10/04/2005

 

When I started this page I promised, or at least strongly hinted that I would be good and update it regularly. Clearly, this was wishful thinking so here are a few thoughts and observations from the past couple of months.

 

We've been traveling around a bit recently with a trip back to Scotland for a few days, taking in Dublin along the way, and an overnight trip to the Burren in County Clare. We set off for Dublin by bus which I would strongly recommend to masochists everywhere. Anyway, we eventually got there and spent the day exploring the wintry capital. The trip to Scotland was great although we seemed to spend a lot of it either on a bus or waiting for one. It was good to catch up with people again though.

 

At Easter weekend we both had to work but we did manage to get away for one night. We were very lucky as it happened. As we pulled out of the car park, Jane noticed a wet streak on the ground where the car had been. A quick inspection was all that was needed to determined that there was petrol gushing from the undercarriage and that we would not be going anywhere in the car that day. A call out to the AA told us what we already knew. Amazingly, there was a car rental agency open just down the road from us and before long we were on our way north to county Clare. The main attractions were the cliffs of Moher and the Burren. The cliffs are just that. Very high, very impressive, very busy. There were hundreds of visitors there and numerous stall selling genuine Irish tat. Signs warned of the dangers of getting too close to the cliffs edge, obviously there for the benefit of people who are too stupid to work this out themselves but clever enough to read and follow warning signs. Many visitors that day were oblivious to this and for some reason felt the need for that near death experience.

 

Am I getting old? That would have been me not that long ago.

 

The best sign that day though was the one on the Burren asking visitor to refrain from building dolmens.

 

To explain: The Burren is a large area of rocky limestone wilderness where nothing of any size can grow. It's an amazingly atmospheric place and several thousand years ago, presumably before the sign was erected, stone age people built dolmens here to act as tombs for their dead. The one we visited is one of the most dramatic prehistoric sites I have visited, huge slabs of rock balanced on one another to form a lean to shelter of sorts. Obviously, this sight inspires many people to go off and build their own dolmen although I didn't see any evidence of dolmen building activity. The signs must be working.

We stayed in Limerick that night. For the benefit of New Zealanders, Limerick is pretty much Wanganui. Big dirty river, bad reputation, only with a better castle. There's something about the layout of the streets too that takes me back to Wanganui. It's uncanny.

 

I've decided to record an album while I'm over here. Nothing flash, just a collection of songs I've been writing and singing since I got here. I know a few people who have already done it and Cork seems like the perfect place to give it a go so I've made a start. I might even be able to sell a couple of copies in the shop. I'll keep you posted.

 

To be serious for a moment, the passing of the Pope was of course, a very big deal over here and although there was no national day of mourning there was a great deal of feeling around. A news clip from Northern Ireland really grabbed my attention. Someone had spray-painted some uncharitable gloating remark about the Pope's death on a wall in Belfast. Another person, presumably of the same religious persuasion had painted over it in large whitewashed letters just one word- 'Sorry' I think the world would be a better place if there were more people like that second painter. His Holiness understood that.

 

I saw a funny thing on the street the other day. A bunch of burberried teenagers (Neds in Scotland, Bogans in NZ, Knackers over here) had somehow got hold of the Mayor and were climbing all over each other to get their picture taken with him on their camera phones. The poor man was grinning inanely and desperately wondering where the diplomatic protection squad had got to. A touching moment.

 

Finally, Jane would like everyone to know that she is glad to be back in a country where she can use the word shite on a regular basis. It comes in handy when working in Logistics apparently.

 

13.02.05- Regarding Cork

 

Let's begin with our new home, Cork. We live in a row of terraced houses on a hill overlooking the city centre. The nearest pub is a two minute walk. The corner shop is less than a minute away. We can be in the city in five minutes if we walk quickly.

To get there we have to cross the north channel of the river Lee. Cork city is built on an island between the north and south channels. The coast is about a 15 minute drive from here so the river is very tidal and a little smelly.

Cork is the capital of Munster in the south west of the Republic of Ireland. Dublin is a good 3 hours drive from here. Limerick is an hour and a half to the north and it's not a long way to Tipperary. The natives are known as Corkonians or Corkmen. Some famous Corkmen include Roy Keane, Rory Gallagher and Danny La Rue. We are not and never will be Corkonians.

 

Nevertheless we have been made to feel quite welcome here. Most folk are pretty friendly and curious as to why we would want to live here. The correct answer is that there are many reasons why. The city has a vibrant musical culture. You can see a band playing live any night of the week and there are always buskers out on the streets, even after the pubs close. There are many beautiful buildings here, especially churches. It's hardly cheap but you get used to that.

 

It's also the 2005 City of Culture. City of Controversy is a more accurate title with every Corkman and his dog offering opinions of what they would do if they were in charge of the festivities. The year got off to a pretty good start with a fireworks display involving a giant serpent rising from the Lee, depicting the story of St Finbarr and the foundation of the city. We went along to see what we could see from our un-ticketed area. It was certainly worth the effort.

 

Many shops in town, including my one have got in on the act by putting in Fireworks styled window displays in order to somehow align ourselves with the most happening place in Europe this year. It looked fantastic for the first week, then the adhesive gave up and the stuff started peeling away, a metaphor for the year perhaps?

 

13.02.05- The Vetivers Rock Charlie's Bar

 

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine, Paul from Kansas, approached me at Charlie's singer songwriter night and told me the drummer from his US band would be in town and did I want to join them on bass for a reunion gig. 'No problem,' I replied, 'Except I'm not much of a bass player, I only know one of your songs and I don't own a bass guitar.' Paul, the eternal optimist didn't think that this would be much of an issue so a couple of days later I was at his place with a bass borrowed from the shop, learning a 12 song set of original American College Jangle Pop tunes. I also spoke to my big boss in Galway and got a really good deal on an Acoustic Bass.

 

On Thursday 10th February, I returned to Paul's to meet the drummer, Ben, and following a practice notable only for its brevity and general sloppiness we loaded the cars and headed to Charlie's. The gig began with able support from Tony, a local character whose songs are more like meandering anecdotes that you can't help but shut up and listen to, and Paul Fenton, Cork's own Bob Dylan sound-alike.

 

Fortified by a couple of pints of Beamish (Cork Stout), we took the stage around 10.30 and somehow,things fell into place. I even got to take lead vocals for a new composition of mine, an ode to NZ entitled 'I was there before the Hobbits' The odd cock up aside, we ran though our set in front of a packed crowd not even pausing for the usual 'Thank you goodnight, oh, ok a couple more.' We were therefore a little taken aback when we ended and the crowd demanded an encore. After a quick huddle a song was decided upon, one that unfortunately, I had never heard before. Somehow I managed to fake my way through it and we ended just after 11.30. The folly of playing an encore soon became apparent. The bar closes at 11.30 on the dot. Damn!

 

Still, at least we got paid and hopefully, Paul and I will continue to play with a new drummer. Watch this space.

 

13.02.05 Sporting Matters

 

First of all let me be honest. I'm missing Super 12 already. I don't care how many sports writers on this side of the world write it off as showboat rugby, it's exciting in a way that northern hemisphere rugby can't seem to match. There's plenty of rugby here and at times it's great. Leinster are Ireland's Auckland to Munster's Canterbury. Ireland have made a steady-ish start to the 6 nations, especially in comparison to woeful England who can't seem to land a goal and France who have forgotten how to score tries. There is a lot of talk that this could be Ireland's year.

 

Irish soccer is in a similar state to NZ. The national team is capable of overachieving but the national league is a bit of a disgrace. Ask a local which team they support and it's likely to be Man U, Liverpool or Celtic- hardly ever Cork City and never Rangers.

 

The national games are Gaelic Football and Hurling. Both games are similar in their rules but vastly different to watch. I find football a bit messy, like watching a bunch of boys at the park playing scrag. Hurling on the other hand never ceases to amaze. The skills involved in manipulating a ball on the end of a curved stick at high speed are almost magical. Unfortunately for outsiders like me many of the games are commentated in Irish so it's hard to know what exactly is going on. Football and Hurling were actually revived early last century by a government keen to carve out a national identity after breaking away from England. Kinda strange really but the Irish are pretty used to their government telling them what's good for them. And I'm going to halt that particular train of thought right there.

 

13.02.05 More than just Father Ted.

 

Ireland is a Catholic Country. That doesn't mean you can't be Protestant or Muslim, or anything else for that matter, but wherever you go, there are reminders that this country is Catholic. I quite like it. Shrines by the roadside, people crossing themselves as an ambulance wails by, the ringing of the Angelus at 6.00pm (a particularly sweet sound as it means I can lock the shop door and go home).

 

People's speech is peppered with Catholicisms and street names commemorate saints and martyrs.

 

That's not to say the place is particularly devout. Less and less young people are attending mass these days and Catholic Ireland has all the same social problems as Protestant England and America. I just hope Ireland never totally loses its Catholic icons and mannerisms. It's part of an identity, God love 'em.