bahern7

His breakfast made, Blake sat down to eat it at the rickety table—it was like something from a Van Gogh painting—and found his mind drifting back to that accursed day and the appalling event that had seen poor Paul Pubb get put away. Blake recalled a gusty, chilly afternoon with billowing clouds, grey and massive, rolling in from the eastern horizon. He was down on Mint Street sitting with Paul on some dilapidated street furniture: a vandalized bench, as he remembered it, that gave off a horrid tramp stench. As far as leading a normal life and partaking in everyday society went, both men were feeling decidedly out of the frame as the town clock struck three and leaves and litter blew about their feet. Disaffected is probably the word that best describes their state. Also, both felt a deep urge to escape themselves through drugs and were scanning the street in the hope that a dealer would  appear to do some business. The minutes dragged on and, in a loud voice aimed direct...

Through the walls Dr. Burroughs continued to be heard shouting at poor, nervous Amy. Paul was sure that everyone in the building could hear the man’s murderous cries and he kind of hoped that Dr. Anxious would have a crack at some of this shouting lark as well. It would certainly liven up the proceedings. Still, they can try anything they want on me, Paul felt, my depression will never dispel. Out in the reception area Blake was thinking the same thing about Hope Street ’s therapy methods. Unquestionably tough stuff—bloody violent! Amy’s keening sobs coming through the walls had set him right on edge. It was his turn to gnaw at a forefinger. In Room 6 Ben Anxious was eager to wrap things up and end his first session with Paul Pubb. Throughout their brief consultation, he’d deliberately avoided mentioning Paul’s egregious act of self-harm—the destruction of the index finger. Ben decided he might broach the subject in the third or fourth session if he felt the therapy was pro...

Me and the mot and the mot’s mother spent a few days in Kerry at the end of September, staycationing being de rigueur nowadays. On the first morning there, getting into the car for a drive, our first port of call was Portmagee. I wanted to see the town Luke Skywalker and his crew launched their boats from when filming on Skellig Michael in July.  The Jedi knight would be in another part of the galaxy by now, but I hoped to pick up some residue of the force. I imagined, with the Hollywooders gone, that the Skellig birds would be back to breeding and screeching, and village life in Portmagee would be back to normal. And what a pleasant normal it was. In a café on the main drag we each bought an exquisite open crab sandwich on fresh brown bread for a not unreasonable €7 a pop. The café had large windows facing the bay and we sat gazing at the water. The weather was clement. A fishing boat with seagulls following was like a painting. I was almost moved to formulate an ...