Wrap Your Troubles In Dreams

Few thought it strange that Brick never asked him about the papers. Jesus, maybe he knew. He fished out a phone and put on the new Angela Aux album, “Wrap Your Troubles In Dreams”. Weirded out, wired, time stretched to breaking-point……Neil Young, Visage, Sparklehorse…

“and when there’s no words left to say play piano play….”

And all the voices in his head competing for his attention, competing for their version of the truth to ring out….was he wrong to leave them by the side of the road? The innocent boy and the black widow. How long would he survive? Then again, dying seemed a minor inconvenience around here. The morning never really took hold, eventually lost interest completely and politely stepped aside to let darkness return.

Wrap Your Troubles In Dreams Bing Crosby. One of his father’s favourite tunes. His dad looked after the river weirs when he was a kid, it was off limits to the public, there was a little hut with three walls built on the bank of the river – he’d put in an old leather Clubman and a wind-up gramophone. They would go down in the evenings, he was probably only 4 or 5 at the time and his father would put the old 78s on and they’d trip the light fantastic out across the river, their own private crossing. His father, always so well dressed, so calm and assured, all Brylcream and Old Spice, like Michael Collins he mum always used to say, cut from the very rocks that….

Just remember that sunshine
Always follows the rain
So wrap your troubles in dreams

“It was one of the first songs I wrote for The Velvets“.

Few check’s the rear-view mirror. Lour Reed is sprawled on the back seat of the car. He’s emaciated, his face is a death-mask of skin and bone, mostly bone, hard to look.  His voice is a rumour.

“I didn’t expect to find you down here Few.  John never liked it. Andy said it lacked dissonance. The lyrics….golden something. Nico made a…I must ask Andy. Have you seen John?”

“Lou, it’s been a while. You look…..well…..John? Yes, we asked him for an interview – he never replied. “

“Not surprised. They say I’m the difficult one but it was always him…”

And then I saw Lou
I’m so mad at him
Lou Reed got married and didn’t invite me

Few squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. Lou’s gone. Thank fuck…thank fuck. There’s a sign up ahead for Dublin. At last. There’s someone on the side of the road, flagging him down, he slows to take a look but he’s ready to bolt.

McGivney flicks the cigarette onto the floor, twists on his heel to stub it out, spins around and points at the nuncio “Oh yeah! Poor Tooler sure he’s in fucking bits – you’ve a lot to answer for – would you stop staring at me? Hahahaha….”


“Depeche Mode, that beats everything….I bet you thought they were finished when Clarke left?”


Tooler goes over to the prone papist and administers drops to his eyes…”Here…”he hands him a pair of shades..”He needs a doctor Boss, I need a doctor….”

“Oh Jesus you’re right…..sit down Tooler ….here ….he throws a potato sack to him…put that on…a doctor? And what kind of a fucking doctor do you think you’d find around these here parts? I’ll give you two choices Mabuse or Mengele.”

There’s a radio playing somewhere high in the rafters – the crackle and burr of another time and place………… that is a concept that many of you may have failed to understand, let me tell you than in Germany there still remains the spirit of unity and the spirit of strength let me tell you that here we have a united people who are modest in their wishes they are not imperialists they do not want to take what does not belong to them

McGivney strikes the Nuncio unconscious with the butt of his gun…”Best thing for him. It’s the silences I could never master I have to fill in the space, can’t stop talking, can’t stop fucking thinking Tooler.”

“Do we leave him here? He’s seen us. Case closed, so to speak.”

Mine eyes have seen glory of the coming of the…..

“I’m sure as fuck not putting him in my motor….let’s get the fuck oudda hee – we’ll call it in to the locals when we’re on our way.”

“I could do with a hug boss.”

“Come on you stupid cock.”

“Where are we going kid?”

“Just over the hill like..”

“Do you trust him?”

“Trust him? Ahahahaha, trust him? No I don’t trust him, I don’t trust you, I don’t even trust my fucking self at this stage…”

Sarah ignores him, wonders what McGivney is doing now that she never showed up….but I guess she may get the job done even more quickly. The boy trudged on, he’swearing long plaid short trousers and a cap, a tweed jacket, a walking photograph from the thirties or forties. He kept ahead of them, looking back now and again to make sure they were following.  There a faint glow around him, like the Readybrek ads. He reaches the ridge of hill and points at an old barn in the valley below, it’s aflame, another bowl of fire and brimstone.