Decades ago, while driving to town with my mother and sister, we passed a wall, on which was emblazoned a girl’s name in graffiti (she was in school with us.) The statement read ‘Lettuce Bolognese is a rag’ (Lettuce Bolognese not being her real name). My sister and I creased up with laughter. Not out of any spite towards poor Lettuce, but rather through the sheer venom and malice of the scrawl. Children can be very cruel. The graffiti remained on the wall for several weeks. To this day, I feel bad for poor Lettuce – she had to endure that horror for weeks. I still don’t know what the graffiti meant but I know that it was not complimentary. Continue reading Theatrical: ‘This beautiful village’ – a review
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Queer shenanigans at G.C.N.
Yesterday I paid a visit to see the ‘Pathfinders’ exhibition at Dublin Castle. On display in the Coach House until 29th August, it is a black and white photography exhibition by Paul Connell. It shows some of the founders of the gay liberation movement in Ireland. All the subjects are captured against the same backdrop giving a nice flow to the display. It was impressive. I recognised many of the faces – David Norris; Ailbhe Smyth; Suzy Byrne; Tonie Walsh; Phyllis Stein among others. I wish the names of all the subjects could have been included so I could put names to the faces. I wondered how many of the images were of people outside of Dublin. Precious few I thought cynically to myself. Sadly, but understandably the LGBT movement in Ireland was – and remains – centred in the capital. Unfortunately some of the efforts of the community outside of Dublin are forgotten to history. Continue reading Queer shenanigans at G.C.N.
Theatrical: ‘Kinky Boots’
Last night for the second night in a row I was at the theatre– my fourth trip in the past fortnight. Sadly, in this instance I had to actually pay for my ticket – unusual having developed a cunning skill of sourcing freebies. As one would only hope – I go so often to the theatre, that my diet would consist of congealed bread and dripping with a side order of gruel, if I had to pay for all these tickets. Last night I went full Broadway, attending ‘Kinky Boots’ in the unfortunately named Bord Gais Energy Theatre (which thankfully has been re-christened as the ‘Bored Gays Theatre’ by some wags thanks to the fact that it shows big West End shows – in RingsEnd). Continue reading Theatrical: ‘Kinky Boots’
A night at the opera: ‘The Hunger’
The Irish Famine of 1845 to 1849 is one of those catastrophic events whose aftermath is still felt in the modern day – Ireland remains one of the only countries in Europe (perhaps the only country?) whose 2019 population remains considerably lower than it was in 1840. Its effects still resonate. Modern day Ireland speaks English as a native language thanks to the almost fatal blow dealt by The Famine to the Irish language – the tongue remaining on state subsidised life support ever since; with only a tiny percentage of people who still speak it as their mother tongue. It is a difficult subject to discuss neutrally because of an ongoing discussion on how much the effects of the natural disaster of the potato blight, are directly attributable to centuries of English colonialism – a subject which seems largely swept under the rug in that fair land. Continue reading A night at the opera: ‘The Hunger’
Theatrical: ‘The Roaring Banshees’
Yesterday afternoon I finished work early and headed over to the Convention Centre close to my house. This weekend is the World Con 2019 (World Science Fiction Convention). I know the director of the opening ceremony and I had written a short piece based on a collaborative idea about Halloween. It was to be performed by Firedoor Theatre as part of the ceremony. Set on the night of Samhain (Halloween) a Druid, Banshee and Morrigan – the Irish queen of war – are in an underworld bar having a drink after a night of mayhem. The Viking Brodir – slayer of Brian Boru – enters, accompanied by a failed actor from the over-world. Shenanigans ensue.
As I was heading to the theatre later, I went to watch the dress rehearsal. It was the largest theatre ever for something I have participated in. The capacity is about 2000 people. The actors were miked up and in costume and did a couple of run-throughs which seemed to go smoothly. The gigantic live screen at the back of the stage was wildly intimidating. I wished them luck and exited the theatre, to promptly get lost in a maze of red carpeted corridor. It was as if I was in ‘The Shining’. Keeping a keen eye open for ‘RED RUM’ on the walls, I entered a lift and ended up in the cavernous kitchens in the bowels of the building. A kindly kitchen porter showed me the exit, and I emerged into the day light, with eyes blinking. Continue reading Theatrical: ‘The Roaring Banshees’
A crappy soap opera from the Wastelands
The tale I am about to tell is both grubby and murky, involving clashing egos; overweening ambitions and sordid intentions among middle management. It begins about a year ago when a company (let’s not say which one) based in the Wastelands of County Dublin hired a sprightly new manager. As anyone who works in the coalface of office administration knows, a new manager needs to tread carefully. They have to be assertive enough to stamp their authority on a team fairly fast, lest they reveal themselves to be a pushover. On the other hand they need to be aware of the septic fog of office politics seeping from every corner. Identify the gossips and the surly lumps early, and love-bomb them, to ward off their negativity. It is a tightrope that requires delicate navigation. Let’s call the villain of this piece Sinead Lovejoy (not her real name). Continue reading A crappy soap opera from the Wastelands
Notional coffee, ice-cream and burgers
On Sunday I had a notion to do the Greystones to Bray coastal walk. The fly in the ointment was that I didn’t leave my tastefully appointed flat until 2.30pm. This ought not to have been an impediment except for the fact that I had an arrangement to meet a friend in Bewley’s on Grafton Street at 5.30pm. The return train journeys added to the length of time it would take to do the walk, put paid to my lofty ambitions. Being a fine August day however, I decided to take the train to Dun Laoghaire and walk back in the direction of town. Continue reading Notional coffee, ice-cream and burgers
Theatrical: ‘Waiting for Godot’
On Thursday I was very high-brow. I went to see ‘Waiting for Godot’ by Samuel Beckett at Smock Alley Theatre. I was dreading it. I’ve heard of the play of course – being as it is, one of the most important theatrical works of the 20th century. However, I’d heard that it was allegorical, and ‘about nothing’. Two men waiting by a tree for a character named Godot, whose provenance is never explained. It sounded very art-wanky to my ears. The type of work that, which may be incredibly clever and worthy, but would also be completely incomprehensible to a person like myself, who likes to go to the theatre either to be entertained or to see a shapely male buttock. In my ignorance I would have classified this play as being of the same school as ‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce. That book beloved by millions, but only read by thousands. Continue reading Theatrical: ‘Waiting for Godot’
Fantasy Football league
I slunk into my tastefully appointed cubicle in the wastelands of county Dublin, ill prepared for another day in the coalface of office administration. I huddled over my computer cradling my first cup of coffee of the day. I heard a voice. Who was it only my colleague from the North. He’s a pleasant person despite his booming voice, and I get on quite well with him. We don’t that much in common – he is married with a child, and big into football. I am none of those things. He runs something called a ‘Fantasy Football League’ at work that seems popular among the middle-aged married men. I support his endeavours. It is good to have a hobby. I haven’t the faintest idea of the meaning of a Fantasy Football League. Continue reading Fantasy Football league
Visiting Dolores
As it was a bank holiday weekend in Ireland I headed west on the Friday after work My train ticket was booked for a 4pm departure. As I was logging off from work at 2.45pm my boss – in typical style – rang me to perform an urgent task. Hissing venom internally I did said task. Continue reading Visiting Dolores
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