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a terrible howling that would have given a deaf man a headache.
Jacob Turpin, the pervert dockworker who liked to spend his evenings lurking around the Milltown Road, waiting for little girls to cross his path so that he could treat them to a quick flash of his shortcomings.
‘She’ll be on you like a bear on a beehive if you keep this dirty talk up.’
‘Anything is possible,’ I said. ‘But most things are unlikely.’
After the IRA had toppled the admiral from his pedestal, the remaining structure had been taken down in a controlled explosion that had been so ineptly planned that it had blown out half the windows of the shops on O’Connell Street, causing thousands of pounds’ worth of damage.
Those windows won’t stare out themselves all afternoon.
