I'll be doing a gig at the Dalkey Book fair, June 15th 5pm at the Corner Note Cafe where I will be reading and talking with legendary literary agent Ivan Mulcahy. I am told that some other foreign correspondent is looking for a little limelight. Some geezer called Robert Fisk. Whoever he is. Then there's some writer who seems to be robbing most of my identity. Kevin Barry. Should have taken that lad out at 18 summers. Some other pokey nosed journo and bugger of bugging presidents called Carl Bernstein. There's an Anne Enright. She rings a bell. But jesus - your head would be wrecked keeping with all this crew. They all write things.
On the subject of writing things and wrong things, listen to me growl.
Listen to me bitch.
Just wasted 40 quid entering some Fish poetry competition judged by Paul Durcan.
Some crew with obviously very questionable taste in Cork.
Didn't even make the long list.
That's what I get for being fool enough to be giving money away to that class of carry on.
Big big boo.
Fuck it.
Let's look at pretty pictures.
By Gary Coyle
On the subject of writing things and wrong things, listen to me growl.
Listen to me bitch.
Just wasted 40 quid entering some Fish poetry competition judged by Paul Durcan.
Some crew with obviously very questionable taste in Cork.
Didn't even make the long list.
That's what I get for being fool enough to be giving money away to that class of carry on.
Big big boo.
Fuck it.
Let's look at pretty pictures.
By Gary Coyle
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| Ivan Mulcahy and myself flanked by Brian Barrington and Fiona Cummins |
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| Vanessa and Fiona. Two dames. |
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