Ian Garner - Issue 36

Ian is a writer living on the north coast of Northern Ireland. He has fiction and poetry published in two Anthologies Sea Spray and Woodland Glades (2024), and Caught Alight (2025), Impspired.

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Dippers

Why don’t you jump off the end of the pier, mate? Cyril’s client said, arguing about his comedy material, and Cyril’s aversion to criticism. 

	You couldn’t carry a joke if it were a feather, and you were on the moon, Cyril countered.

	He was finished as gag writer for end-of-pier summer show comedians.

	Cyril had shrugged off jibes throughout his long career as a stand-up comedian, giving as good back. Then bookings stopped.

	You’re washed up, Cyril, his agent said, heralding the entertainer’s curse, obscurity. 

	Near rock-bottom, doing turns at old folks’ homes, heckles were more geriatric than sarcastic,

	Hello everyone, Cyril Platt. Lovely to be here.

	Who did he say?

	Sylvia Plath.

	The poet?

	Thought she was dead.

	Can’t we watch Countdown on the other channel?

	Aren’t you the dickhead who got punched out cold on telly? By a girl?

	Retired to the Essex coast, Cyril went sea swimming with The Dippers. His aim, to go from cold sea paddling, through to shivering, neck-deep, to one day walking to the end of the pier and jumping off.

	He succeeded. No jokes, no follow-ons, no ad-libs. Just washed-up - with the next tide.