Part One - Soaked In Pessimism
Couple youngsters stood at the bus-shelter, battering biro pens 'gainst the steel for to raise some rhythm of some sort, hollerin along to a song somebody wrote way back when, but who the fuck knows the identity of this elusive songsmith? It weren't Dylan, far as I can tell, weren't Porter, but still, no matter nevermind, it belongs to these fellas now.
We are the Billy Boys!
We are the Billy Boys!
We're up to our knees in Fenian blood
Surrender or you'll die!
For we are the Billy Boys!"
Some sort of allegiance being professed by these fellas yet to see the far side of a wank. Ten years old, I'd wager, although granted, kids grow up quicker these days, so I'm told. Chances are these tearaway hellions have three cars and a mortgage, a job at the DHSS, a wife they can't be bothered talking to.
On the TV a couple hours ago, kids in Belfast firing petrol bombs and blast bombs and bricks at riot police, 40 officers wounded, fire and blood and teeth every which way. The authorities been making inroads with regards the individuals involved in the ongoing Loyalist Feud, all these factions splitting off from one another, all these letters scrawled cross the fences, all these territorial piss-marks.
The UVF, the LVF, the UDA, all snarling at each other from the sidelines, all keeping jealous guard of their own hookers and heroin and bootleg porn. Maybe they still got banners waving, declarations relating to "The Cause" and "No Surrender" but that's got fuck all to do with these recent skirmishes. Nowadays the model seems to be some sort of half-arsed mafia, all kindsa Corleone fantasies running wild, a whole new generation of knuckle-scraping thugs linked with every cretinous Neo-Nazi collective from here to Wisconsin, and all in pursuit of The Green, as opposed to the orange.
So whilst the orange marches are passing through the streets in the name of A British Northern Ireland, the folks who supposedly defend the idea to the death are blowing fuck out one another on account of The Smack Trade.
The police, the PSNI who sat back and watched the estates get buggered blind by these rabid hounds, now they decide a few token arrests are in order, and shock and awe when it turns out the folks aren't so keen on the idea.