congrats
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Congrats, a great time.
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Congrats Decco!
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Great news. Congratulations to you and (little) miss Moffat.
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Weak effort
Ah lovely stuff. I hope he likes to run
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So it seems the thought of having a name chosen by people on the internet has led to a swift conclusion. Thanks men.
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Cheddar it is 
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Bayan Moffat?
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Poppy Moffat.
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Aboy the kid. Fair play
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Have biblical names become redundant? Tobias, Reuben, Zachary those kinds.
āThe terrier like Toby Moffat brings it off the line once again for Tippā has a grand sound to it.
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Congratulations.
Israel Moffatt?
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Tobias is a fierce popular name on the mainland as is Toby.
Congrats lad. If you are upper middle class you can name em what you like, the more bizarre the better. Cressida is one I heard lately.
The head of the London Metropolitan Police is a lass called Cressida Dick, if I recall correctly.
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she is indeed, she was the one that authorised the shooting of jean charles de menzes.
ironically, as a proud gay woman she has an aversion to dick
Another Roddy Doyle short story
She sits at the table. She feels the back of the chair behind her. She needs it there. Itās holding her up. Sheās afraid to sit back on the couch, to luxuriate, to let go. Sheās afraid to close her eyes.
Sheās not sure whatās in the fridge. Sheās not sure if thereās anything in the fridge. She canāt remember this morning, what was in the fridge the last time she stood in front of it, before she left. She thinks she remembers milk. She thinks she remembers the carton being heavy in her hand as she put it back. She thinks she remembers a packet of tortellini. And half a banana.
Sheās not hungry.
Sheās starving but food would make her sick. Anything ā it doesnāt matter what ā would feel uncooked and wrong in her mouth. It would choke her.
Sheāll have to eat. She knows that. She will.
She wants to phone her mother. But she wonāt ā not yet. She isnāt ready. If her mam asks her how she is she wonāt be able to answer. She wonāt say what she wants to say. She wonāt say anything that she feels belongs to her. Sheāll be out of control, not herself.
Itās dark outside now. It wasnāt when she sat. Although she doesnāt think sheās been sitting here for long. She can hear the usual noises. The children next door, on the stairs. It must be bedtime. Bedtime and early morning ā thatās when she hears them. She doesnāt think theyāre speaking English. Shouting English. Screaming English. The fridge is ticking. Thereās a house alarm whining down the road. The noise has been there since she sat down.
She shares this place but itās empty, wiped clean, wiped lifeless. Sheād love to see a mug. A bit of a mess. The other girls are gone, home. Sheās the only one who had to stay. Her phone is alive with alerts but she doesnāt look at them. Looking would make her feel more isolated. And confused.
This is our Vietnam.
ā What gobshite said that? her father asked her when she told him ā last week, she thinks it was.
ā Another girl, she told him.
ā Donāt listen to her, love, said her dad. ā Itās not Vietnam, itās no oneās Vietnam. Itās a hospital. I donāt want to be harsh ā is she a pal of yours, is she?
ā Not really.
ā Well, if she wants to pretend sheās fighting the Viet Cong, let her. Tell her to watch Platoon.
Sheād laughed. Her dad loves all the war films.
ā Unless she thinks sheās in the Viet Cong, does she?
ā I donāt think so, sheād said.
ā Are you in your full metal jacket? heād asked.
Itās what he calls the PPE. All of his jokes come from war films.
ā No, sheād said. ā I donāt wear it home.
Her face hurts, from the mask. It feels as if a branch sprang back and smacked her face. Sheās sure there are red marks across her cheeks. She wonāt look yet. Behind her ears is sore too.
Two people died today.
Joe ā and Marie.
Body bags
The zip on a body bag. Itās not like any zip sheās heard before. It was her first time hearing one, today, and watching the zip close over the chest, the face. Joe. He had to go into two bags ā thatās the procedure. They washed him. And they spoke to him. They told him what they were doing, even though he was dead. She said nothing at first, then she copied Ćine, the senior staff nurse. Weāre turning you onto your side now, Joe. It was easier when you talked to him. No one spoke when Ćine closed the first body bag. The rasp of the zip, like it was being pulled through wood ā itās the last thing sheāll hear when she closes her eyes. When she goes to bed.
She held the tablet close to Joeās face, so his wife could see him. Three hours before he died. She phoned her up and told her, two minutes after he died. Youāre great, his wife said. Youāre all great. Sheād gone down to reception to collect a picture ā a framed photograph of Joe with his wife and five children ā that one of his sons had left there, to go into the sealed coffin with Joe. They wonāt be able to see him again. Four sons and a daughter. All adults. The daughter was gorgeous in the photo. Lucy. Joe told her the name. A week ago. Sheād listened to Joe talking to his wife. Only a week. Iām alive, itās great. Each word was separate, a different effort. āGreatā took ages to come out of his mouth. But his face ā he meant it. Lucy was pregnant. Iām the happiest man in the world.
Sheāll stand, in a minute. Sheāll go upstairs. Sheāll have a shower. Sheāll bring her clothes downstairs, put them in the washing machine. Sheāll look in the fridge, sheāll eat something. Sheāll go inside and turn on the telly; sheāll keep the sound down. Sheāll check her phone, make sure the alarm is ready for the morning. Then sheāll phone her mam and dad. Her dad first. Heāll make her laugh, and sheāll cry. Heāll listen and heāll tell her that he loves her.