I was standing with Parkenstein gazing up at the fiery ball in the sky that other people call the Sun, but which Irish people refer to as What the Fuck is That?
Isn’t it nice? said Parkenstein.
‘Tis, I assured him.I was out in the countryside today on a secret mission. It was gorgeous.
This is the way it’ll be the whole time when we’re in Croatia.
That’s right, I agreed. It’ll be nice to get away.
‘Twill, he nodded.
How many are going now? I wondered.
Dunno. About thirty, I think.
Jesus, I said. that’s a good crowd.
Dunno about that, he frowned. A big crowd, yes, but a good crowd ?
Do you know what, I said. I have a good mind to invite a gang of misfits, layabouts and ne’er-do-wells for a barbecue at the weekend.
You mean you’ll invite your friends.
That’s harsh, I said, in a small, hurt voice.
Harsh but true.
True but harsh. This hot weather depresses me.
How so? I thought sunlight gave you a lift.
Well it did, I said, until I noticed that big fuck-off funfair that arrived in town.
Funderland, said Parkenstein.
Knacker Central, I replied. I never saw so many scrunchies, beer-bellies, tattoos, muffin-tops, moustaches and hoop ear-rings all in one place. Jesus if only I had a small domestic nuclear weapon.
Funny you should mention that, said Parkenstein. I just happened to purchase a small tactical nuclear device on eBay. You can have it on one condition.
Anything, I said. What?
Would you kindly shut the fuck up for five minutes and let me enjoy the sunshine?