The Con - Father Brennan needs your help, please, Amen

[otter]

"Jesus Sean, will you stop picking your nose and pull two of your finest pints. Liam and I have some business to discuss and it is hard to concentrate when the barman is picking and flicking. Liam, I need your help"

Liam as usual on his day off work passed an hour or two in Lavelle's. It was a year to the day since he had been put on a three day week and still he hadn't told the wife. ' What is on your mind James?'

James grinned, 'The Con Liam, she needs to be on paper. Otter did a fine job but she is lost in Cyberspace.'

'Will you go on to authonomy writing community - Helping writers get published  sign up and sign in and visit our story at http://authonomy.com/books/53181/the-con-father-brennan-book-1/   .

It's a bit like the X-Factor, you need votes to get to the editors desk.

So off ye go, signup, sign in, give it a load of stars by clicking on the stars and make sure to click on Back the book.  Facebook it to your friends and if they like it they can Back it.  Be sure to leave a comment on the book and no swearing or causing trouble.  Liam, if we don't go viral I will give up the fags.'

Liam grinned, every day in this daft priests company was one exciting adventure after another. ' Father, you are as daft as a brush. But Jesus, this will be great craic. I'll Facebook all the lads, it would be like having our own number one hit, count me in.'

Sean as usual looked a little confused but soon he understood the plot and sn1ggered like a schoolboy reading a dirty magazine, ' Mighty, another Con lads, count me in. Hold on a minute, how much will it cost me?'

'Not a farthing Scrooge, you won't have to open your safe or touch your communion money. Get Marites to do it as well.'

Sean nodded, if it cost nought he was up for anything.

'Pulitzer Sean' said Father Brennan as he tossed a beer mat at Sean

'Pulitzer what, I pull pints, what's a Pulitzer, sound like one of them girlie vodka drinks.'

'Oh never mind' said Father Brennan raising his glass. 'To the Con, may her rise to number one be as good as a brown trout to a Mayfly. Amen.

'Are ye in Lads ?'

Liam was already online on his iphone and whistled loudly 'She is ranked at 5513 in the charts, top five will be difficult, even with the forum lads behind us.'

Father Brennan banged his glass on the counter and kicked Liam's stool, 'Liam, have I ever let you down? Stop being so negative, all the lads will be like pigs in s.h1t now that the fishing season is well under way. This will give them something to do during the day and won't it be better craic than discussing Bungs and the like?'

Liam groaned, 'It could be a bit short, James. A novel needs to be double that size.'

Father Brennan reached into his pocket and pulled out the black notebook, the Holy Grail and placed it on the counter. 'Otter already spotted that one, the devious little furry critter has a solution. If the lads pull in behind us, Otter will write our quest to reach number one in the book as we go along. It will be like a bloody reality TV show. The devil is in the detail Liam, the devil is in the detail.'

'Bullsh1t' said Sean, 'The devil is sitting on my stool drinking porter and conspiring. We may be going to hell for this, can we handle the heat Liam. ?'

Will it be continued ?   - That is up to you guys, Amen.

[otter]

Sean hopped up out of his marital bed, rubbed his tired eyes and tried to figure out where the loud banging was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from the back gate. He glanced at Marites as she lay on the bed, sleeping like a lamb. She was now immune from Sean's incessant snoring and only a bomb or Jedward screeching on the radio, could waken her . Sean cursed as he put on his slippers and made his way down the stairs. It had been a late night. Castlebridge had won its first championship football match in eleven years. More importantly they had beaten their sworn enemies, the neighbouring parish of Elmwood.

The heroes and their bruised and battered supporters had made their way to Lavelle's for the celebrations. Marites had to administer an ice pack to several of the walking wounded and all but Larry "The Boot" Byrne's black eye benefited from her treatment. Larry had scored the winning point eleven years ago and was a parish hero ever since. Yesterday however he was elevated to the status of legend. Larry "The Legend" had with a single punch, floored the Elmwood manager. In the resulting brawl between the Castlebridge supporters and the Elmwood players, three Elmwood players were sent off. The party had lasted until three in the morning and Sean was knackered.

'I'm coming, for the love of God stop banging.' Sean made his way through the yard and opened the rusty gate a little and peered out. Father Brennan shoved his way past Sean, almost sending the startled barman flying over some empty kegs. Sean stared in astonishment as two men carrying an enormous cardboard box followed Father Brennan into the yard.

'Sean, take your hands out of your pockets and give us a hand. Right lads follow me' Father Brennan cleared a safe path up through the yard, all the while guiding the men. 'Left a bit, the other left you idiot. Steady as it goes. Watch that crate of Bulmer's. '

Slowly the entourage, step by careful step made their way to the back door. The cat had retired to the flat roof over the kitchen and nervously watched the priest, ready to flee should any missiles come in her direction. Sean followed, remonstrating loudly, remonstrations that fell on deaf ears, for Father Brennan was on a mission. The men came to a sudden stop at the back door, the outside step almost catching them out.

'Tilt her lads and watch the step,' Father Brennan, one hand on the box reversed into the kitchen and guided them into the back room where they lay the box against the sidewall. 'Well done lads, a pint for the lads Sean, this is thirsty work. By the way, nice Pyjamas Sean, did Marites pick them for you?'

Sean, red faced from both embarrassment and temper decided that now was not the time for any heroics and did as bid. When he returned to the counter with two pints, he gasped. They had opened the box and discarded the cardboard. Lying against the wall was the largest television he had ever seen.

Father Brennan settled onto a stool and opened the manual for the television before grinning at Sean. 'A 64 inch, flat screen Smart TV.'

'I can see that Father. What is a Smart TV? What is it doing here? 'The second he asked the question Sean regretted it.

'A Smart TV Sean is for less intelligent people, I thought you deserved a belated wedding present. What do you think?' Father Brennan wore his saint-like expression as demurely as a debutante going to a ball and waited for Sean's temper to explode.

Sean though not quite fully awake seen through the cloak and quietly responded. 'Father that is very kind, though I think the living room would be a better resting place for it. Why do WE need a Smart TV?'

'The Con, she is climbing the charts and I thought we would make this room the centre of operations. We can get the internet on it and watch the books progress, reality TV at its best. Sean if we can get enough people interested you could make a fortune providing drink and food. If it goes according to plan, I will have TV crews here within two months. And you will be the most famous publican in Ireland.' Father Brennan knew that Sean required time to digest this information so he began to read the manual. After two pages he was lost and immediately texted Liam. "Get your lazy **** over to Lavelle's, we need your technical nonce. "

One of the workmen left and came back in minutes with his toolbox. Sean came around front with a bowl of Cornflakes and watched their progress. They measured twice, arguing incessantly and reaching a decision they made four marks on the wall. The beefier of the two seemed to be in charge and after fitting a drill bit into the drill he aimed for the first mark. He was about to drill when he turned to Sean, 'Is there any pipes in the wall Sean?'

Cornflakes left Sean's mouth like a shower of confetti, most landing on Father Brennan and the manual. 'Christ Father, if you go through a pipe, I'll never forgive you.'

'Go ahead lads, Barney Mulligan the plumber lives around the corner.' The drill started on Father Brennan's command and Sean grimaced as they bored each hole. They had not noticed Marites arriving at the counter and once again cornflakes flew when she spoke.

'Sean Lavelle, what is going on, why all the noise and where did you get that TV?' Marites snarled in anger, her sleep had been rudely interrupted and that was not a clever thing to do. Sean pointed to Father Brennan as he shovelled another spoon of cornflakes into his mouth. Marites glared at Father Brennan, 'I should have known you were behind this, you are barred, for good.' As usual, she disappeared before Father Brennan could respond. Once again he had failed to get in the last word with her and he grinned for he thought the world of her.

As the last screw was inserted into the wall, Eamonn, the bigger workman, turned to Father Brennan and Sean, 'We will need help lifting her. ' After much heaving, grunting, cursing they finally managed to fit the television onto the frame and as Father Brennan pushed the plug into the socket, Liam walked in.

'Need any help lads,' he stared at screen as it flickered, wondering what was going on, knowing full well who was responsible. Before Father Brennan could make a speech he cottoned on and grabbed the manual.

While Liam scanned through the pages Father Brennan paid the workmen. 'Here is an extra fifty each, I have scribbled the website name on the back of these. When you get home Eamonn, login, signup and back the Con and make sure to give it a load of stars. If you don't, I will be talking to your wife about the horses. If you get another twenty people to back it, then there is a hundred Euros for each of you.'

Liam played with the remote, going through one setting after another and finally a box appeared on the screen. 'Sean, have you WiFi in here?'

Sean was puzzled for a moment, and then he grinned, 'I need to switch it on.'

Father Brennan winked at Liam, 'Penny pinching again. You cannot teach an old dog, new tricks or is it a Leopard...Whatever.'

Sean returned, now munching on a slice of toast. 'Try it now Liam.'

Liam lifted the remote, 'WiFi passphrase please Sean.'

Bits of toast landed on Father Brennan's lap, this would not be easy, he spelled it out one letter at a time. "I L O V E B A R B I E" Liam keyed it in one letter at a time and within seconds up popped GOOGLE. They howled in delight and finally Father Brennan turned to Sean, 'Does Marites know you love Barbie?'

It took some time for Liam to get to grips with Internet viewer and eventually he brought up the Authonomy site and in all its glory, proudly displayed across the 64 inch screen, their story.
Sean yelped in delight, 'Look at the ranking, it is up to 3203, that's good James?'

Father Brennan was well pleased, one small step for his plan.

They raised their glasses to the miracle of technology, Father Brennan made a toast, 'To the Con – part Deux. Now let us get some support, from any quarter. I'll make sure Otter gets his finger out and edits the first book. Amen. Liam meet me at caseys to-morrow, evening, the caddis are up and there are trout to be caught.'

[otter]

Father Brennan was in great form, a twenty to one tip had won by five lengths and his secret parish coffer had been blessed with nearly five grand. When he received a text his rather short fuse ignited and he cursed so loudly that Sean almost knocked over the crate of Ballygowan that he was busily refilling from the tap. 'What is wrong Father?'
Father Brennan glared at him, 'The book has had an agent by the name of Jack Cerro evaluate it. Jesus, there was a typo on the first line, so the agent rejected reading any further. Switch on the television Sean, Otter has screwed up the story. I warned him that the free Irish-English translator was a false economy. He is a bloody skinflint, same as you Sean, penny pinching philistine.' He grabbed the remote, logged in to Authonomy and showed Sean the response from Jack Cerro.

" Interesting pitch.
I'm cranky today, so the first line typo "of/off" put me over the edge."

Father Brennan groaned, 'Jesus, those English Protestants are as particular as the Irish ones. Look there Sean, the first line, a man cannot eat his breakfast in peace.'

Sean read the first line about twenty times before he finally copped on. 'By God, I see it now, he is jealous of you having a housekeeper.'

Father Brennan, as was his habit and his prerogative, raised his hands to heaven, "Lord, you healed the blind, the lame and the infirm but sent me amongst brain dead Gobshites. Finished OF Sean, it should be finished OFF, like when the stupid jockey at the Grand National fell OFF the horse. Do you get it?"

Sean laughed, "I get it now, similar to every Thursday when you give up drinking, by Friday you have fallen OFF the wagon. What do you intend to do? Jack is only doing his job. See his picture, he does not look like a protestant, no protestant would have a picture with a fag hanging out the corner OFF their mouth, or is that OF?"

Father Brennan scratched his beard, "Sean, if he does not give our story another read, ignoring the fecked up translations and arse about tit grammar, I'll have him at confessions before the month is out. If I asked him if he would like a pint of Guinness or a pint of Guiness he would still bloody drink it. If anyone is looking for me Sean, I am gone to the river."

Father Brennan slowly walked downstream, pausing occasionally, poking his head out between bushes, trees and other vegetation that concealed him from the river. When his blood pressure was bordering on heart attack territory, a good walk and locating a fine trout, was a far better cure than any of the chemical concoctions prescribed by the doctor.

This as is usual, proved to be a catch twenty two situation. Locating the larger trout required stealth. Patience is a prerequisite to stealth, normal blood pressure a prerequisite to patience. It was a test of endurance and Father Brennan had walked two miles, before finally locating what he reckoned was a good trout. She lay tight to the bank on his side and as he watched the gentle rings each time she rose, all thoughts of Jack Cerro and grammatical correctness evaporated.

The clues were in the rings of the rise, a gentle sip as the trout leisurely took its food from the meniscus, something small and dead, probably a tiny midge. He continued to watch, noting that she fed each time the breeze ceased. She lay a yard out, just inside a few strands of weed that offered some protection, refuge from predators. The weed also ensured that a steady supply of surface food was funnelled over where she lay. He withdrew and opening his fly box, he selected a suitable pattern, tied it on carefully, tested the knot and tuned into nature, as only a hunter knows how. Quietly, he edged back towards the river and poked his rod out slowly over the river. All it would require would be a gentle flick of his wrist, the fly would be propelled down to the unsuspecting trout.

He tensed with anticipation, waiting that small window of opportunity when the breeze would cease. Staring intently at ripples on the surface and feeling the caress of the breeze on his weathered face, he silently prayed for a positive outcome. It was a magical moment, the river transformed as though the hand of God had decreed calm. Just as he prepared to cast, the phone announced the arrival of a text. He fell backwards, landing heavily in a bush, almost breaking his rod.

'Sorry Father, a lot of commas missing, will fix ASAP. Otter'

Every trout for five hundred yards scuttled for safety as Father Brennan exploded into a tirade of abusive language, his blood pressure at a record high. 'Commas, bloody missing, misplaced commas. Otter wouldn't recognise a comma, even if one jumped up and bit him on the arse.' He furiously typed a return text and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

'Go back to school comma learn some grammar comma eat commas comma drink commas comma or I will shove my boot comma up where the sun does not shine FULL STOP'

[scotgillespie]

Speaking as the eijit who spent 4 hours rebuilding a wiki page without saving (I know), then instead of clicking shift+r I clicked ctrl+r (refresh pane from source)..., a comma is a trivial thing  :x

Give me a shout when you have the reEdit of the First Book of Brennan dusted and I'll do another proofing job.

Meanwhile, when Autonomy sends me the activation, I'll stick something up there.

[otter]

Thank you Scott, your support is much aprreciated and badly needed . 

[scotgillespie]

Oh, I have faith in you my son ;-)

"rank 2856" when I left it.

[otter]

Did u back it and star it ? my son

[scotgillespie]

Yip full marks and comments left for both stories...

[otter]

Thanks Scot, another sinner saved, need to find another 150 lost souls   :worried