‘Pub Dialogue’ by Roddy Doyle

20120201-204310.jpg

Side A: Dialogue 1

Side B: Instrumental

Side A:

-Wha’ d’yeh think of cancer?
-I’m all for it.
-I’m serious.
-Well, like – what’s there to think?
-Which one would yeh prefer? If yeh had to choose, like?
-Well, definitely not the balls.
-We’re too old for tha’ one.
-Really?
-Yeah.
-Fuckin’ great. How d’yeh know, but?
-Me cousin. He had to have a medical an’ they told him, an’ he’s the same age as us.
-That’s great. What’s left?
-Bowels.
-God, no.
-It’s not usually fatal.
-Don’t care. I’d prefer the lungs.
-That’s one o’ the worst.
– I don’t give a shite. It has more style.
-Wha’?!
-Okay. Listen. Say you’re chattin’ to a bird. Your missis has died or somethin. Whatever – and you’re chattin’ to this woman. You tell her you have lung cancer, you’re home an’ dry. She’ll think you’re Humphrey Bogart. But tell her you’ve bowel cancer?
-She’s gone.
-Exactly.
-What about prostate?
-I’m not even sure what it is. What’s it do?
-Don’t know. Me cousin said it’s the one we should be worried about. At our age, like.
-What’s the test?
-Finger up the hole.
-Doctor’s finger?
-Yeah, has to be a doctor. It’s fifty quid extra for two fingers. The cousin said.


Side B:

Instrumental

© Roddy Doyle 2012