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chanten tree toyums a day – idn’t that reet, Nudger?’ Nudger nods and storts rolling a joint. ‘And is it, like, working?’ I go. Ronan’s there, ‘I habn’t had sex in two weeks.’ ‘I should hope not. You’re on an island with a bunch of Polish construction workers.’ ‘Polish? They’re alt from Duddygall, Rosser!’ ‘Donegal? Jesus. Well, you know me, Ro – everyone who’s not from South Dublin sounds exactly the same to my ears. The point I’m trying to make is that, well, you wouldn’t be having sex given that there’s no actual women on the island.’ ‘The thing is, but, I habn’t eeben had a wank, Rosser. Two weeks – and I habn’t pult meself off once.’ ‘Hey, that’s, er, great news.’ I know they say we’re too quick to praise our children these days but I still say it anyway. I’m there, ‘I’m proud of you, Ro.’ He goes, ‘It reedy woorks, Rosser. The chanten, the sitar music, the meditayshidden, the little birra hash that Nudger brings oaber. Ine arthur learden how to switch off me libeetho, so I am. Ine cured, Rosser.’ ‘That’s good news for you – and for Shadden obviously.’ ‘Ine saying to Nudger, he should be doing this for a libbon. Imagine how much thee’d pay for a serbice like this oaber in Hoddywoot! Alt them fiddum steers with their bleaten sex addictions, wha?’ Nudger smiles modestly, then lights up. He takes two blasts off the joint, then passes it to Ronan. Out of the blue, I go, ‘Ro, can you do me a favour?’ He’s like, ‘What koyunt of a fabour?’ I’m there, ‘Can you look after something
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