silence for a bit. The barbarian is happy to let me lead. I suspect he'd walk off a pier for me.
And there it is. A brown sign with a simple white outline of a boat on it. Confirmation that we're on the right road and not too far away from Strangford and its ferry.
I wonder if it'll take us to Newcastle? That'd be way cooler than a bus.
Stranded in Strangford
Nothing's ever how you remember it or imagine it. I finally get myself a light and my cigarette tastes like sweaty balls and cancer. But I persevere. Maybe the last few puffs will be more like old times. I thank the little old lady who provided the Bic lighter and she tootles off with a bashed-up tartan trolley-bag trailing behind her.
Strangford looks kind of nice and all, but what the fuck are we meant to do here while we wait for the bus? The prick at the shitty wee ferry place laughed at me when I asked him to take us to Newcastle. It was a serious question, like. How are you supposed to know it only goes to one other town? The brown signs don't even mention it. Surely it'd make more sense to put that on the sign instead of a picture of a boat? The ferry doesn't even look like a real ship anyway. The deck's all flat and full of cars and the driver, or whatever you call the guy steering it, sits in some sort of tower. Fucking stupid, so it is.
Conan seems to like the place, though.
"I smell fish, Danny."
"That's because we're close to the water."
"No. Eating fish."
He points one of those farmer-boy fingers at a tiny chippy. It looks all right. Bet it's not as good as Zukko's on Beechmount Avenue used to be.
"Can we get some, Danny?"
I check the little pocket in my jeans for the notes I smuggled out from the secret stash this morning. If I buy two fish suppers I might not be able to afford twenty Regal on top of the bus fares to Newcastle. Then again, the bus driver's Lambert and Butler was disgusting. And sure, when we get to the amusements I'll probably win some drinking money on the fruit machines.
"Aye, sure thing, big man. You must be starving, right?"
Conan charges into the chippy, pushing the door a little too hard. It thumps into the wall and bounces back. The barbarian gives it a second, gentler push.
"Jesus, big man. Take it easy."
"Sorry, Danny."
The woman behind the counter is giving us some weird looks. Not sure I can blame her. I try a bit of charm.
"Nice wee place this."
She shrugs.
"Your shop, I mean. Not the town."
"It's not my shop."
"Oh."
Conan says nothing.
I look out the window for a bit and breathe in the smell of overworked deep fat fryers.
"Do you want salt and vinegar on these?"
"Give us the works."
"Does that mean yes?"
"Aye. Please."
She looks at me with suspicion and I'm tempted to point out that I've already paid for her shitty food, but then she might not hand over those white-paper parcels. My mouth is watering and the shite-talk isn't worth the risk.
"Plastic forks?"
"Aye."
"Napkins?"
"Aye."
"Red sauce?"
"Aye."
"It's ten pence for a sachet."
"Give us five."
I'm the last of the big spenders.
She puts the fish suppers and two tins of Coke in a plastic bag and hands the lot over. "Don't be littering the town, now."
"Aye, fuck you very much."
I say it dead low, more for Conan's benefit than hers. She acts like she hasn't heard me, but I saw the way her greasy face twitched. I'm an expert wind-up merchant.
"Can we eat outside?" Conan asks.
"I think we have to, mate."
"Good."
We find a bench that faces the water. It's peaceful. Quiet to the point of creepy until Conan starts to tear his fish supper open. There's a bin nearby. I scoped it out because I don't want to give the chippy bitch the satisfaction of being right about me and my potential to litter. Plus there are signs about on-the-spot fines. I was a moron to mouth off to her. If we don't keep a low profile we're going to get scooped. I haven't seen a police station in this town, but that doesn't mean it's not out there somewhere.
"Can
And there it is. A brown sign with a simple white outline of a boat on it. Confirmation that we're on the right road and not too far away from Strangford and its ferry.
I wonder if it'll take us to Newcastle? That'd be way cooler than a bus.
Stranded in Strangford
Nothing's ever how you remember it or imagine it. I finally get myself a light and my cigarette tastes like sweaty balls and cancer. But I persevere. Maybe the last few puffs will be more like old times. I thank the little old lady who provided the Bic lighter and she tootles off with a bashed-up tartan trolley-bag trailing behind her.
Strangford looks kind of nice and all, but what the fuck are we meant to do here while we wait for the bus? The prick at the shitty wee ferry place laughed at me when I asked him to take us to Newcastle. It was a serious question, like. How are you supposed to know it only goes to one other town? The brown signs don't even mention it. Surely it'd make more sense to put that on the sign instead of a picture of a boat? The ferry doesn't even look like a real ship anyway. The deck's all flat and full of cars and the driver, or whatever you call the guy steering it, sits in some sort of tower. Fucking stupid, so it is.
Conan seems to like the place, though.
"I smell fish, Danny."
"That's because we're close to the water."
"No. Eating fish."
He points one of those farmer-boy fingers at a tiny chippy. It looks all right. Bet it's not as good as Zukko's on Beechmount Avenue used to be.
"Can we get some, Danny?"
I check the little pocket in my jeans for the notes I smuggled out from the secret stash this morning. If I buy two fish suppers I might not be able to afford twenty Regal on top of the bus fares to Newcastle. Then again, the bus driver's Lambert and Butler was disgusting. And sure, when we get to the amusements I'll probably win some drinking money on the fruit machines.
"Aye, sure thing, big man. You must be starving, right?"
Conan charges into the chippy, pushing the door a little too hard. It thumps into the wall and bounces back. The barbarian gives it a second, gentler push.
"Jesus, big man. Take it easy."
"Sorry, Danny."
The woman behind the counter is giving us some weird looks. Not sure I can blame her. I try a bit of charm.
"Nice wee place this."
She shrugs.
"Your shop, I mean. Not the town."
"It's not my shop."
"Oh."
Conan says nothing.
I look out the window for a bit and breathe in the smell of overworked deep fat fryers.
"Do you want salt and vinegar on these?"
"Give us the works."
"Does that mean yes?"
"Aye. Please."
She looks at me with suspicion and I'm tempted to point out that I've already paid for her shitty food, but then she might not hand over those white-paper parcels. My mouth is watering and the shite-talk isn't worth the risk.
"Plastic forks?"
"Aye."
"Napkins?"
"Aye."
"Red sauce?"
"Aye."
"It's ten pence for a sachet."
"Give us five."
I'm the last of the big spenders.
She puts the fish suppers and two tins of Coke in a plastic bag and hands the lot over. "Don't be littering the town, now."
"Aye, fuck you very much."
I say it dead low, more for Conan's benefit than hers. She acts like she hasn't heard me, but I saw the way her greasy face twitched. I'm an expert wind-up merchant.
"Can we eat outside?" Conan asks.
"I think we have to, mate."
"Good."
We find a bench that faces the water. It's peaceful. Quiet to the point of creepy until Conan starts to tear his fish supper open. There's a bin nearby. I scoped it out because I don't want to give the chippy bitch the satisfaction of being right about me and my potential to litter. Plus there are signs about on-the-spot fines. I was a moron to mouth off to her. If we don't keep a low profile we're going to get scooped. I haven't seen a police station in this town, but that doesn't mean it's not out there somewhere.
"Can
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