As a part of this book, or more truly, the origin of this book, there is a little extra. It’s a show, a little art I created as part of my Failing Laterally Challenge. So, what follows is how I came to write C’mon the Town and the images that go with it.

In the autumn of 2019, myself and Bear visited a local gallery. Armed with 3rd Place Coffee House to-go cups and smiles we walked up to the reception desk and asked to speak with someone about putting on an exhibition. Nothing fancy or crazy, but tasteful, and small. At the time I wanted to shit in a glass box, place the box on a column in the centre of the room and then put pictures of the shit in a box on the walls. That way you could walk up to a picture, a picture of a shit in a box and then looking over your shoulder see the shit in a box from the very same angle the photo was taken.

I can’t remember why I wanted to shit in a glass box and put it on display. It might have had something to do with television and media incessantly talking shit and expecting the audience to lap it up. Maybe it was a statement about art, something like, it’s shit. I just don’t recall.

The chap at reception was nice. He nicely eyed us, nicely and politely sneered at us, and then very nicely told us to move on. Actually, much of that might be my imagination. What he did tell me was that I’d have to wait. They were booked for the next two and a half years. Also, I needed some sort of evidence that this wasn’t going to be my first rodeo.

Bear in mind, if you will, that as I spoke to the chap, my face was on a wall in the gallery. A nice black and white from a photoshoot. A photoshoot less than a year earlier.

I thanked the man, took some contact cards and leaflets, and left. As I dumped the papers in a bin by the door I said to Bear, “What a load of bollox”. He growled in agreement.

We then walked the short distance between this unspecified gallery and the blessed sanctity of the 3rd Place Coffee House. Conversation naturally turned to how best to fuck these arty guys over. One idea I had was to make some sort of image using my face with the words, Local Artist on Show. Then print a few hundred stickers of the image and plaster every pole and railing in town with them. Then after a few months, I could return to this unspecified gallery and simply point outside as evidence of my previous work.

I liked this idea but was conscious of the fact that space on local poles and railings was running at a premium. There were already tons of Antifa Ireland and communist youth group stickers everywhere, not to mention a disturbing amount of Squidward googly eyes.

As Bear ordered coffee, my mind rambled. Many of my original ideas were of course crimes. But you have to start somewhere. And then, I spotted them. Along one wall of the 3rd Place Coffee House was a series of beautiful photographs. Each one was unique and highlighted a part of the town. I’d stopped to gander at the various art projects on the wall before and enjoyed them. But now I was seeing through different eyes (yet still my eyes, this is a metaphor and not an admission of a crime). My first thought was, boy (or girl) I wish I could take photographs like that. Then I thought, hey, it doesn’t have to be photographs, right?

I spoke to Alicja, one of the owners and asked how one goes about putting art up on the wall.

“You ask,” she replied.

Fair enough.

“And” I continued, “are there, like, rules?”

The withering stare I received spoke volumes. I imagined ice water, perhaps running from a glacier high up in the mountains and down into a deep and dark lake. A ball gag and some blunt sturdy objects were also included.

Got it, don’t be an ass and don’t belittle the opportunity.

Funny, when the chap at the unspecified gallery set out his conditions, I wanted to physically hurt him. But when Alicja told me there was a six-week block for each show and there were already some people in front of me, I got giddy. It wasn’t simply that the 3rd Place Coffee House is my go-to spot or that I like Alicja or that she intimidates me. It was the idea of creating something for here.

I told Alicja to save me a spot and went about my day.

I then spent the next six months or so telling Alicja to skip me every time she asked if I was ready.

Sure, I had ideas. Yes, I could create something. But in a funny kind of way, this project was special and needed more than my floopy attempts at art. And so, the challenge was born.

I told Alicja that I was ready and would have something up for the next available slot. But she needed to give me notice when the six-week block of time before my show began. That way from her letting me know and me putting something up was exactly six weeks. And here’s how I’d use that time.

1. “Hey, beardy weirdo. You have six weeks”
2. Come up with a story and outline it.
3. Write a sixty (plus) thousand-word story (I gave myself four weeks for this).
4. Edit the story as best I could (though you should never edit your own scribblings).
5. Create at least twelve images for the wall.
6. Get my shit organised and a print copy of the book ready for D-Day.

After receiving the heads up, I took my coffee over to D’Vine Vapes (Vape Vine on Eimear Street). I spent the next hour there chatting with the lads and thinking. I needed a crux of my tale, a core to build around. And then it hit me, why not start here? Start with the vape shop and the coffee house and then…the town.

So that’s what I did. I spent the next five weeks grafting and on the morning of my slot on the 3rd Place Coffee House wall I was ready with thirteen images in frames and a sixty-three-thousand-word book. I didn’t have the physical copy of the book, however. Let down by Amazon or the delivery service, the book arrived two days late. And then I chickened out from handing Alicja a copy. I love the book. But some people think it’s quite snarky and I didn’t want to get banned from the only place I will buy coffee. So, yeah, that was that.

Now some will read C’mon the Town and say, you’re a misogynist! You hate women/feminists (as if they are the same thing). You belittle farmers and chavs and know nothing about art. In reply, I will simply say this. Get bent. I will add this, you’re wrong. I know plenty about art.