|Scorin' for Ireland
There's nothin' here for the likes a meself. I
know I oughta leave. But where would I go? What the fuck would I do? Sure I've no skills
an' no letters after the name. I'd probably end up comin' home, tail between the legs and
the lads laughin' their bollox's off at me.
"Couldn't hack it over there? Missed the Mammy's
cookin' what? Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha!"
Yeh . . . I can see the cunts now.
At least I get the dole here. Sure if I stick around
long enough somethin's bound to turn up. I just didn't get the right break yet. I told
this to a pal a mine, Anto.
"Ya gotta set your own goals," Anto said.
"an' make your own breaks."
Now I'm thinkin' there's somethin' to what he said.
He's doin' alright. Did a couple a years on a community scheme. Played his cards right.
Now he's top dog. A Community Scheme Supervisor.
I did time on one meself. A community scheme. The job
description said 'Labourers wanted to help restore a derelict regency mansion. Training
provided. Candidates must be eligible for community employment.' that means long-term
unemployed. A conservatory group was offerin' the job. I called the gaffer and worked
there the best part of a year. You should've seen the state a the place at the start.
Manky. But Jaysus you'd want to have seen it when we finished. A palace it was. The boss
said he'd somethin' to do with the conservationists and that's how he got all the grants
an' free workers like muggins here. I suppose he was helpin' conserve the place in a way.
But Jaysus help me if I didn't see me little palace a month after we'd finished. It was on
the front page of a property supplement I'd found on the bus. I read that it'd been sold
to some rich cunt for over a million. By then I was back on the scratcher.
Last week I signed on an' the welfare officer told me that seein' as I'm long term I've
the right to go to college. The right no less. Sure I hardly went to school. I didn't even
pass me inter. They call it the 'junior cert' now. I know 'cause me son's doin' it next
year. I call to see him every couple a weeks. I don't live with his Mam any more. Me son
hates school. Just like I did. Why the fuck are they tellin' me I can go to college? I'd
be two years doin' the junior, two years at the Leavin', then three years at college? -
sure I'd be in me middle forties when I'd finish. I'd be knackered. Me son would be
holdin' me up in the queue down the scratcher. The two of us gettin' our cheques.
Maybe I could get on a proper trainin' course. Learn a
skill like. Then set some real goals. When I was on the community scheme a social worker
came around to visit us. She taught me a way to set goals and get them. It goes somethin'
How to get your goal.
1. Visualise your ultimate goal as if you've got it.
2. Put the goal in writin'.
3. Find out all the stuff you need to get it.
4. Break it down into smaller steps.
5. Write the steps out like a shoppin' list.
6. Do the first step on the list.
7. Tick each off as you finish.
8. Cheers! You've scored your ultimate goal.
The last time I was down the trainin' centre they said
I could do a course in 'Computer Skills' at another centre across the city. It sounded
alright and me mate Brian had done it. He said it was alright. I'm told there's money to
be made in it so that'll be me first goal.
I'll have a year to spare before I start that course.
Me second goal could be to do somethin' while I'm waitin' for the course. I always wanted
to do a bit a travellin'. I heard a lad's goin' away to teach English in Spain.
Thatd be some craic. And the women over there fuckin' rides man! I want some
a that an' there's me second goal. The only snag is I don't have any foreign languages . .
. But I'm told they all speak English over there. Then why bother goin' over to teach it?
. . . They need help to speak it proper - that's it.
You need to have a bit a paper before you can teach.
Me mate Paul went over there for a year. To Spain I mean. Told me he photocopied someone
elses cert an' got work from that. Anyway gettin' a job in Spain won't be a problem.
Sure they're gaggin' to learn the English over there. I mean look at how many a their kids
are sent here each summer Either that or they want rid a the noisy bastards.
The only problem would be gettin' set up with a flat
while I look for work. Paul told me they don't give dole to foreigners in Spain, not even
if you're a member of the EU. But I'm told you can get your dole an' rent allowance
transferred to other European countries, like Germany an' Holland. Holland sounds alright.
You can buy your hash next to your Silk Cut in Amsterdam. There's progress.
But where would I go? Where would I live? How the fuck
would I find work? I wouldn't know a soul over there. I'd probably end up comin' home
after a couple a weeks. Fuck that.
Somethin's bound to turn up here.
Nearly forgot. There's a good chance I could get a
nixer packin' shelves at the supermarket - that plus me dole an' I'll be livin' like a
king. Yeh . . . Fuck emigration, fuck goin' back to school, fuck teachin'. I'll stay on
the scratcher get me nixer sorted an' be on that course for next September. They'll be me
An' when I'm finished the course?
Well Ill be nine to fivin with the best of
them. Jaysus, Ill have to go into trainin' for that. That I will. An' no more
gettin' pissed during the week. No way. I'll have a proper job, a suit, a car, a house,
an' holidays in the sun each year. Now there's me ultimate fuckin' goal!
Only problem with doin' the course is I'll have to
move flats. The trainin' centre where they're doin' it is eleven mile out. Fuck, I didn't
think a that. I'll never arrive on time in the mornin'. I'd have to catch two buses to get
there if I stay here. If I move I'll probably have to give up the nixer an' take a hike on
me rent. Then I'd be back on community scheme wages. I'd have less than I have now. Ah
here, I couldn't live on that . . . I'll have to think about this. Plan it out like, step
by step, weigh up the pros an' cons an' visualise me ultimate goal . .
But I think I'm a bit past it to score for Ireland.
There's nothin' here for the likes a meself . .