I was playing with Cinderella’s Left Testicle, my band, every Friday in the Pigeon Club on Lally at the time. Then, due to the recession, I lost my day job and the government sent me on an intern scheme working for nothing as a skivvy in the basement of a Blackrock mansion. I basically had to do whatever the rich owner of the mansion, Rupert Rope, and his two stupid daughters, Toni Thursday and Rice Pudding, told me to do 24-7. I had no choice, otherwise, the government could arrest and jail me as a lazy scumbag under new austerity legislation.
The stupid sisters refused me permission to play with my band at the Pigeon club. I was devastated. But I continued to write songs in my head for the future, if the club or band survived somehow. Then they wouldn’t let me practice out loud on my guitar in my room. I wasn’t even permitted to as much as polish their grand piano collecting dust in their back room. They physically assaulted me if I so much as looked at it sideways under my breath.
I was coping right up until they instructed me to perform at an X-Factor audition. Prince Charming was judging and they wanted to meet him and perhaps musically cajole him into a Blackrock celebrity threesome that was all the rage in their leafy suburb at the time.
‘Why don’t you perform yourselves?’ I said.
‘Too coarse for the likes of us, darling. We’re management. Your management to be precise.’
‘In music, no one judges me.’
‘You’ll starve without our funding darling. You’ll have to do it. You’ve no choice. Lazy scumbag legislation demands it.’
‘I’d rather starve.’
‘Then starve so, Cinders. There’s a nice cover version we’d like you to do at the trials-’
On the mere mention of the c word my patience went to pieces. I pushed the two stupid sisters out of my way and left them to it. Obviously, the government had me jailed shortly afterwards, but I managed to rob a bounty of food from rich houses in the meantime and life on the run was sweet for a while.
It turned out that Prince Charming was released from his X-Factor judging contract for swearing that week, so he turned up on the Friday in the Pigeon Club looking to see and hear Cinderella’s Left Testicle for himself. He was a fan from the internet.
When he heard I was in jail and to be soon tried under the new lazy scumbag legislation, he rushed to the police station and handed over the requisite brown envelope that released me. We got on well, he loves his music does Prince Charming. We actually got married.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to play the Pigeon club ever again. They have a rule that bans rich people from playing their independent stage, as they’d have nothing to say. They were right. I’m now bereft. Still, though, life is good. Which is why I recommend robbing to everyone.
Camillus John was bored and braised in Dublin, Ireland. He has had work published in The Stinging Fly, RTE Ten, Headstuff.org, The Lonely Crowd, Thoughtful Dog, Honest Ulsterman, The Cantabrigian, The Bogman’s Cannon, The Queen’s Head, Litro, Fictive Dream, Silver Streams and other such organs of literature. Recently he killed the Prime Minister of Ireland in fiction in the Welsh literary magazine, The Lonely Crowd, with a piece entitled, The Assassination of Enda Kenny (After Hilary Mantel). He would also like to mention that Pat’s won the FAI cup in 2014 for the first time in 53 miserable years of not winning it. Website: Janey Macken Street.