Thursday, March 29, 2007

**** bores the shit out of me.

Well well.

I came to realise it's been a while since my last proper blog, and time to kill before heading for Limerick, so here I am.

Shell-shocked I am after a night with the worst ailment this side of the bubonic plague. OK, perhaps I exaggerate, but I sit here a broken man.

Loathe as I am to blame the Stag's Head, could it have been a dodgy pint? Methinks possibly, especially as I only managed a couple before the Belle came and rescued me and ferried me home, Ollie taking no little joy in my discomfort! I won't forget this Skehan!

All of that aside, you find me in rare old form. A plethora of excellent nights since my last posting, with Dave and Nar chiefly to blame for a fair few of them. Or to thank, more precisely.

OK, well I'm off, I'll come back when I'm back in the fitness of my health and post properly. Stay ye beautiful.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Papa Smurf. A redemption story.

Generic Communist leader Papa Smurf often drew controversy for his close ties to Karl Marx and, later, the Stalinist Soviet Union, but this ‘kindly’ alchemist has had a private life to rival the most grizzled tabloid veteran.

The 579-year-old may have appeared docile and was noted for his diplomatic skills on screen, but off it this brutish blue creation led a life of homoeroticism, debauchery and, on occasion, bestiality.

His problems began while shooting the now infamous ‘Smurf Against Smurf’ episode from 1973, in which he was required to switch bodies with Gargamel in order to pretend to attack the village.

On screen his bravura was applauded by millions, off it Papa Smurf - his ties to several communist regimes being investigated by the Senate - became aloof and disinterested.

The full extent of his drug taking was exposed around this time, he became sloppy in hiding his predilection for sheepish sex (literal meaning), while his colleagues, including Clockwork Smurf and Nosey, became concerned about his mushroom intake.

So they informed the National Enquirer.

Fired immediately from the animated series, along with Smurfette, another victim of the shrooms, Papa Smurf took to harder substances to mask his latent love for young boys and woollen beasts.

Smurfette, meanwhile, just smoked a lot of crack.

However, as the darling of the show disintegrated into a sunken shadow of the cartoon sex symbol she once portrayed, Papa Smurf found redemption in the form of the Sierra Tucson rehab facility.

He talked his problems out, got off the substances, and learned that animal love should be left to the animals.

He also met the man he’s with today, make-up artist DeLonge Sinclair, and made a brave yet unsuccessful attempt at a seat in the US Congress.

A cartoon comeback is not to be ruled out.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

I have located my glasses

That Kenny, he likes a stout so he does. Anyway, you'll all be cheered to know I found my glasses, they were under the couch. Dave's theory goes that I came in last night and fell asleep on the sofa and threw my spectacles from my face in a fit of drunken barbarity.

He's probably right too.

Anyway, sat here on my day off with the usual drunkenness to report. Took myself to a number of aleing houses yesterday with the mucker.

The Ha'penny Bridge Inn and The Bankers proved non-runners, so back with us to the Kehoes snug and pissedo drunko lockedo fuckedo was got. Johnny Ward was there, glorying in Cheltenham, and we were soon joined by Brian and Vik, and Richie and Dave D and the man known only as Ken Mackenzie. A worthy addition to our coterie.

One Burger King later and I don't remember the rest. Had pointed towards more of the same today with Ollie, but the two of us agree that one night's destroyedness will do us, so I'm sat in Forbes Quay, still with no NTL, and planning where to get some grub.

Oh, and the Glenn Medeiros feature went down a treat. If there's any other obscure Eighties singer or actor you want profiled, give me a shout. Better that than doing any actual work.

Cheese of the week: Crozier Blue.

Things I don't give a shit about:

1) The washing machine being ridiculously loud on its spin cycle.
2) Music criticism. Objectivity rules!
3) Getting my hair cut. Putting it off for weeks with no sign of action.
4) Cheltenham. I really couldn't give a bollix.
5) Rugby. This is going in every one of these lists from now on.
6) Palindromes.
7) The films of David Lynch.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Nothing's going to change his love for you

Glenn Alan Medeiros (born 24 June 1970) is a singer and songwriter of Portuguese ancestry from the state of Hawai'i.

From humble beginnings performing on a tour bus on the island of Kauai, Medeiros's musical career soared. He is best known for his rendition of George Benson's "Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You" which was #12 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1987.

He also scored a 1990 United States #1 hit duet with Bobby Brown entitled "She Ain't Worth It" and followed it up with another hit duet hit with Ray Parkers, Jr (#32) "All I'm Missing Is You".

Today, Medeiros teaches music at St. Joseph's School in Waipahu, and teaches 5th grade at Island Pacific Academy in Kapolei.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Me on the film called 'Venus'

'Venus' (as relayed to 5X and Fell through email this morning)...

I really can't recommend it enough, as per my text.

Two old goats, actors, and one (Peter O'Toole) takes a lusting to a young one. All played out very subtly, and the scenes with the aul boys in the cafe are pure gold. Could almost be us in 42 and a half years.

Reminds me of the O'Toole classic. He's on a session with Richard Harris before they're both due to appear on stage. O'Toole just makes the curtain, steamed, and as he begins to perform an audience member shouts out...

"Mr O'Toole, YOU'RE DRUNK!"

To which the great man responds, drolly and icily,

"If you think I'M drunk sir, wait until you see Harris."

It's my favourite West End story to recount, and really puts my current standing on the Content shift in Setanta in context.

Monday, March 05, 2007


Had an email from Gillian today, wondering if it was true, had I really foresaken booze above all others? She's been keeping up to date here, you see, wherein I informed you all of my all-too-recent pledge to stay on the straight and sober.

Well, I broke it.

And how.

It began last Wednesday when I took to the Long Stone. Had been there the previous night too, with the lads from work, and didn't touch a drop. Let's just say I've had better nights, though no fault of the Setanta crowd, you understand...

Anyway, Wednesday and met Kenny - back from Germany - and Kev and I broke. Started with a 7-Up but soon gave up the ghost and next thing I knew it was Thursday, and the snug in Kehoes with Ollie and it was all over again.

Did discover the Ha'penny Bridge Inn though, what a spot, and some very friendly Welsh folk from Rhyl. One was called Kate-eh, and another one Rhys. Fucked if I recall the rest of that night.

Which took me to Friday, and met Val for some long overdue dinner and drinks value. Most pleasant, but she chose to abandon me early (I'll get an irate comment for this, no doubt!) and I ended up in the warming bosom of Dr Fell and the rest of the lads in O'Neills.

Dave raised an interesting point on the night. He said he enjoys reading old Radgery, but he feels there's very little of my actual life in here. Gave me some pause for thought, and upon reflection it's almost certainly true.

The details are all correct - in that I do find myself in the pubs of Dublin to excess and I don't bother changing any names - but by and large I choose not to divulge the minutiae, the smaller moments that make a man, or break a man, and the longings and the crapnesses that make life such as it is.

Anyway, I appreciated the observation from Dave, he's a tough man to get anything past.

So where was I? Oh yeah, looking at the moon. That was Saturday. I've settled on 'ochre' - see comments on previous posting from 5X - and since then I've happened down to Limerick to see the auld pair.

They're keeping well and asking for you.

YOU in particular.

Cheese of the week: Vieux Boulogne: Recently named the world's smelliest cheese, and it's aged with beer apparently. Cheers Jennifer for the info on this. To the hypermarché!

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Man seeks a loaf of bread.

View from my balcony this evening, pretty much. Debated the colour with Faela. I'm sticking with 'blood red.'

So now.