–What’s healthy abou’ gettin’ sand on your knob?

–You just like talkin’ dirty, said Natalie.

–Nat’lie—Nat’lie—Nat’lie, said Jimmy.—It depresses me to hear a modern young one talkin’ like tha’.

–Dirty talk is dirty talk, said Natalie.

–Here here, said Billy Mooney.—Thank God.

–Soul is sex, Jimmy summarized.

–Well done, Jimmy, said Deco.

–Imelda, said Jimmy.—You’re a woman o’ the world.

–Don’t answer him, ’melda, said Bernie.

Jimmy went on.—You’ve had sexual intercert, haven’t yeh?

–Goodjaysis! Rabbitte!

–O’ course she has, a good-lookin’ girl like tha’.

–Don’t answer him.

But Imelda wanted to answer.

–Well, yeah—I have, yeah.—So wha’?

There were cheers and blushes.

–Was it one o’ them multiple ones, ’melda? Outspan asked.—I seen a yoke abou’ them on Channel 4. They sounded deadly.

Derek looked at Imelda.

–Are yeh serious?

He was disappointed in Imelda.

Deco tapped Imelda’s shoulder.

–We could make beautiful music, Honey.

–I’d bite your bollix off yeh if yeh went near me, yeh spotty fuck, yeh.

There were cheers.

Imelda ducked her shoulder away from Deco’s fingers.

–I might enjoy tha’, said Deco.

–I’d make ear-rings ou’ o’ them, said Imelda.

–You’re as bad as they are, ’melda, said Bernie.

–Ah, fuck off, Bernie, will yeh.

–I thought we said slaggin’ complexions was barred, said Jimmy.—Apologise.

–There’s no need.

–There is.

–Sorry.

–That’s okay.

–Spotty.

–Ah here!

Deco grabbed Imelda’s shoulders. Bernie was up quick and grabbed his ears.

–Get your hands off o’ her, YOU.

–As a glasses wearer, said James,—I’d advise you to carry ou’ Bernie’s instructions. Yeh might need glasses yourself some day and a workin’ set of ears will come in handy.

–That’s a doctor gave yeh tha’ advice, remember.

Deco took the advice. Bernie gave him his ears back. Imelda blew him a kiss and gave him the fingers.

–Annyway, Imelda, said Jimmy.—Did yeh enjoy it?

–It was alrigh’, said Imelda.

More cheers and blushes.

–This lady is the queen of soul, said Joey The Lips.

–Wha’ ’re you the queen of? Imelda said back.

–Then you agree with us, Jimmy asked Imelda.

–It’s oney music, said Imelda.

–No way, ’melda. Soul isn’t only music. Soul—

–That’s alrigh’ for the blackies, Jimmy.—They’ve got bigger gooters than us.

–Speak for yourself, pal.

–Go on, Jimmy.—At least we know tha’ Imelda does the business.

–Fuck off, you, said Imelda, but she grinned.

Everyone grinned.

–Yeh said somethin’ about a double-edged sword, said James.

–I s’pose the other side is sex too, said Derek.

–Arse bandit country if it’s the other side, said Outspan.

–I’m goin’ home if it is, said Dean.

–Brothers, Sisters, said Joey The Lips.—Let Brother Jimmy speak. Tell us about the other side of the sword, Jimmy.

They were quiet.

–The first side is sex, righ’, said Jimmy.—An’ the second one is—REVOLUTION!

Cheers and clenched fists.

Jimmy went on.

–Soul is the politics o’ the people.

–Yeeoow!

–Righ’ on, Jimmy.

–Our people.—Soul is the rhythm o’ sex. It’s the rhythm o’ the factory too. The workin’ man’s rhythm. Sex an’ factory.

–Not the factory I’m in, said Natalie.—There isn’t much rhythm in guttin’ fish.

She was pleased with the laughter.

–Musical mackerel, wha’.

–Harmonious herring.

–Johnny Ray, said Dean, and then he roared:—JOHNNY RAY!

–Okay—Take it easy, said Jimmy.

–Cuntish cod, said Deco.

–Politics.—Party politics, said Jimmy,—means nothin’ to the workin’ people. Nothin’.—

Fuck all. Soul is the politics o’ the people.

–Start talkin’ abou’ ridin’ again, Jimmy. You’re gettin’ borin’.

–Politics—ridin’, said Jimmy.—It’s the same thing.

–Brother Jimmy speaks the truth, said Joey The Lips.

–He speaks through his hole.

–Soul is dynamic. (—So are you.)—It can’t be caught. It can’t be chained. They could chain the nigger slaves but they couldn’t chain their soul.

–Their souls didn’t pick the fuckin’ cotton though. Did they now?

–Good thinkin’.

–Fuck off a minute.—Soul is the rhythm o’ the people, Jimmy said again.—The Labour Party doesn’t have soul. Fianna fuckin’ Fail doesn’t have soul. The Workers’ Party ain’t got soul. The Irish people—no.—The Dublin people—fuck the rest o’ them.

–The people o’ Dublin, our people, remember need soul. We’ve got soul.

–Fuckin’ righ’ we have.

–The Commitments, lads. We’ve got it.—Soul.

God told the Reverend Ed—

–Ah, fuck off.

They loved Jimmy’s lectures. His policy announcements were good too.

–What’re they? Derek asked after Jimmy had made one of these announcements.

–Monkey suits, said Jimmy.

–No way, Rabbitte.

–Yes way.

–No fuckin’ way, Jim. No way.

–I had one o’ them for me mot’s debs, said Billy.—It was fuckin’ thick. The sleeves were too long, the trunzers were too fuckin’ short, there was a stupid fuckin’ stripe down—

–I puked on mine at our debs, remember? said Outspan.

–Some of it got on mine too, Derek reminded him.

–Oh, for fuck sake! said Dean.—I’m after rememberin’.—I forgot to bring mine back. It’s under me bed.

–When was your debs? Bernie asked him.

–Two years ago, said Dean.

They started laughing.

–Yeh must owe them hundreds, said Outspan.

–I’d better leave it there so.

–Jimmy, said James.—Are yeh seriously expectin’ us to deck ourselves out in monkey suits?

–Yeah.—Why not?

–Yeh can go an’ shite, said Billy.

–Well said.

–Yis have to look good, said Jimmy.—Neat—

Dignified.

–What’s fuckin’ dignified abou’ dressin’ up like a jaysis penguin? Outspan asked.

–I’d be scarleh, said Derek.

Deco said nothing. He liked the idea.

–Brothers, Sisters, said Joey The Lips.—We know that soul is sex. And soul is revolution, yes? So now soul is—Dignity.

–I don’t understand tha’, said Dean.

–Soul is lifting yourself up, soul is dusting yourself off, soul is—

–What’s he fuckin’ on abou’?

–Just this, Brother.—Soul is dignity.—

Dignity, soul. Dignity is respect.—Self respect.

–Dignity is pride. Dignity, confidence. Dignity, assertion. (Joey The Lips’ upstretched index finger moved in time to his argument. They were glued to it.)—Dignity, integrity. Dignity, elegance.—

Dignity, style.

The finger stopped.

–Brothers and Sisters.—Dignity, dress.—

Dress suits.

–Dignity fuck dignity off dignity Joey.

–Dignity slippers, dignity cardigan.

–Ah, leave Joey alone, said Natalie.

Joey The Lips laughed with them.

Then Jimmy handed out photocopies of a picture of Marvin Gaye, in a monkey suit. That silenced them for a while.

–He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? said Imelda.

–Yeah, said Natalie.

Joey The Lips looked up from his copy.

–He’s up there watching, Brothers.

–Now, said Jimmy when they all had one.—What’s wrong with tha’?

–Nothin’.

–He looks grand, doesn’t he?

–Yeah.

–We’ll get good ones. Fitted.—Okay?

Outspan looked up.

–Okay.

One of the best was the night Jimmy gave them their stage names.

–What’s wrong with our ordin’y names? Dean wanted to know.

–Nothin’, Dean, said Jimmy.—Nothin’ at all.

–Well then?

–Look, said Jimmy.—Take Joey. He’s Joey Fagan, righ’?—Plain, ordin’ry Joey Fagan. An ordin’ry little bollix.

–That’s me, Brother, said Joey The Lips.—I’m the Jesus of Ordinary.