Plot? What plot? Denny and his dodgy friends bum aimlessly round the seedier parts of Dublin in this episodic, shaggy-dog story. Boozy, druggy and spectacularly profane, it's also a funny, touching and sometimes poetic account of how Denny tries to cope with the sudden death of his much-loved 'ma'.
He looked wretched. I asked him wha was up.
- I have salmonella, he said.
Salmo-fuckin-ella. He couldn't even just say it was flu. Course, it turned out he had a bog standard cold, but there was no tellin him. He even debated it with Dr McSorley, quotin stuff from ER and Dr Hilary out of the Sunday magazines.
Pajo's mumblin somethin under his breath. It's some sort o prayer by the sounds of it, made up as he goes. I'm not sure wha this whole religion thing is with him. I mean, wha comfort does pretendin to be a Buddhist or wharrever give him? What's wrong with pretendin to be a Catholic like the rest of us?