Mem-oh.

To: All Staff.

It is without one ounce of regret that I need to inform you that John O’Dwyer is no longer employed by this company.

He was let go today because, in my view, he's a dickhead.

His work was shoddy at the best of times. His sense of humour offensive, imposing and totally inappropriate.

Plus the concept of soap, water and deodorant seemed completely alien to him.

This decision has been made by me and me alone because, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t stand the thought of looking at his face one more day.

I’m sure he will land on his feet somewhere – assholes like that usually do. I don’t care.

On a separate note: please join me in welcoming Jane Taylor to the company.

Let’s hope she’s not a bitch.

James Murphy

CEO.

Old Age.

"Why does no one ever ask how fast I can run anymore"?
"Hey meeester...will you watch me run"?
"Oh please, someone...look at me. LOOK at me"!!

The onset of old age was beginning to affect Needy Gonzalez.

The Man.

He seemed like a nice kid. Four, maybe five years old? I’m not a child expert so you could say any age and I’d believe you.

It being lunch hour, the bank was busy enough and hadn’t exactly been quiet to start with.

“Stop that James” his mother hissed as he climbed over the leather waiting chairs landing on his back on the floor, probably re-enacting some adventure in his head.

“You’re annoying the people”.

Blank stares, unaffected faces.

I had just withdrawn my last twenty-five quid and made my way towards the door.

“Now look,” she said, “Here comes the man”.

Which apparently was me.

I was ‘the man’.

When did I become ‘the man’?

Did I suddenly look like the sort of person who would be ‘the man’?

If I was he, then I needed to act accordingly.

“Could you make some more noise please? It’s far too quiet in here” I asked the boy.

Oh yes. I am The Man.

Just Pretend.

I met a friend from school today.
Haven't seen him in years.
Nice man. Wife, kids, pension plan.
Opinions, a Barbecue and DVD collection.
A leather wallet in his back pocket.
Strong, responsible, reliable.
It made me sad. Sad at how I appear.
Afraid.
Afraid to ask, afraid to declare, afraid of fear.
Two people living with different energies.
It's all just pretend. I'm not even here anymore.
One foot, then what?
I wish I had a wallet.

Arrivals Hall.

He was definitely American. More small town than big city. The jeans were just a bit too...'roomy', y'know? Probably sold as 'Relaxed Fit'.
There's something forlorn about Mid-West men in their sixties.They look a little lost.
Like they need someone to tell them what to do.
The lower lip trembling on the edge of panic as it did when he was seven and his mother said "Wait here a moment, I won't be long". Pretty sure that everything will be OK...pretty sure.
Wife trots over. He's pleased.
She's smaller than him. Over-active thyroid since her forties. Blonde, permed hair, sparkly alert eyes. Body movements stiff and fast - like a strobe lighted dancer in a nightclub.
She wanted two weeks by the pool in Acapulco.
But here they are - newly arrived in Ireland.

My Kingdom For (excerpt).

Once, young Pam Friendly - caught between laundry duty and elevenses - spent thirty nine minutes on the first floor hallway, one foot on the landing the other gently teasing the top stair.
Caught between two worlds.
Learning the difference between Time Zulu and non.
How those areas of the planet for whom Daylight Savings Time existed were more likely than those for whom it didn't, to utilise their season more proficiently.
And how a simple ability to accurately tell time through the alignment of the planets allowed ancient man possibly gain twelve extra seconds per one hundred years.
This, as a result of passing Sir Arnold and greeting his presence with an innocent "Afternoon".

It was 11:59am.

(Taken from the longer short story 'My Kingdom For').

Are You Sure?

Olé Olé Olé Olé.
And we'll really shake them up
When we win the World Cup
Cos Ireland are the greatest Netball team.

Alternative reality.