beautiful game?

Ireland 1 Bulgaria 1. Ireland score in the first minute run around failing to pass to each other for an hour then score an own goal. Whoever called it a beautiful game should be beaten to death with their own white stick. Speaking of balls, son number three awoke on tuesday morning ready to go to school for his oral french axam, only to find upon looking in the mirror that he had turned into a basketball with legs due to mumps. He tore a ligament in his knee on paddy's day dancing in a pub while his shoe was stuck to the floor by whatever strange brew had been spilt there earlier. Ah, youth is wasted on the young!

What a game

Went out to a gig in the Róisin Dubh last night (Paraic Rushe, nice voice, apostolic looking, good backing vocalists and some good original material, most cringingly awful version of Hallelluiah heard so far), walking around many drunk happy people wearing Ireland jersies and enjoying their first cigarettes in years. It was that kind of match. I stayed at home in solitary confinement for the watching it. Didn't want any distractions or anyone to see me in an emotional wipeout. Lucky choice on my part. Fear, frustration, elation, more elation, concern , anger, nausea, ecstasy, blind panic, and relief in that order. Wondering whether it was possible to perform heart massage on onesself. That's it. the country is fucked for good now. We've used up at least ten years woth of good luck by using the Irish mind-meld on that ball for the last kick.

The mandoline mamma

In the far off days of the last recession in the late seventies and early eighties, when nobody had any money but we were all delerious apparently, 80% or so of the population were bohemian. There were no credit facilities or ATM machines. You knew on Friday morning exactly how pissed you were going to get that night by checking the contents of your pocket. You wouldn't be spending your money on anything else. There were only about seven cars in the whole province. You didn't need to buy cloths, other than the standard bohemian costume; wooly jumper and jeans. I was always interested in traditional and folk music, so you couldn't have picked a better time to be coming of age.
There was a magical, enchanted dragon's lair of a place in Galway city at the time called Cullen's Bar on Forster Street near the train station, (where the Púcán is now). A night in Cullens was a chance to play a part as an extra in an epic tale of homeric proportions as all kinds of heroes and heroines, gods and demons played out drink fuelled sagas of love, loss, lust, lechery, lunacy and liibidinousness (should have quit while i was ahead). The place drew not only the hardiest of the townies, but a large cohort of Spiddalonians who would have hitch hiked east at some stage during that week. The place would be alive with Thorntons, and Keadys, O' Connaires led by the inimitable sean nós singer Seán, known as 007 and a fair smattering of Conlons on a good night. They were a different breed in those days, living on mackerels, poteen and the chance of a lustful encounter with one of the miriad student teachers who came west in search of a bit of gaeilge. if Des Bishop had tried do do his thing in those days he would have been treated to many a dose of "the shleeping tablet" (Irish for lump hammer). This shower of lunatics were presided over by the regal Mrs Cullen, a lady to her fingertips who beatifically managed to keep something resembling decorum in this smoky wild theatre of dreams.
The pub consisted of one small bar and a back room. In those days there used to be a music session in both rooms every night. The back room was for the serious drinkers and the local heroes on the music scene, where sessions would involve Mickey Finn, Fred Johnson, Charlie Brown, Peter Galligan, a youthful Máirtin O' Connor, a babyfaced Joe Skelton to name but a few. Corky would occasionally launch into his life's opus "The Swan" which always started in the same place, but never ended up in the same place twice. Naj would treat us to some surreal crossover between sean nos dancing and ballet, but no one could remember anything of the dancesteps as one could not look away from the amazing expression on his face while he danced.
The front room session was a different animal entirely. It was about a welcome and setting an atmosphere. a musician catching your eye and giving you a smile as you entered. The music was every bit as full of soul and life and virtuousity, but without the need for genuflecting and silence. These sessions were created by Breda Lewis and her teenaged children Liam on the fiddle and Patsy on the Concertina. Her husband John would regularly join them when he wasn't travelling abroad on business. The session was lively and upbeat, young musicians were welcomed and encouraged, there was time for a chat and a laugh. The many wildly eccentric singers and dancers shape throwers and tragedians were tolerated far above and beyond the call of duty. An occasional lull in the music would coincide with an interesting insence of Consulate menthol cigerette and ganja. Then with a laugh the music would take off again. Breda was the first face you would see when you walked in the door, playing her mandoline as her pride of young lions wove musical patterns in your head. In addition to her family, she was a mother to a generation of young budding musicians. She offered herself as a teacher and a confidant, an cncouraging voice and a friend.
Times changed and life became more complicated, people grew up moved on, Breda and family left Galway for Clare and further afield. Occasionally one would hear tell of what Breda was up to now and then nothing for many years. A friend met her in hospital a year or so ago and was very saddened to see she was unwell. I saw her death notice in the Irish Times on Saint Patricks Day. Breda, I hope the session is as good where you are now as it was in Cullens.

two ra loo rah

So. The day begins with a 6.30am pilgrimage to Athenry to have one's arse painted green. Mass follows with the perfunctary mumbling through "Hail glorious Saint Patrick whereupon wife, daughters and dog will attend the Psarade. Home for bacon and cabbage and green jelly (or jello, depending on which side of the snake pool you live on) then on to a rugby match, or thirty rugby matches, to be more correct about it. the club i coach for are playing our city rivals at all age levels from senior to under 7. This will be followed by a music session and pints !!!! (I'm off drink for lent, but seemingly its a sacrilage not to drink on a feast day :) ). then home for a drop of tea and to watch the Simpsons visit to Ireland. then it's off to dance the night away at a Fest noz/Ceili. A combination odf Irish and Breton dancing. (Breton dances are easier to do when you're pissed, which never really made any sense to me.)
Tóg go bog é

Thoughts while adult son practices polkas

What did the fiddle ever do to you, you cruel bollocks?

Church and state reunite. Not so blessed are the cheesemakers, however.

Ok. So we're fucked. Economically, at least. Plus I have to stop things that will give my doctor a chance to scream abuse at me about cholesterol levels and suchlike, when i pay my annual visit in april to beg for drugs to make the pollen go away. And (always wanted to start a sentence with And, but never had the courage till now), (plus i think this is the first time I've used "fucked" in my blog, soon I'll be able to say c**t and other swearingladyspeak without feeling mortified!), I'm off the drink for Lent. Which got me thinking two things:
A) Don't call it low fat cheese call it Danger! do not put this on toast because it will taste like salted shite!
B) The government should get back into bed with the clergy. (Oops). They could double the length of lent, (oops again) and take all of the money from the trocaire boxes to pay for pensions and death squads for the bankers and stuff, and we could offer up our miserable existance in the meantime instead of marching and waving placards, which has to stop, because:
a) All the good slogans were used by the auld wans last year.
b) there are so many groups marching, that all dates for marching to the Dáil are fully booked tioll 2018, by which time we'll be grand again.

connemarvellous

The Fabulous Galway Gospel Choir hit Letterfrack at the weekend for the Tareis na Féile Bride Festival. Stayed at the incredibly fuhnky Old monastery hostel, where we had a feed of beans before proceeding to the church where we did a gig with some wonderful local musicians before heading down the road to hear Neil Toner and his good old boys play some shitkicking bluegrass. Climbed back up to the hostel wejre we sang loudly and into the morning. about half the party made it up Diamond Hill in the morning before chowder was consumed and the big green bus brought us back to Galway

going home over the hill

So John Martyn has died. There goes the one time epitome of coolness, the voice that was passion and pain in equal amounts, the best right hand in the business. Rest in Peace John. You'll br missed.

still standing

Nearly through January and still solvent, married and sane(ish). Using extra time fairly effectively. Doing some work, putting a few feelers out re. more work, doing a few jobs around the house, organising things a bit more than I used (not my strong point). Being driven mad by son number three, who is allegedly sitting his leaving certificate this june. He has spent an amazing amount of time since reseaching, studying and evaluating, comparing and contrasting..............holidays in July in Greece. Other than that he's remarkably relaxed, which has the opposite effect on his parents' mood. Son number two is protesting happily all around ze United Kingdom and geting (badly) paid for it. Son number one is rowing and studying, but never at the same time, thankfully. Daughter number one is studying and sighing whenever her parents embarass her (the record stands at 54 times in one hour). Daughter number two is stamping her authority on the family and the floor. dog is still afraid of cat and squeaky toys. Cat is afraid of nothing and nobody.

Don't panic

New year, new situation. 60% decrease in working hours at the day job (thanks, bord snip!). Looking at alternatives at present. Increasing part time projects in the short term to take up the slack. I tend to be fairly philosophical about these things, never having been one of those "job for life" people. I'm lucky enough to have the skill set to keep the wolf from the door in the short to medium term. the downside to this is probably that you can indefinately put off that serious chat you need to have with yourself! I think I need to invest in an mp3 player. When I'm out and about i generally listen to the radio on my phone, but with hourly updates on the state of the economy i need to change my siltening habits. Bought myself a Christmas present of Ry Cooder's anthology and have bopped my way into 2009!

Happy Christmas

Dá mbeadh mileoidean agamsa
Ní bheadh Críost gan cheol anocht
Is é ag teacht ó áras bán a fhlaitheasa
Chuig an mainséar bocht.

Do sheinfinn ceol do chuirfidh gliondar ar a chroi
Ceol nar chualathas riamh ag piobaire sí
Ceol ‘chuirfidh na réalta ag rince i spéartha na hoich’

If I had a melodeon, Christ would not
be without music tonight
when going from His white
heavenly house to the poor stable
I would play music that would put joy in His heart.
Music never heard by a fairy piper.
Music that would put the stars dancing in the night skies.
Eoin O Tuairisc 1919-1982

personalised pressies

What's important is that you show that you've put serious thought into your choice of present, right?
Ok. so far I've decided to send Barak a Bob the Builder CD (can we build it? Yes we can!) and Dr.(?) Gillian Keith is getting a bag of my shite in the post any day now. The new love in my wife's life, Gok Wan is getting a pair of braces because, although one may look good naked, one is rarely impressive while displaying plasterers crack or check boxers. Roy Keane's dog Trigger is getting roller blades before his master has the shaggin' feet walked off him.
On another topic, we've just received a directive from the powers that run the educational system in this blessed corner of the world which will revolutionise cost cutting as we know it. Sixty percent or more of people at any meetings must be based elsewhere and must have travelled to the meeting, before ...............any biscuits are provided!
Such inspired thinking gives me great confidence that my 60% reduction in hours of work starting January 1st next will prove extremely temporary. Maybe I should send Batt a few of my Dunnes vouchers

bah humbug me arse!

Three little words to bring the rosiness back to your cheeks and put the yodel into yuletide.
Sweary is back!
God help us every one!

flat out

Survived November! The maddest month of the year for me in terms of work, as My office administers a huge Science and Technology Festival which runs for two weeks, involving over 20,000 people mostly schoolchildren in lots of activities. I can be seen to panic at anytime night or day if a busload of children pass me anywhere on my travels. It's generally a lot of fun also, but good to get out the other end! December started beeeeeautifully as the Fabulous Galway Gospel Choir supported the Harlem Gospel Choir in a sell-out gig at the Town Hall Theatre on the 1st . Some of us got to sing a few songs onstage with them. We're doing another gig tomorrow night in the Abbey church in Galway at 8.30. January should prove interesting, as my hours of work are being severely reduced due to government cutbacks. At least I'm of an age to remember having lived through a recession before, so I'm not losing too much sleep.

heading the way of all the undead

Another bump on the downhill slope. My nine year old asked me whether herself and her buddies can go trick or treating without me watching from behind the bushes/lampposts/parked cars this year. What seemed like a chore is now revealed as having been a perk. sigh...

blue arsed fly

Rather busy at present, But have had enough time to read my father's recently published autobiography. Interesting if slightly disturbing experience! Incidentally, for those of you in USAland, bookmakers Paddy Power paid out last week on all bets on Obama to win the presidency contest. They put the cost at around one million. On another topic, one question. why do Clare people always ask what the real deadline is, when you give them a deadline?

leprechauns guide to the galaxy

Cool! Eoin Colfer of Artemis Fowl (Die Hard with Fairies) fame has been asked by Douglas Adam's widow to write a sixth Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy book, as Douglas had always intended the series to have a sixth instalment. I know we've had James Bond and Gone With the Wind continued over the years. Who else would you get to continue writing someone elses series?

miseriness as usual

The dreaded first week in Saptember has come and gone. The summer is gone and the rain is getting colder. Everyone in our house is back to school/college/work/the couch in front of the television watching daytime soaps and plotting world domination by socialists. We've paid for the school insurance/music/irish dancing/ballet/salsa/piano/gym membership/study sessions/maths and french grinds. I had the job as official bollicker to the Fabulous Galway Gospel Choir, giving bollickings to the people who didn't make enough rehearsals last year, so at least all the misery wasn't one way (heh). Leaving cert boy is thinking he might consider being a teacher. I can think of at least five teachers who would just love to see him getting his ass kicked by a crowd of unruly litte gobshites (or gobshiteens as they are called in the gaeltacht). You could probably earn a fortune by selling tickets to that particular class! The nine year old has further taken over control of the house, telling everybody exactly what they can and can't do and calling everybody "butt-wipe" under her breath if they don't comply quickly enough. Started coaching first years in the old alma mater yesterday and was introduced to my new colleague, a teacher who is trying to make the transition from GAA man to Rugby Bugger (all donations gratefully accepted). I could have sworn he was a leaving cert. Especially as he was wearing a dress shirt and was hung over from the school debs the previous night. Insurance guy called at lunchtime to look at the kitchen floor which is trying its best to recover from a flood resulting from the eejit who installed our new dishwasher not tightening the yoke you're supposed to tighten (hope I'm not getting too technical on ye now). My dad phoned me three times last week totell me he's going to France for a month to harvest his vineyard (Bastard). other than that not much to report.

seaslide

You live and learn. An evaluation sheet for a summer course run for teachers on the seashore as a learning environment had the helpful comment that there was a health and safety issue with the field trips. The sea weed was very slippy.

highs and lows

Met a young guy last week who was over on holidays from the States. I went to school with his dad and he introduced himself to me while I was playing music with his uncle, a good friend of mine. Very pleasant, friendly, out going kid, 17 or 18 years old. He went to Dublin for the weekend with his travelling companion. They went clubbing, met some more young American tourists, one of whom had "legal herbal smokes" which he offered around to the assembled. Two days later, the young lad is brought into the psychiatric unit in a very distressed state and was admitted straight away. The boy has no history of any psychiatric problems. His parents flew over straight away, hoping to bring him home, but the hospital say that he will need to remain as an in-patient for at least another week.