Brigita doesn’t actually slap us. She thumps us. Girls who haven’t been trained to thump should stick to slapping.
I shoot the Aislings. That is, I film them as they join the queue in Penney’s and smile at a black woman in front of them.
We’re on O’Connell Street, and Brigita, my partner – I love that word – has just given the two Aislings ten euro each and told them to spend it in the shop that’s parked and waiting right behind them, Penney’s.
Myself and Brigita are in the kitchen, planning Episode 3 of I’m Irish, Get Me Out Of Here, when the bell rings.
So, Aislings 1 & 2 are well on their way to being Latvian. They’re loving it. And so are we. ‘We’ are the series creators, yours truly and Brigita, the team behind I’m Irish, Get Me Out Of Here. And we’re happy because we have
So, there you have it – as the oldies say. We’re up and running. We’ve told the Aislings they’ll be on telly, so they’re standing there, trying not to look as if the camera’s on them. It is – I’m holding it and
Brigita doesn’t sit up. She doesn’t have to. She never slumps or slouches. But it looks like she’s just sat up, all set for the argument.
Chapter Eight She slipped the balaclava over her head. She had just heard the door downstairs being opened, and closed. Darren, her boyfriend, was on his way up. Felicja counted his steps. He was very close now to their apartment door. Felicja
Chapter Seven Looking back a few hours later, Felicja wondered if she had actually witnessed what she knew she had witnessed.
Chapter Six –You’re Polish, Felicja, said Dee. –Aren’t you? –Yes, Dee, said Felicja. –I am Polish. –So, you don’t mind killing animals. Felijia shrugged.
The woman returned to the house at about 3pm. She didn’t come out to the garden, where she’d left Felicja. Felicja sat in a damp deckchair and texted her boyfriend – BoredX – and occasionally counted the chickens. Then she looked up and
Chidimma Agu (FF) took real pleasure in the sight of her face at the top of the ballot paper. She showed it to Kelechi and Anuli.
The dog was sweet but not an asset when it came to persuading the people of Mulhuddart to vote for Chidimma Agu (FF). So the family kept the dog and gave him a name, Biffo, but he stayed in the back garden, barking at the grass, when Chidimma went out canvassing.
–Look at me, said Chidimma Agu to the Minister for Trade and Communications.Chidimma’s kitchen was warm and the Minister was drunk – her eyes had begun to close.
Chidimma Agu (FF) looked at the door. It was shut. In fact, it had just been slammed by its owner, Bernard Kavanagh, who had assured Chidimma that he would not be voting for her. He never had voted for Fianna Fáil and he never would.
–Jerzy?Jerzy sees the man who is talking to him from the other side of the bandstand. He knows who it is.
Unrolling his sleeping bag almost hurts. Muscles protest – not again. Jerzy has been looking forward to clean sheets, a mattress, a roof. But he must endure two more days. He is hungry – and hungrier now because he does not have the opportunity to