the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt ten)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

Jimmy Sr and Veronica had the front room to themselves. Jimmy Sr’d just been watching the News. Saddam Hussein was still acting the prick over in Iraq. Veronica had her coat on. She’d just come in; she’d been up at the school registering for more night classes—Leaving Cert History and Geography this time.

—Geography? Jimmy Sr’d said when she’d come in.—That’s great. You’ll be able to find the kettle when you go into the kitchen.

—Humour, said Veronica, imitating Darren.

the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt nine)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

And then they got beaten by the Italians and that was the end of that.

the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt eight)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

They stood there arm in arm and watched O’Leary’s penalty again, and again.

—I’ll tell yeh one thing, said Larry O‘Rourke.—David O’Leary came of age today.

Jimmy Sr loved everyone but that was the stupidest fuckin’ thing he’d ever heard in his life.

—He’s thirty fuckin’ two! he said.—Came of age, me bollix.

the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt seven)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

He thought he was blinded. Little spits of fat stung all his face; he kept his eyes clamped shut.

—Are yeh alrigh’?

Bimbo didn’t sound all that worried.

—Me eyes, said Jimmy Sr.

—Oh, that’s shockin’, said Bimbo.—Here, he said.—Wash them.

He handed Jimmy Sr one of the milk bottles.

—Jesus, said Jimmy Sr.

He poured a small amount of the water into his palm and gave his face a wipe. That was better. The stinging was gone. It was no joke though; he’d have to be careful. He didn’t want to end up like the Phantom of the fuckin’ Opera.

the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt six)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

It was like a procession, pushing and dragging the van through Barrytown, Bimbo and Jimmy Sr and some of their kids although the twins were no help at all, just worried about getting their clothes dirty. Mind you, you didn’t even have to touch the van to get dirty from it, you only had to stand near it. It took them ages to get the wheels on it and then getting it around to the front without knocking a lump off the house took ages as well and it was nearly dark by the time they were on the road to Bimbo’s. The weather was great, of course, and everyone on the left side of the street was out on their front steps getting the last of the sun and by the time they’d got to the corner of Barrytown Road there was a huge fuckin’ crowd out watching them. Jimmy Sr kept his head down all the way, except when they were going down the hill just at the turn into Chestnut Avenue and he had to run up to the front to help Bimbo stop the van from taking off on its own, past the corner. They’d had to dig their heels in or else it would’ve gone over Bimbo and his young one, Jessica. He should have let it; that would have taught Bimbo a lesson about how to spend his money. Anyway, they got the useless piece of rusty shite to stop just after the corner and there was a really huge crowd by now and they cheered when they missed the corner, the cunts. They backed it back and Wayne, one of Bimbo’s young fellas, got the steering wheel around; the sweat was running off the poor little fucker, and they got it onto Chestnut Avenue and the cunts at the corner cheered again. No fear of the lazy shites giving them a hand, of course.

There really was a huge crowd out. It was a bit like Gandhi’s funeral in the film, except noisier. It was more like the Tour de France, the neighbours at the side of the road clapping and whooping, the cynical bastards.

the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt five)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

He didn’t think he was being selfish. At first-during the first week or so-he’d felt a bit guilty, a bit of a bollix, because Bimbo was so miserable and he was the opposite. He couldn’t wait to get up and out in the mornings, like a fuckin’ kid on his summer holliers. But he didn’t think that way any more. Because he was helping Bimbo really. He wasn’t denying that he was delighted that Bimbo wasn’t working—not that he’d told anyone—but he didn’t have to feel bad about it because, after all, he hadn’t given poor Bimbo the sack and he’d never even wished it. And if Bimbo ever got his job back or got a new one he’d be the first one to slap him on the back and say Sound man. And he’d mean it as well.

But Bimbo was sacked; it was a fact. He was hanging around doing nothing. And Jimmy Sr was hanging around doing nothing, so the two of them might as well hang around and do fuckin’ nothing together. Only, with the two of them, they could do plenty of things. Playing pitch and putt by yourself on a cold March morning could be very depressing but with someone else to go around with you it could be a great bit of gas. And it was the same with just walking along the seafront; and anything really.

the last book I ever read (The Van: A Novel by Roddy Doyle, excerpt four)

from The Van: A Novel (The Barrytown Trilogy) by Roddy Doyle:

—Are we goin’ or wha’? said Paddy.

The plan was, they were all going down to the seafront with a couple of sixpacks. They’d decided this after Paddy had been complaining about all the kids that were down there every night.

—All ages, he’d told them.—Polluted out of their heads.

—That’s shockin’, Bimbo’d said.

And then Bertie’d said that they should go down there themselves after they were flung out of the boozer, and that was where they were going now. So—