‘I’ve got two more bukes almost finished,’ said Scag. ‘'Sincerely L. Cohen' and 'Fine Day for a Holocaust Denial'.’ He paused to observe a passing arse, then added, ‘I’m thinkin of puttin them out under me pseudonym.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Seamus Heaney.’
‘Tsss. Good night and good luck. So are yis on yisser way out to the festival?’
‘Yeah. Sure we thought we may as well. Young Matthew here has some lady trouble. His tender young heart is in danger of being broken so I’m takin him under me wing for a bit of a blowout to cheer him up. Yerself?’
‘Yeah, I’m goin out. I couldn’t give a fuck about the festival but there’s a bird out there I have to see. Little Spanish thing. Mad for me mickey, she is. Blank Frank has some yips for me as well.’
‘Oh yeah?, said Scag. ‘Haven’t seen oul Frankincense in a while. How many are ye getting?’
‘Ten. Do ye want some?’
Scag hissed, all indignant. ‘Does a bear shit on the pope? When have you ever known me not to want some fuckin yokes?’