.
—So, said Jimmy.—Here’s what happens. Someone googles the Irregulars and —
—Who’d do that? Des asked.
—Well, I did, said Jimmy.—Before I came out. Did you?
—Yeah.
They laughed.
—There yeh go, said Jimmy.—People like us. Old heads, music fans. And actually. Kids. D’you have kids, Des?
—I do, yeah, said Des.—Well. One.
—Boy or —
—She’s in Germany, said Des.—With her mother.
—That’s messy, said Jimmy.—Is it?
—It is, said Des.—I try to get over every six weeks or so.
—Does she speak English?
—I speak German.
—Do yeh?
—I do, yeah. I lived there for a long time.
—Back to google, yeah?
—Okay.
—So anyway, said Jimmy.—We both googled the Irregulars and we got stuff about Irish history. No surprise there, that shite’s never far away. And grammar. Verbs and shite.
—Yep.
—Nothin’ about the band.
—Nope.
—We’ll sort that, said Jimmy.—That’s what we’ll do. Get it up near the top of the list.
He hadn’t a clue how that was done, but he’d find out – himself and Aoife would.
—You mentioned kids.
—Yeah, said Jimmy.—Yeah. I forgot. I got carried away. Yeah,so – kids. Teenagers, like. Like my own lads. They love the old stuff.
—Really?
—Oh yeah, said Jimmy.—Absolutely. And it’s not just mine. All kids. Boys especially. So —
The coffee had arrived. They both drank it black.
—Our job, said Jimmy,—will be to push the Irregulars, the band like, up the charts. I mean, we get a Wikipedia page up and maybe a website, if the other lads are interested. Have yeh spoken to them yet?
—Not yet, said Des.—I wanted to hear a bit more first. To make it a bit more – less vague. And to meet you as well. And, well.
He picked up his cup.
—I haven’t spoken to any of them in years, he said.
—I don’t remember, said Jimmy.—Did yis break up, yeh know, dramatically?
—Not really, no.
—Good, said Jimmy.—That’s probably good. My crowd but. The Commitments. Fuckin’ hell.
—No, said Des.—Only, there’s been no contact. So it would be a bit awkward, I suppose. But if I know a bit more, it’ll make it easier.
He smiled.
—That’s the theory.
—Grand, said Jimmy.—That makes sense. So. We build your presence there. Website, Wiki. Info, discography.
—It was only the one single.
—Doesn’t matter, Des. It’s still a discography. And here’s the real trick. Links.
—Gotcha.
—Links. Wiki to the website. Website to Wiki. Wiki to us.
—celticpunk.
—Exactly.
Jimmy was giving Des Aoife’s research. She’d done most of the early homework while he was at work selling cars.
—Where they’ll find the single and the B-side for sale, upload or download.
—Great.
—Like iTunes, said Jimmy.—But boutique. More personal. Welcomin’. Not just buy or fuck off. There’ll be pictures, info, a where are they now. A nice obituary for Necko.
Des nodded.
Jimmy rested for a bit. He was loving it, too much. He didn’t want to get carried away. Or make Des greedy.
—And, he said.—But this might be a bit tricky. Given the fact that Necko’s no longer with us.
—What? said Des.
Perfect.
—Reunion gigs, said Jimmy.
—Jesus, said Des.—I don’t know. I haven’t played in years.
Jimmy said nothing.
—And Necko, said Des.
Jimmy nodded.
—How would we manage it? said Des.
—Well, said Jimmy.—It’s tricky.
—Tasteless?
That was a surprise.
—No, said Jimmy.—Well, I don’t think so. There were four of yis. Is there a
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