***
Shane would like to state that he was very ill with a stomach complaint this week and is very sorry to have have disappointed you all with the cancelled shows.However he is feeling a little better and would like to thank you all for your patience and messages of support. He would also like to clear up any confusion with regard to upcoming gigs billed as Shane Mac Gowan & The Popes, there will be no more Shane Mac Gowan & The Popes shows without an official statement from Shane.There have been gigs billed under the above title publicised on the internet, billboards etc where Shane had not personally committed to the shows.Shane would like you to know that he is writing and going through a creative time, he will be concentrating on this and looks forward to announcing future projects.
A chubby man on messy bed looks sleepy and puzzled. He is thoroughly examining a sheet of paper and text printed on it. Ash from his fag falls on patterned bedspread. Sometimes his lips begin to move as if he’s reading to himself but still expression of bewilderment doesn’t leave his pale face. He obviously understands nothing.
Another character has made himself comfortable in an arm-chair. He is tired and efficient at the same time. There is a tin whistle in his deft hands, he is polishing it whith his right eye screwed up as if smoke rising from cigarette stings it. Which is strange as there is no smoke – the fag squeezed between his thin lips has gone out ages ago. He is absorbed in his work and pays little attention to the fag, TV or the man on the bed.
The space between two companions is mostly filled with low table. There is a bottle of gin on it, nearer to the bed, almost empty. Attentive observer could notice another two or three bottles (of uknown origin) under the bed, next to a pair of worn jaguar brothel creepers (which fit perfectly with the subject of the TV program). Nearer to the arm-chair there is a muddy glass of white wine and a wee coffee cup full of butts. Not even a keen policeman would find signs of smack or coke, so maybe there is none. Just a pack of Rothmans right in the middle of the dusty table.
- Joey, what's it all about?
Joey (polishing his whistle)
- I don't know, Shane
- Joey, WHAT THE FUCK IS IT ALL ABOUT, TELL ME.
- YOU ASK ME? Whose statement is it? Mine? Who shouted: Leave me alone, fuckers I know what I am doing? ME? Who made me call Gerry in the dead of night and then dictated that shite to him, losing in words and constantly changing mind? I wonder how he managed to write it down at all... How many times I asked you to forget about lousy statements?! Once and forever!!! "it will be short and clear", "I have something important to say to my loyal fans", "I want to clarify things". So? Have you clarified them? Something still unclear?
- Hey, why do you fucking shout at me?! Get cold, yeah?
Joey tries to sigh and notices the lifeless fag. He adds it to the pile in the cup and reaches for the pack in the middle of the table.
- I am cold as a snowman, just leave me alone now and don't ask what your bloody statement means!
- And...
- And "what to do now" too!! - Joey clicks his lighter.
Quiet tone of wanton cancan meddles into the talk of friends.
- Yes – Joey adjusts his bluetooth and returns to the whistle - Fuck off Paul, I don't even now if I was sacked or not! Shane is like a bit uncertain about it, he tries to recollect what he was thinking about issuing his statement, did he suppose to get rid of me or not... reading it again and again doesn't help at all.
He throws meaningful look at Shane, but Shane is deep in studying the paper (or pretending to be) and ignoring Joey’s glare.
- We are lost. Both of us. The problem is Shane wants to be a man of the word but doesn't remember what that word was about... So I ask you politely: Fuck off and don't burden me with you problems, I 've got loads of mine, up to my nostrils!
Joey knocks the ash down on the floor, gulps from the muddy glass and is ready to continue the interrupted work and interrupted conversation.
- Shane you shouldn't mix speed and G&T or at least lead your activity into another course...
- Ok, Joey, you have read it...
- I have read twenty times at least, Shane! I would learn it by heart. If I had any...
- Fuck it, Joey!!!! Don't start that frigging again! I mean you have read it, how would you interpret it... if you were one of my loyal fans?
- Do you still believe in loyal fans? I thought you were a bit too old for such shite.
Joey carefully finds a place for the fag on the top of the butts pile and raises the whistle to his lips. Shane snatches the poor instrument out of his hands and throws it away.
Joey sticks the fag back into his mouth, searches the arm-chair under his bottom and extracts: first a magazine (he casts it aside with distaste, the magazine falls on the floor, not far from the whistle, exposing a pic of busty beauty), then a remote. Light move of a finger and sloth’s place on the screen is taken by Duffy Duck and - in a second – a pair of birds in unbelievably short skirts. The song is equally unbelivably awful, so Joey with a pained expression on his face turns the volume as low as possible.
- Ok, if I was one of that morons - theoretically - I would be standing in the queue of those who are longing to turn the tickets in...
- Why?
- Because read it forward or backward it says one thing – “fenita la comedia”...
- What?
- “my author has overdone a bit with horizon broadeners and gone nuts!!”
- Fuck you, Joey!
- If you have no other choice, with all that free time at hands...
- AHA!!! Open you fucking eyes wider, you fucker!!! What free time? It says " he is writing and going through a creative time, he will be concentrating on this and look forward to announcing future projects" . Look here! SEE?! So shut fucking up, pal!
- Marvelous! And what are you going to present them in half a year? Empty bottles? Or what are you concentrating on now?
Shane (pushing away empty bottle)
- Your balls, Joey, if you don't shut fucking up!
- It would be your most sizable achievement for sure...
- Joey, I am sure we could add some sense to the rest of the text... If you stop frigging and attach your brains...
- To stop frigging now? I think I have a right for last farewell. As for my brains, why should I lend you my brains, Shane?
- ?!
- Are you sure I was not sacked?
- Well, if we put some sense in it...
- You mean you want me to compose my "sack note"?
- There is no sign of your sacking, Joey!!!
- Are you sure?
- Is there something about organization? Management? Personal assistants? Life long friends? Right hands? Joeys? Cunts? Is there? NO? So why do you keep fucking my head? YOU ARE NOT SACKED, JOEY!! Yet...
- It's for sure?
- YESSSSS!
- OK, one problem has been sorted out... What about Paul?
photo © unknown