Saturday, July 28, 2007

basting in Brittany

Working away on the lobster colour, on the third book having read candlemoth (not bad, but heavy on the social commentary of 60s usa and the new book by the kite runner guy (sorry! been a lot of rehydration required on a regular basis) excellent! Hitting mid forties does bring it's fair share of anxiety ( as does trying to type with a fucking french keyboard!!). Top of the pile include getting burnt everywhere except that white line directly under the moobs where the sun can never go. Also wondering whether tha thing is a freckle, a mole, or something iffy. There is the anxiety about the extra trips to the bathroom during the night, until you remember that you're drinking more before bed. The worst so far though is the realisation that the thatch is definitely thinning, as the severely scaldy top of head prove...

Friday, July 20, 2007

Noah it's not funny

I'm not one to complain about events outside my control but...for fuck's sake this weather is scary. I was down town yesterday buying some gifts for some Breton buddies we're going to visit and it rained so hard that the rain bounced up eight feet in to the air and fell again! Wet twice by the same shower. It wouldn't happen when Michael D. was minister for fun, I can tell you. Arts Festival my large spotty Arse, it's a fucking ark festival we need in Galway! Bridges washed away in Leenane in Fucking July! I've noticed that Twink has been getting some work subbing on radoi stations of late. I'm not saying that I have categoric proof that both events are related, but why doesn't the country's main crime outer Paul (scumbag) Williams get up off his arse and investigate that? Anyway, I'm off to Carnac for a couple of weeks, which will probably be even wetter than here.

Monday, July 16, 2007

praise the lord and curse the bride

A mini version of the gospel choir (eight of us)sang at a wedding on friday. The wedding was at one so we arrived at 12.00 to do our lalalalalalalalas and tune up and all that stuff. Church started filling at 12.50ish 1 o clock came and a couple of us wondered whether we would have time to climb down for the choir loft and run to the loo and be back in time to sing as herself walked up the isle! We decided to stay put as she could arrive at any minute. Imagine the consternation as we waited until she finally arrived at twenty five past fecking two! As you can imagine the high notes were no problem at all. the service ended at three thirty and we all rushed down the spiral stairs as fast as our tightly clenched knees would let us and speed shuffled to the nearest pub as fast as our scuffed soles would let us. The locals must have raised a few eyebrows as the orgasmic shrieks emanated from the loos!

Thursday, July 05, 2007

multicultural city

How Galway has changed over the years. When I was growing up in the sisties, Galway was a big town. Everybody knew you or someone belonging to you and they certainly knew the skeletons in your family closet (be very scared Kav). If you saw a coloured person in the street, they were a Cazabon (who had and continue to have a better Galway accent than 99% of Galwegians). I was looking through the classifieds in a local paper yesterday and came across an advertisement by a qualified shaman! Now there were feck all of those around when I was in short pants (on holidays last year). There was also an ad for a thigh massage.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

talking 'bout my generation

Teaching guitar, you get the feeling that you're probably regarded as somewhat cooler than the average parent. Never mind the fact that you don't have a trophy car, a holiday home somewhere warm or go skiing every February, at least you have skills that the average teenager would see as desirable. This consolation quickly evaporates once you get down to the nitty gritty of guitaristy role models. When did you manage to go for the hundred year nap, only to awaken and discover that nobody with the word "teen" in their middle name has ever heard of John Martyn, Eric Clapton, Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Andre Segovia, Scullion, Paul Brady, Joan Armatrading or anybody else who ever raised a guitar in anger. In fairness, most of them are delighted to have their eyes opened, and being a part of that process is probably what makes life so enjoyable, but you get the feeling that somebody somewhere is not doing their job. I'm aware that there is some serious talent out there today, but probably only because somebody turned them on to some important pioneers at some stage during their development. If you draw a parallel with the health of the traditional/folk music scene in recent years, which owes a lot to the resurgence in interest by the previous generations, where your Sweeney's Men, Planxty, Bothy Band, De Dannann and many more breathed fresh life into the tradition.