Over at my play blog, I just wrote about some early prose sections I rediscovered. They predate the play by a year and a half, but they contain some of the same flavour. This paragraph is a little funny:
There are a number of paved paths through Merrion Square, but I always take the same one. It runs around the inside of the park, in a rectangle. This doesnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t afford the best views or the most interesting scenery, but I do pass all the best statues. See, the Square is full of statues. There are the famous revolutionaries–Devalara, Michael Collins, various foreign dignitaries and a really creepy version of the Holy Trinity. ThereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s also one of Oscar Wilde, which is the gayest statue in the world. HeÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s reclining on a rock, and smirking in the ponciest way possible. The locals have nicknamed it Ã¢â‚¬Ëœthe fag on the cragÃ¢â‚¬â„¢. Oscar Wilde grew up in one of the houses on Merrion Square, as did Bram Stoker. Alan Crilly, my second-most vulgar Irish friend, joked that this part of the city brought us both blood suckers and cocksuckers.
Some of those statues are referenced in my play, though I intentionally left out Monsieur Wilde. He was a playwright, of course, and it would just come off as an obvious reference. For obvious reasons, in theatre school we used to call that sort of thing a ‘wank’.