Leviathan or, The Whale

I'm reading Philip Hoare's towering "Leviathan or, The Whale".

One of the points he makes is that the 20th century was bookended by a monumental shift in attitude towards those endlessly fascinating and beautiful cetaceans. In short we went from killing whales for meat and fuel to watching them for enjoyment and study.

This shift in attitude appears to have been all too subtle for my parents who, on their visits to Boston at the beginning of this century, always insisted on their "whaling" expeditions. They went out "whaling" on a couple of occasions and enjoyed the trip immensely but always came back with nothing more than a few pamphlets. I can only assume that the spoilsport tourist boats made them leave their harpoon guns at the jetty.

Dog Crap

It's cold and snowy here where I am. This weather always makes me think of that great Louden Wainwright song that goes:

“I took my dog for a walk, she took a crap / You won’t smell it until April or May"

I was actually singing those lyrics to myself earlier today and staring out to sea at the bottom of my brother's garden while watching a dog take a crap on the beach. I heard myself say to the dog's owner:

"You won't smell that til April". "Or May".

She looked at me silently with eyes as empty as a fifteen minute old pint of Deuchars IPA before hurriedly walking away. Clearly embarrassed.

Perhaps she thought I was telling her off for allowing her dog to shit on a public beach at the bottom of my brother's garden. More likely though, she just wasn't all that comfortable discussing faeces with complete strangers.

Retail Concept

Main Entry: re·tail
Pronunciation: \?re-tail
Function: verb
Date: 15th century
transitive verb

1 : to sell in small quantities directly to the ultimate consumer

Born in Galway

You go in and pick out something you like. You buy it. They sell it to you.

It's not a new concept in retail.

Midge Yeurch

Midge Ure, betting without the current prime minister of England, is clearly the Worstest Living Scotsman.

Here he is, on the normally reliable Sky Arts, performing some of his "hits" including the "classic" Vienna.

What a fucking helmet.

FREE Price List

This PERFUME price list is quite literally FREE.

You wonder how they can do it.

A Child's Christmas in Wales

My favourite Christmas song is John Cale's "A Child's Christmas in Wales" which tends to hold on by a short head from Chris Rea's utterly timeless "Driving Home For Christmas" (seriously).

But Cale's masterpiece isn't really a Christmas song banging on, as it does, about Halloween and murdered oranges and the seduction of doors. Bizarre, unfathomable and utterly beautiful.

With mistletoe and candle green
To Halloween we go
Ten murdered oranges bled on board ship
Lends comedy to shame
The cattle graze bold uprightly
Seducing down the door
To saddle swords and meeting place
We have no place to go

Stick it on between Ella and Eartha during the Christmas meal and frighten the life out the relatives.

Guinness Fire

The fire in the Guinness factory was reputedly caused during testing of a new chemical compound (E1fK-99) that they had literally invented yesterday. The compound was expected to make a pint entirely drinkable a full 15 minutes after the second pour. The Guinness beer scientists had also hoped to increase the mandatory period between the first and second pour from 119.53 all the way to 119.57 pub seconds.

A Guinness spokesman told me this morning that this setback would not diminish the corporations continued focus on improving revenue streams going forward.

If you don't believe me read about it here.

Update
Sadly, at 13:08 today, this fact ceased to be true when one ChaoticFluffy removed it from Wikipedia on the outrageous grounds that it was "unlikely and uncited".

Real ale in Galway

Talking of pulling one off here's some spectacularly good news. Galway only has real ale.
I ordered a pint. Mt first pint of real ale in this free state. What a moment. I'd waited years for this.

Only. It wasn't very, er, good.

Le Paradis Club

This is Galway's "Le Paradis Club". This is French for "The Paradise Club".

Actually the French for "The Paradise Club" is "Le Club Paradis".

But, presumably they didn't know that. So they called it "Le Paradis Club".

I've never been in.

MACE

Advertising is a recurring theme on this. It confuses and confounds me equally at every turn.,

We started out with Centra's none more abrading "For The Way We Live Today". Centra is one of these expensive grocery shops that's close to you. You only go there when you've forgotten something or need to pick up some milk on the way home. This, apparently is how WE live today. That's what they're for.

And now there's a big advertising campaign on the radio for Centra's competitor MACE. For the little things you'll always forget especially at this time of year. But what's the point in advertising? If a MACE happens to be down the road from you you're hardly likely to bypass it, for that overlooked jar of Xmas mussels, and head to Centra "For The Way We Live Today" instead. Are you?

As it happens I physically needed some MACE for some pate I'm making. So I phoned up MACE. Ironically they had none.

(call may have been taped for quality assurance and training purposes)

Angry Catholics

Back to Murphy Report. I keep hearing, on RTE Radio no less, how angry catholics are about the recent revelations involving clergy.

I myself, thanks be to God, am neither a catholic nor anything else but, for the avoidance of doubt, can I just say that I'm quite fucking angry about it as well.

That's it.

The XX

The XX are Dubstep. Or possibly Ultra Dub. Or something.

I don't know much about music (I don't even know what I like) but, watching The XX play last made me think that there's a lot to be said for a musical education (not always a good thing in this observer's view). These kids though from the same stable as the equally excellent Four Tet, Hot Chip and Burial were magic. The precise, impassive, understated vocal interplay of the two singers coupled with a relentless (and I mean relentless) baseline were very cool and sexy indeed (and I certainly don't know nothing about cool and sexy).

Now that the term "X-Factor" has been forever debased by Simon Powell and his shit-eating cohorts it's time to up the ante. Step aside, turkeys, here comes the real talent.

It's The XX Factor.

Margo - A Toast From An Irish Colleen

One of the biggest regrets of my life thus far is not buying this record on Sunday.

It would have cost me a mere 50c and if I could time-travel back to any point in our civilisation's rich and glorious history it would be to the School Fair, Kilcolgan, County Galway, Ireland, Sunday, 1pm. And I'd buy this record.

It's by Margo and it's called A Toast From An Irish Colleen.

The term "Colleen" is usually used to describe Irish women generally. The fact that she's already supplied us with her name - Margo - makes it's use somewhat redundant. Like, "Jane, an Australian Sheila".

Daft.

Anyway, I suppose I'll just have to get on with it. What else can you do?

What Is Cool?

"Cool" is a very flexible word for the way we live today.

It, depending on usage and context, can be an adjective, a noun, a verb or an adverb. And that's all the kind of words there are. It can probably be several of these at the same time.

It can be used to describe heat (lack of), calmness, friendliness (lack of), style and jazz. Nice.

Colours can even be cool y'know.

But, for the avoidance of doubt, Tesco. Cool is not a fucking flavour.

Being Zoltan Frizz

Very little is known about the recent "internet sensation" Zoltan Frizz except that he sits in front of the back four of Bylis Ballsh in the Albanian league and "makes nice plays". It seems that he may be Albania's first (and only) openly gay holding midfielder living, as he does, with his mercurial boyfriend Aleksander.

You can follow his twitter feed here and see his Wiki page here. Also see this excellent feature article from the web site Aston Villa Central.

But does he really exist?

The jury is out according to the respected Polish web site ZCuba:

"Wiadome jak na razie jest jedno - profil jest prowadzony dla jaj. Nie wiadomo z kolei jeszcze czy Zoltan Frizz to jedna wielka mistyfikacja czy te? zawodnik o tak oryginalnym nazwisku zainspirowa? jedn?/dwie/stado osób do tego dowcipu. A, i wiadomo jeszcze jedno - nam si? ca?kiem podoba."

Roughly translated this means:

Known as one-profile is for eggs. You do not know yet whether Zoltan Frizz rail is one great hoax or the runner with the original name of inspiring one/two/flock to barman. And, you know my-us quite like it.

The plot thickens...

Santa Mantra

Must not tell the kids about Santa.
Must not tell the kids about Santa.
Must not tell the kids about Santa.

This is my mantra.

After all these years drumming the No GOD thing into them, this comparatively harmless belief is actually quite difficult to maintain.

€49

No way could they get away with charging €50 for this piece of fucking shite.

It's only $49.

Anne of Green Gables

According to Wikipedia,

"Anne of Green Gables is a bestselling novel by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery published in 1908. "

This edition here has a foreword by Lauren Child who wrote Charlie and Lola. That's why they've put a Charlie and Lola style drawing on the front. It's supposed to make us, the parent, buy the book 'cos we think it's Charlie and Lola by Lauren Child even tho it's patently Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Sub Liminal.

The Noughties

Finally, as we approach the end of this decade, folks seem to be, fairly unabashedly, referring to it as "the noughties" [1]. Perhaps it's the knowledge that they won't have to do it for much longer that has given them the courage to use this ludicrous term.

Of course I mean in the written media. Nobody has ever actually said the word "noughties" in real life. Certainly not without raising four little antler fingers in the air to indicate "inverted commas". And, clearly, that would only make matters worse.

We can all relax now and looks forward to the next decade. Here's to the, er, "tenties"?

Shit.

[1] even the blogger spell checker is unaware of the term

Grubby Budget Sweetener

With €4 being spent for every €1 coming in, it's clear that the Irish government are bankrupt.

But, evidently, mere financial bankruptcy isn't enough for them. With Brian Cowen refusing to intervene in the recent clerical abuse revelations (see this Irish Times piece "Cowen shows he is second an Irishman, first a Catholic") it's clear that they're also morally bankrupt.

And now today's budget will, it's widely reported, cut excise duty on alcohol in a bid to stop Irish shoppers from crossing the border to shop. Now I'm not suggesting that this move shows a lack of morality but it raises questions at the very least. With many studies clearly showing a direct link between the price of alcohol and the amount people drink perhaps this knee-jerk move, essentially encouraging supermarkets to expand their use of alcohol as a loss leader, needs a bit more thought.

Personally, I'm all for cheap alcohol (for me at any rate) but I can see the wider picture. This grubby little sweetener ascribes to of a frantic government who will try anything, with scant regard the consequences, to save their dismal, discredited hinds.

Crafted for Christmas

In 1926, Stella Artois was brewed as a seasonal beer especially for the Christmas holiday market. In fact, if the new advertising campaign is to be believed, it wasn't "brewed" at all. It was fucking "crafted".

According to Andreas Hilger, Chief Marketing Twat for InBev UK:
"It (the advertising campaign) will raise awareness of the unique position held by Stella Artois as the quintessential Christmas beer and help retailers make the most of this key trading period"

There's a couple of "take-aways" for us here:

1. By dint of being brewed for Christmas (1926) Stella is now the "quintessential Christmas beer".

Leaving aside for a minute the fact that Stella patently is no such thing, can anyone explain to me in what sense is cold fizzy lager a suitable Christmas tipple? Perhaps a hot rum or some mulled wine could make that claim but certainly not fucking Stella. If it's anything at all it's a relatively inoffensive summer drink to throw back while the kids play in the paddling pool. Presumably by promoting themselves as a quintessentially Christmas brew they'll now admit that their product is wholly inappropriate for warm summer days?

2. Stella are doing this to help "retailers make the most of this key trading period".

In these troubled financial times their campaign will help give a leg up to financially beleaguered pubs and off licenses. It's all about philanthropy it would seem. The fact that they stand to make a tidy profit from the holiday period is only a nice little spin-off to their benign festive generosity.

Why not send these try-hard pricks an extra-special Yule-tide message by ignoring them and drinking warm ale instead. With added twigs and beetles for extra flavour. Now that's what I call Christmas.

QI Yawn

I hope I'm wrong here but I'm beginning to think that QI, and possibly Stephen Fry his very self, is a busted flush.

Last week's show was just excruciating. Here's how bad it was. Sandi Toksvig was by far the funniest person on the show. The normally reliable Bill Bailey and Sean Lock just looked bored. Here's a picture of Sean Lock yawning. His yawn was precisely syncopated with one of my many own.

Would anyone back me in a campaign to force Stephen Fry to gain some weight? Part of me can't help thinking that this is at the root of the problem.

Paddy Fahy

This story was related to me last night by my new mate, George, who hails from Dumbarton but has lived in Galway for many years.

It concerns this pub "Paddy Fahy" and it's famously misanthropic landlord "Paddy Fahy".

Soon after moving to Galway, George went into the pub for a pint. He asked for a pint of lager. There was no-one else there except George and Paddy. Paddy was watching a horse-race.

"I'll be a minute" said Paddy, not taking his eyes off the telly.

George sat down and waited patiently. It was a national hunt race and was over two and a half miles. Paddy watched on. After about five minutes George gets sick of waiting. He had a thirst on him and he wanted that pint.

"Can I have that pint of lager, please?", he ventured.
"I told you I'd be with you in a minute", replies Paddy, still fixed on the race.

Sod this thinks George. There's another pub just over the road. He walks out without saying a word. Paddy watches the horses approaching the last fence.

[roll forward several years]

George and his mates are out for a pub crawl in Bohermore. Eventually they get to Paddy Fahy's. Straight away Paddy clocks George.

"I'll serve the rest o ye ... but he's barred" he says , pointing a crooked finger at George.
"Whhat For?", blurts our hero, stunned.

Paddy ignores him and addresses one of the other lads "That one's got far too much to say for himself".

George, for the second time, leaves Paddy Fahy's silently and heads across the road to another pub.

"Too much to say for myself", he mutters in disbelief. "I've asked for a pint of lager. Twice".

WOW! Huzzar!

Wow!

Huzzar!

This is all very exciting! Only €17.50! For 750ml!

Of what?

Dame Shirley Bassey

Maconie and Riley, on BBC Radio 2, the other night played the new song by Dame Shirley Bassey "The Girl From Tiger Bay". It's truly a stonking song and somehow Bassey manages to reign in her usual overblown vocal histrionics.

"I bought a ticket of a lifetime, There's no denying who I am"

Well quite.

Marc Riley said, can you imagine if the likes of Paul McCartney released an album under the name of Sir Paul McCartney. He's be absolutely crucified for being a pompous prick. But somehow, Dame Shirley Bassey seems ok.

I tend to disagree. Would be interested to hear the views of some of our Welsh readers. Taff?

Time Zone

As every school child will know, Ireland and Scotland share the same time zone. Greenwich Mean (or Meridian, possibly) Time in the Winter and British (Irish) Summer Time in the Summer. If you don't believe me, just pick a school child at random from your local school gates and ask them.

But last night it didn't feel that way. Between the hours of 8-10 I sat in my local pub and read the paper before the night crowd arrived. And arrive they did in their fine feathers at which I left. In Scotland, if you wanted to do that you'd need to be there between 6-8. So in that sense the two countries are two hours apart. In the sense of pub time zones.

A small, but noteworthy point, I'm sure you'll agree.

Talking Heads

Seeing that Alan Bennett's brilliant Talking Heads is on tonight reminded me of an embarrassing incident some years ago.

I was only about eighteen at the time and taking some tentative and, thankfully, abortive steps into local politics. I'd been to an SNP meeting. Then, as now, I thoroughly support independence for Scotland but this meeting was boring and, if it were possible, my fellow seekers of Scottish separatism were even duller.

After the meeting they asked me if I fancied a pint. Now I could have found any number of excuses but, unfortunately, the one that I blurted out happened to the the truth.

"Sorry, I can't. I need to go home and watch Talking Heads", I said. They just stared at me.
"It's Thora Hird tonight", I added.

I didn't particularly strike me as a strange thing to say but, looking back, what must they have thought of me heading home to watch that - none more English - of tv programs rather than joining them for some - none more Scottish - pints?

One could only wonder. I don't think I ever went back. I think, essentially, my problem is that I like English stuff far too much to be any good at being an SNP.

Murphy Report

WARNING : Polemic

With the argument raging in this State as to whether bishops, criticized in the Murphy Report for failing to act appropriately to complaints of child abuse, should at the very least be asked to stand down I'm very relieved about one thing. Taking my kids out of a Catholic school.

Frankly, I've no idea how much contact children from most schools have with any members of the clergy. But it strikes me that no risk is too small for something as appallingly seismic as this. It's one thing dealing with clerical abuse in the past but the notion that any resultant action will somehow stop these kinds of atrocities against children occurring again in the future strikes me as naive in the extreme. As long as priests, albeit with less power, continue to live an unnatural lifestyle with delusional belief systems, they are likely to continue with the kind of degenerate psychoses that are now being fully revealed.

The bishops complicit in this should not be asked to stand down. They should be made to stand down and they should be made criminally liable.

The catholic church and it's outdated iniquitous ethos should be removed entirely from our education system so that parents do not need to take this unacceptable risk with their children's safety and future.

[deep breath]

Last word to Mark Twain:

Loyalty to a petrified opinion never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul.

Celtic v Hapoel Tel Aviv

My neighbour and good friend, Niall, has selfishly stopped his Setanta subscription. It was only a fiver a month but he claims that even that was not representing value for money.

But where does that leave me?
It leaves me up shit creek without a Setanta enabled Sky viewing card to illegally borrow for the Celtic v Hapoel Tel Aviv which is only on Setanta is where!

So you might imagine my ... (Is joy too strong a word for it? Well, all things are relative) ... er, joy when I flicked onto the STV website to see if they had the game on. Up pops this as the headline banner:

Wow. Celtic v Hapoel Tel Aviv Live ... Text commentary from 7:30 pm.

Text commentary! Like what you get on the internet! Absolutely pathetic piece of misleading hyperbolic bannereering here.

Super Furry Animals

One of my favourite bands are Super Furry Animals. I saw them play live a couple of times and I think I purchased, using real money, their first six albums.

But obviously these days I don't buy CD's. I get all my new SFA needs on Spotify. Each time I listen to an album they get .. I dunno, about a cent.

So it's not entirely surprising to see the lads leveraging other revenue streams going forward...

We ARE Cheaper

And now Dunne's fight back...

"We ARE cheaper", they simper.

Specifically on "CIF" and "Windowlene" it would appear.

But that's not the only difference. They're Irish, you know.

Tactical Nuclear Penguin

I've discussed Brewdog before here and, sadly, I have to report that they're at it again.

More silly stuff aimed squarely at the hard of thinking market. A very lucrative market I'm given to believe.

Their latest marketing effort is called, wait for it ... Tactical Nuclear Penguin. (The beer is called the same).

Yes, Tactical Nuclear Penguin. Isn't that just fucking hilarious?

Here's some stuff about it:

- It's the world's strongest beer - with a 32% alcohol content.
Gulp!
- Bottles are £30 each.
Gulp!
- Managing director James Watt said: "This beer is about pushing the boundaries, it is about taking innovation in beer to a whole new level."
Gulp!

Clearly none of the above "Gulps" represent drinking. They're "Gulps" of astonishment.

I wonder if Brewdog have ever considered making a beer that's remotely drinkable. Rather than just "pushing boundaries". It's difficult to know what more to say about this product. This diagram might help.

HEIGHEST OF STANDARDS

The GALWAY BAY HOTEL'SCONSISTANT COMMITMENT TO MAINTAININGTHE HEIGHEST OF STANDARDS does not, it would appear, extend to spelling and grammar.

Chateau Thierry

Has Thierry Henry, perhaps the most unpopular man in Ireland, decided to move to Galway?

Darling Clementine

If there's one thing I can't abide it's cute kiddie stories. So I never report them.

But do you prefer the standard:

You are lost for me forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Or the less well known:

You are lost for me forever,
Bloody sorry, Lemonlime.

Which?

Sumptuous Suppers

I did something really bad last night and absolutely had to be punished. So instead of getting to take the kids swimming I stayed home and watched Nigel Slater's Sumptuous Suppers.

And frankly I feel that the punishment far exceeds the crime.

Now to start with, when Slater says supper he doesn't mean cheese on toast in your pyjamas and slippers. No he means to be a pompous git and, more specifically, he means dinner. But being an absolute dolt of the first water, Slater wouldn't dream of having his evening meal until at least midnight.

For every supper recipe he'll say something like:
Now at this point I could used normal tomatoes but (not being a complete prole like you lot) I'm going to use Guatemalan sun-blush tomatoes (which, presumably, are available at every good Waitrose).

When it's ready, he wouldn't dream of sitting down at the table and eating it. He insists on eating standing up like you'd expect from an insufferable old lush.

My crime was minor. Surely I didn't deserve this...

"I believe that what grows together, goes together. And my theory doesn't just apply to what I grow in my garden. I think it applies the world over".

Stunningly, our vainglorious hero has conceded that the international science of horticulture extends beyond his own precious back-yard.

Punishment over. Football Focus now.

Integrity Ready Partner

This relic from the early nineties speaks of many things. And yet ... nothing at all.

1. Reaching new heights together (And once up there...)

2. Leading the way to performance (But how? Why, by becoming an...)

3. Integrity Ready Partner (Of course!)

Integrity ready that is. When absolutely necessary, and if the money is right, then just you watch how ready we are for the old integrity, partner.

It's funny looking back at this old stuff. For the way we used to live. Of course no one would ever speak in this kind of meaningless, corporate bullshit-babble in this day and age. Would they?

Lunchtime Pint

The other Sunday, my wife and youngest daughter went to a beach safari. The eldest, eight, refused to go. That, by extension, also gave me a reprieve. She'd been to a safari at Salthill beach a few weeks before and it was rainy and windy that day. She'd been miserable. The fact that the weather was fair today was neither here nor there as far as she was concerned. Her mind was made up.

"So what should we do?" she asked me, batting the ball firmly onto my side of the court.
I racked my brains. "How about we go for a pint?", I found myself asking.
"Yes please, Daddy", she said excitedly. "Can we?".

I'd only been joking really. That's just my general fallback suggestion.

"Well ... I suppose we could", I ventured, looking at my watch. It was just after midday.
"YAYYYYYYY", she shouted. "Can I put a dress on?", she asked, already half way up the stairs.

Ok, a pint it is I thought. What a brilliant idea. And very civilised too. What could be more normal than a lunchtime Sunday pint with your Darling Daughter. Nothing, nothing at all, I told myself. She can take a book, I'll get a paper and we'll sit on the comfy sofas and just chill. GENIUS!

"We're walking down to the village by the way", I shouted up the stairs.

A lunchtime pint and exercise. Double GENIUS!

So we walked to the village hand in hand at one with nature. She'd been grumpy about the beach safari earlier but this pint idea of mine had put her in fine form. We stopped for a paper and then proceeded to the pub. I ordered a pint of cloudy German sipping lager and she asked for a soda water and lime. She got to pour her own lime and she helped herself to a very large one indeed. She also got a tube of salt and vinegar Pringles.

We sat down on the sofa and I took a sip of my sipping lager. I looked at her and smiled noticing that she'd already downed half her drink. She was munching the crisps and was happy. I picked up the Sports section and glanced back at her. Now the entire drink was gone and she was pouring the last of the Pringles into her mouth.

"Is this a race?", I asked?
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Are you ok?". "Why not read your book?", I suggested.
"Aren't you having another pint?", she asked.
"Well I've only just sipped ... would you like another?" I asked.
"Yes please", she replied. "And more Pringles…".

She came up to the bar with me and did the lime pouring again. When we got back I told her to chill out, enjoy her book and not rush.

"No more speed eating", I cautioned, holding up a finger to signify that I kind of meant business.
"Fine", she replied before proceeding to drink and eat exclusively for the next five minutes. By which time the second round was consumed.
"Can we go now?", she asked. "You're taking ages with your pint".

As we left I found myself reconsidering the genius of my cunning pint plan. (It had, at the very least, been demoted to lower case and had the exclamation mark removed.) In theory, yes, the idea did border on the brilliant. In practise, however, I must inform you that lunchtime pints as an activity for kids is, let's just say, a little ahead of it's time.

Warning, Spoiler

I know I shouldn't but it's just too tempting...

In the end the car ... gets clean.

Sorry.

More Dead Zone TV

I'm a terrible man. Last night I told a barefaced lie to my Mum. Two lies, if I'm honest.

Here's what happened.

She said to me, "You'll be letting the girls watch Strictly Come Dancing. To see all the lovely frocks".
"No ... we don't get that channel", I told her. "It's a shame".
"What about the X-Factor then", she tried. "They'll enjoy that. A lot of good singers".
"We, er, we don't have that channel either, Mum", I fibbed, not entirely sure she was buying this.

I think she did believe me though. Mothers tend not to be all that satellite savvy. She even felt sorry for me, bless her heart. Puir wee laddie, exiled away there in Ireland without even proper tv to watch.

Now I feel guilty. So today I have one last job before I settle down to watch the rugby, roast chicken safely tucked up in the oven. I'm just heading up to the roof now to point the satellite dish away from England entirely. The source of the dead zone. Just so's I'm not lying to my Mum any more.

Allez Le Verts

On the radio this morning it was contended that the acid test for being Irish, for those of a certain vintage, was based on a feeling of nostalgic exultation for the following two things:

1. David O'Leary's penalty at Italia '90 against Romania
2. Riverdance at Eurovision '91.

These two events were cited as being catalystic in the new found national confidence and planted the seeds of the Celtic Tiger. So not necessarily a good thing one might argue...

Now I'm not Irish but I do remember O'Leary's penalty fondly. There were a few Celtic players in that team so I followed the Irish with great interest.

As for Riverdance, I'd like to think that if I was Irish I'd despise it even more than I already do. Which is a lot. But I'm a bit leery as to whether this is the prevailing opinion in this state. I've met a few people who've demurred when I've blithely mentioned the utter ghastlyness of the risible Flatley and his ilk. So I don't mention it. At least I know I have Ardal O'Hanlon on my side and that'll do.

Back to the soccerball though. Ireland play France tomorrow night and even though Mcgeady might not play I'm excited about the game. I really hope, er, "we" win and beat the French over two legs. Playing them on a Saturday night is always a good thing. Their collective psyche, I expect, will be more focused on fois gras, red wine and gitanes than any sporting gaiety.

Seriously, pushing the old racism to one side, isn't this an electrifying offer in these (what are we calling it again?) "financially straitened times". In certain pubs, you don't even have to pay four euro for a pint of Heineken. For every goal that Ireland, under the ultra judicious Trapattoni, score you can get a whole euro off a pint!

Flabbergasting! It makes you wonder how they can still turn a profit...

Mark Eitzel

Gay Men
Sometimes you just have to drag yourself out the house. Last night it was cold and wet. I could happily have jumped into bed with David Sedaris. I almost did. But Mark Eitzel, another brilliantly mercurial gay man, was in Galway so I girded my loins and headed out to hear him play.

Drink Driving
I got in the car and drove to the show. Sadly, it's in the nature of driving that one can't drink. This made going out on this freezing night feel like even more of a chore. My mood brightened as a session recorded earlier that day with Eitzel came on the radio. It was a good omen.

Soft Drinks
One of my major bug bears about Irish pubs is the price of soft drinks. Not that I buy them very often but the notion of paying perhaps three euro for fresh orange and lemonade is outlandish. I went to the bar and ordered a pint of tap water. This just happens to be my favourite soft drink. The fact that it's free was only a bonus. I did feel guilty about ordering it though:

Conversation With Barman
"A pint of tap water please?", I asked the barman.
"Just to get started", I found myself adding".
I almost threw in "I'm very thirsty" but just restrained myself.

Audience Help
I've been to see Mark Eitzel a few times now. He comes over as a reluctant performer. You get the impression he'd rather be at home drinking. Last night was no different and at one point I thought he was going to simply walk off. Myself and some other audience members sensed the danger quickly though and gave him some positive heckling to boost his fragile ego. Another pint appeared from the bar and we got him over the hump. It ended up being, as always, a great show. The best yet.

Wise Wife
"See", my wife said to me when I got home, "you don't need drink to enjoy yourself". As usual she was right. Just, I won't make a habit of it.

Fallen Angels

I would like to recommend these excellent children's hair accessories from Debenhams. They're called "Fallen Angels" and my children ask for them by name.

The brand "Fallen Angels" is designed to manifest thoughts of cheeky, slightly bold but ultimately lovable little girls. For the avoidance of doubt, market research and extensive consumer studies have shown beyond all doubt that the name definately does NOT evoke any notions of previously adorable little girls plummeted into a life of alcohol fuelled whoring.

John Muhammad's Brain

Here is the brain of John Allen Muhammad, the Washington Sniper, shown on an MRI scan. I'm merely an amateur brain surgeon myself, but even I can see we have some significant damage here.

Muhammad murdered 13 people during the autumn of 2002 in a series of random shootings. Today, this mentally ill man will himself be murdered, by the American government, at a prison in Virginia.

Every American citizen, in whose name this act will be carried out, will also die a little in the process.

Speech Therapy

Another of my favourite albums of this year (following on from this) is by Speech Debelle aboard the heavily fancied Speech Therapy. I'm glad she won the Mercury.

Coincidentally this album contains a track Bad Boy with a lyric that should really be awful but actually, somehow, ends up being absolutely first-rate.

Cause he wants to be remembered like Tony Montana / But he's forgetting that he'll end up dead like Tony Montana

Rhyming "Tony Montana" with "Tony Montana" is, to this observer's way of thinking, a very good idea indeed.

(Automated) Flying System

Plans have been drawn up to next install an (automated) flying system in the Town Hall Theatre and to undertake a range of other (mostly unseen yet essential technical) upgrades, as funding becomes available.

This from a large sign at the front desk of the Town Hall Theatre in Galway. It witters on like this for about two metres and contains many, many parenthesised clarifications which serve merely to confuse an already befuddled reader.

It's difficult to say what it is they actually want but I think it's got something to do with money.

Ladder Survey

I stood by this ladder yesterday for an hour taking notes. Here's some bullet points :

• 143 people walked by me.
• 106 walked round the ladder.
• The remaining 37 walked under the ladder.
• Of that 37 only 9 walked under the ladder without external influence.

The external influence was me. I challenged 56 people to walk under the ladder and, Amazingly!, precisely half of them accepted the challenge with no care about Bad Luck.

There must be a book in this...

Going Forward

I love this example usage of 'going forward' from www.allwords.com.

going forward (adv)

1. In the future.

Going forward we plan to leverage our core competencies to gain market share

Just imagine the sort of person who'd never heard the term before. The kind of dullard who still said 'In the future'. Or just said nothing. Let the context sort it out. Can you imagine!

What if you were to try and teach that hopeless case how to speak properly. For the way we live today. While you were at it, you might as well teach them how to leverage their core competencies to gain market share.

Hot Water For Tea

Here's a futuristic looking picture of the coffee machine at work. Some of my fingers are reflected in it to prove that it's not trick photography. [1]

Featured is the "Hot Water For Tea" button. When you place a cup in the machine filled with instant soup, bovril, vegemite, cheese, crisps, air or indeed anything that isn't tea, and press the button it just looks at you mechanically and does nothing...

It's up to you at this stage. You can either walk away or put a tea-bag in the cup.

Either way, the machine wins.

[1] Yes, the jumper is lilac. What's wrong with that?

We're Cheaper

On the way home last night I found comfort from the most unlikely source. Tesco, that corporate behemoth of a soul-sucking vacuum, had a moment of Ryan Air inspired genius.

Tesco have brilliantly responded to that truly invidious Dunnes Store advert (previously featured here) where, in the absense of any meaningful differentiator, they breezily announce that "The difference is ... we're Irish" and appeal to the public's baser instincts.

Tesco's new advert simply ripostes "The Difference is ... we're cheaper" and, in one fell swoop, utterly exposes the Dunne's ad for the reprehensible, nationalistic bunkum that it is.

Tesco are appealing to a baser, but much more agreeable, human instinct.

Up

Took the kids to see Up at the weekend.

It was mostly a lovely thing. Beautifully made and with the usual action scenes shoehorned in for the hard of thinking market.

Why do they do this? I'm no moralist but I'd love to take my kids to a gentle, funny animated movie without all the fighting, shooting, near deaths and ear-drum reverberating racket. I freaks the kids out.

Why do they do this? They do it because these movies are not for kids. They're for their nitwit parents.

I couldn't find any legal pictures from Up, so I took this one myself.

Head and Shoulders

ADVERTISEMENT

The good people at Proctor and Gamble asked me to say a few words about their excellent Head And Shoulders shampoo product.

I tried the cool menthol ("for maximum refreshment") and it started working from the very first wash. With only medium term retina damage it left my hair not only dandruff free but beautifully manageable.

The Greek Tragedy

Tragedy In a figurative sense a tragedy (from Classical Greek τραγωδία, "song for the goat", see below) is any event with a sad and unfortunate outcome, but the term also applies specifically in Western culture to a form of drama defined by Aristotle characterized by seriousness and dignity and involving a great person who experiences a reversal of fortune (Peripeteia).

Georgios Samaras, aka The Greek Tragedy, is pictured here wheeling away after scoring Celtic's second goal today. This went some way to reversing his fortunes after his sad, unfortunate (not to mention fucking shite) performance in midweek.

Aristotle would have had, no doubt, plenty to say about this Freddie Mercury lookalike of a striking enigma. I myself would just prefer it if he'd settle on either being really rather good or just piss-poor.

Some consistency please.

The Liberty Of Norton ... Folgate

Despite a late rally on the inside rail by Richard Hawley upon the sublime Truelove's Gutter, Madness aboard The Liberty Of Norton Folgate held on to win by a short head.

Win what, Musters Old Bean?
Why my album of the year of course!

You should believe me. This superb paean to the dark side of old London Town is an album utterly replete with top-notch singles. If such things even exist in this day and age.

You should believe me because heretofore I've had little interest in Madness or their music. I was thoroughly ambivalent towards these geezers. This album grabbed my attention about six months ago and hasn't stopped since. It's easily the best thing they've done.

The best single on this album full of singles is the beautiful, moving NW5 which contains the best lyric of the year:

I will have to live my life
But without you in my life

You might think it's a bit naff rhyming 'life' with 'life'. But in ain't. It's bleedin' splendiferous, chums.

Sale Agreed

The credit crunch is sure biting hard, folks.

Yesterday, I saw this push bike and thought about buying it. Unfortunately, it had gone beyond "under offer" and was now "sale agreed". Pending the actualisation of legal missives and interlocutory nullities it seems like I've missed out on this baby.

Sexy Cat

I don't suppose you'll be surprised to learn that I truly loathe Halloween.

Even if I'm right in the middle of learning about some interesting newt species on The One Show, I have to get up, answer the door and give kids sweets to fill their fa... fabulously lovely faces with.

But it's not the kids that bug me. Their brains are not fully developed yet and they don't know any better. No, it's the adults. Specifically those who don't just do it for the kids. The ones who are actually into the whole corporate fiasco in real life. The sort of person who would buy this.

The Dead Zone

I'm reading Stephen King's "The Dead Zone". Amazingly enough it's the first King book I've ever read.

(Except The Stand, The Fog, Pet Cemetery and Carrie)

It's a very exciting read indeed.It's about a young teacher who comes out of a four year coma with extra-sensory powers which enable him to look into the future or past of anyone he touches. Sometimes the signal gets weak though and his brain goes into the "The Dead Zone". A place or time in which nothing happens.

We have "The Dead Zone" every Saturday night in our house between the hours of six and eight. Or whenever fucking "Strictly" and "X-Factor" are polluting the airwaves. We replace the "The Dead Zone" with, what we like to call, "The Cocktail Hour".

Attention Rat Breeders

I don't have the stats in front me on how many rats get killed annually by lightening.

Let's take a punt and make the bold claim that one in every million rats killed are killed by lightening. That's being generous and still suggests that the product pictured must be the most ineffective rat poison in history.

Suggested target market...

Rat breeders.

The Spoon Situation

There were three bad things about my hotel in Boston.

1. The eggs - disgusting
2. The music - musak
3. The spoons - too small

I'd already told them about the musak. When I checked out I told the manager about the eggs.
"I know", he agreed, "they're disgusting all right". He shook his head as if the problem was utterly out of his purview.

"Ok what about the spoons? Can we have some big spoons", I asked. "I've been eating my cereal with a tea spoon and it's making me late for work".

"Why not start eating earlier?", he suggested.

I said I'd do that next time. Clearly he had no control over the spoon situation either.

Vanilla Coke

Main Entry: ²vanilla

Function: adjective

Date: 1846

2 : lacking distinction : plain, ordinary, conventional

I was drinking vanilla coke last week. Quite tasty it was too.

Weird thought! It struck me that the above definition of vanilla does not apply to vanilla coke. Vanilla coke, bizarrely enough, is decidedly not vanilla.

Junky Daddy

Main Entry: ¹vin·tage a period of origin or manufacture b : length of existence : age

Vintage, my ARSE. This piece of awful looking SHIT must surely be squarely aimed at the "Junky Daddy" market. Where else?

Muster Point

After work, I went straight here. And waited.

I waited and waited and waited. For half an hour. People came and went but nobody stopped. They just got into their cars and drove home.

So I gave up and went home too. What's the point of a Muster Point with only one Musters?

Daddy's Junky Music

Daddy's Junky Music or, possibly, Daddy's Music Junky (using a guitar as an apostrophe) is opening soon.

November 1st to be precise.

It's in Burlington Mall and will cater exclusively for the music needs of local fathers with chronic drug problems.

This is a niche market but, research clearly shows that, it's a potentially lucrative one.

The Water Giver

The Water Giver. Hmmm, what's this book all about?

Well it's ...

The story of a Mother,
a Son, and
Their Second Chance

Colleagues Finger Billionaire

And finally, in a night positively replete with double-entendre we have this headline from the Wall Street Journal. And don't they look pleased about it!

Mount Gay Rum

Giggling, I even had the cheek to ask 'my waitress' to bring the rum over to me the better to photograph it.

Mount Gay Rum. So named before homosexuality was even invented. What's so bloody funny about dat?

SIR James B Barnes ESQ. III

Sir James B. Barnes ESQ. III, a Knight of the British Realm, no less, has a paving stone in Quincy dedicated to his memory.

A google search for his name reveals nothing. And so his memory lives on, humbly achieving immortality, in that small paving stone, next to William and Mary Kelly, in that historic, blue-collar town in the state of Massachussets.

Not Your Average Joes

The irony - the sweet profound, utterly unseen irony - of this place is that it is very much the absolute definition of Your Average Joes.

Drink

Last night, me and my buddy Al went to Drink. To drink.

Drink is a fancy cocktail bar where they have no menu. You just tell them what you want and they mix it for you. A mere ten bucks a go. Our 'mixologist', Brad, told us that 'cocktail-centric' people from all over Boston flock to Drink. That's what he said.

I wisely stuck to rum based drinks. John Martyns, Mojitos, Daiquiris. And I felt the benefit this morning. Al. on the other hand, lacks my self control. He lost the plot entirely and opted for cocktails containing egg-whites and cucumber. He's probably still in bed after that shit.

The Way Home

RE: The Way Home?
From: musters
Sent: 17 October 2009 03:33:07
To: george.pelecanos@orion.co.uk

Dear Mr Pelecanos,

I am in Boston tonight and am thoroughly enjoying "The Way Home". It reads like a modern day fable and is a very fine match indeed to chicken wings and Sam Adams.

I have one small question if you'll indulge me, Sir.

On page 215, of the Orion edition, you say (in relation to the young boys who find Ben's mutilated, rat-infested cadaver):

"What they saw would trouble them into adulthood and haunt the youngest for the rest of his life."

Poetic and haunting words, if I may say, but they beg one important question. Since the book is set in modern day Washington DC, how do you know?

Best Regards,

Musters

The Braintree Train

On the 'Wed Wine to Bwaintwee' earlier there were two adenoidally annoying girls behind me speaking in the international interogative white chick patois.

(pinch nose)

And I was like toatally, no way, and he was like, way, and I was like soooo wasted cos I been drinking like like loads of wine??? and I hadn't had anything to eat???

(/pinch nose)

This shit went on all the way from Alehouse to Davis Square before they finally got up and left to like toatally get off the train???. I had a look at them as they left and they were indeed white chicks in all but, er, colour. These idiotic chatterboxes were, almost unbelievably, black.

I'm all for racial integration but when black girls start to sound that white it may have actually gone too far!

Musak in Hotel

Suicide is a terrible thing. It touches many lives.

I was at the hotel reception earlier sorting our four separate issues/questions. They had they most God awful jazz muzak playing in the background. But LOUD in the background.

I said to the dude, How do you put up with that all day?
I like it, he replied. Smirking.
He was joking. So I joined in, Why don't you kill yourself for some light relief?

The receptionist standing next to him burst into tears and left. We both watched her go then looked at each other. Woops, I said. He merely shrugged.

By that time I'd got through only two of my four issues/questions. I decided to forget about the others. They were mere trifles no doubt. I repaired, with all due haste, to my room. And here I must remain for the time being.

Change is Possible

Sam Adams. George Pelecanos. The Celtics on tv.

Change is Possible.

Change is Possible

On Sunday night, at about 9 of the clock I was precisely where I didn't want to be.

Shannon Airport.

To be fair to Shannon Airport I didn't want to be at any airport. Or indeed anywhere that didn't involve me being safely ensconced in my home. Easing my way out of the weekend.

But, of all things, the parking machine cheered me up. It told me to stay positive. Look on the bright side. With the right attitude, love and hope then things would surely get better.

CHANGE IS POSSIBLE. It told me.

Gately, Boyzone

Young Stephen Gateley, of the group Boyzone, was found dead in his apartment yesterday.

The English press are saying that he was found by his husband. The Irish press are reporting that he was found by his partner.

So who is right? They both can't be. Was he found by his husband or his partner? A mystery within a mystery.

Richman at the Roisin Dubh

On the way to see my hero Jonathan Richman last night, I took this photo:


I was a little taken aback to see Centra using this since I've come to believe that the strapline was mine own. Imagination is a powerful deceiver.

Here's a picture of the great man.
He's a genius. Simple as. A man out of time. Thankfully NOT for the way we live today.

But, then again, neither are fucking Centra. Not anymore, anyway.