Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha Read Online Free PDF

That’ll straighten his back for him.
    I didn’t get it. His back was straight already.
    —Were you ever in it?
    —The F.C.A.?
    —Yeah.
    —No.
    —During the—
    —My father was in the L.D.F.
    —What’s that?
    —Local Defence Force.
    —Did he have a gun?
    —I suppose so. Not at home; I think anyway.
    —I’m going to join them when I’m old enough. Can I?
    —The F.C.A.?
    —Yeah. Can I?
    —Sure.
    —Was Ireland ever in a war?
    —No.
    —What about the Battle of Clontarf?
    He laughed, I waited.
    —That wasn’t really a war, he said.
    —What was it then?
    —A battle.
    —What’s the difference?
    —Well, let’s—Wars are long—
    —And battles are short.
    —Yes.
    —Why was Brian Boru in a tent?
    —He was praying.
    —In a tent though. You don’t pray in a tent.
    —I’m hungry, he said.—What about yourself?
    —Yeah.
    —What are we having; any idea?
    —Mince.
    —Righto.
    —How goes gas kill you?
    —It poisons you.
    —How?
    —You’re not supposed to breathe it. Your lungs can’t cope. Why?
    —The Jews, I said.
    —Oh, he said.—Yes.
    —If Ireland was in a war would you go into the army?
    —It won’t be.
    —It might be, I said.
    —No, he said.—I don’t think so.
    —World War Three looms near, I said.
    —Don’t mind that, he said.
    —Would you?
    —Yes, he said.
    —So would I.
    -Good. And Francis.
    —He’s too young, I said.—They wouldn’t let him.
    —There won’t be a war, he said.—Don’t worry.
    —I’m not, I said.
    —Good.
    —We were in a war against the English, weren’t we?
    —Yes.
    —That was a war, I said.
    —Well, it wasn’t really—I suppose it was.
    —We won.
    —Yes. We murdered them. We gave them a hiding they’ll never forget.
    We laughed.
    We had our dinner. It was lovely. The mince wasn’t too runny. I sat in the chair beside Da, Sinbad’s chair. Sinbad said nothing.
     
    —It’s not Adidas. It’s Ad-dee-das.
    —It’s not. It’s Adidas.
    —It isn’t. It’s eee.
    —i.
    —eee.
    —i.
    —Spa-face; it’s eeeeeeee.
    —iiiiiiii.
    None of us had Adidas football boots. We were all getting them for Christmas. I wanted the ones with the screw-on studs. I put that in my letter to Santy but I didn’t believe in him. I only wrote to him because my ma told me to, because Sinbad was writing to him. Sinbad wanted a sleigh. Ma was helping him to write his letter. Mine was finished. It was in the envelope but she wouldn’t let me lick the flap yet because Sinbad’s letter had to go in as well. It wasn’t fair. I wanted an envelope of my own.
    —Stop whinging, she said.
    —I’m not whinging.
    —Yes, you are; stop it.
    I wasn’t whinging. Putting two letters in one envelope was stupid. Santy would think it was only one letter and he’d just bring Sinbad’s present and not mine. I didn’t believe in him anyway. Only kids believed in him. If she said I was whinging again I’d say that, and then she’d have to spend all day making Sinbad believe in him again.
    —I don’t know if Santy brings sleighs to Ireland, she told Sinbad.
    —Why doesn’t he?
    —Because there’s hardly ever any snow, she said.—You wouldn’t get a chance to use it.
    —There’s snow in winter, said Sinbad.
    —Only sometimes.
    —Up the mountains.
    —That’s miles away, she said.—Miles.
    —In the car.
    She didn’t lose her temper. I stopped waiting. I went into the kitchen. If you held an envelope over the steam coming out of a kettle you could open it, and close it again without anyone knowing. I needed a chair to plug in the kettle. I checked to make sure that there was enough water in it, over the element. I didn’t just lift it up and weigh it; I took the lid off and looked in. I got off the chair and put it back. I didn’t need the chair any more.
    I went back to the living room. Sinbad still wanted the sleigh.
    —He should bring you what you want, he said.
    —He does, love, said my ma.
    —Then-
    —But he doesn’t want you to be