After the strenuous Christmas festivities, I decided to have a cultural day before heading back to the Big Smog. My plan was simple – to visit the Jewish Cemetery of Limerick. I had heard about this place’s existence. I knew that it was located close to the University of Limerick. The precise location was a mystery to me. During my ill spent university days, I had never sought it out. Now, almost quarter of a century later it was time. Continue reading Gravespotting
Being a high powered executive type I have the ability to work from home when I feel like I need a break from the hustle and bustle of my cut-throat corporate career (I am a busy typist in the industrial wastelands of county Dublin). When at home one must work the same hours and attend to all the same duties as when in the office; do the same phone calls; fill in the same mind-numbing spreadsheets. So it’s not like you can doss off completely. You can however do a daytime wash-load in the machine; or use your lunchbreak to have a little trip to the opticians. Or get major dental work in Poland over the course of a week, but not consume those days entirely as holidays. Continue reading Into the West – an executive from Shannon
Last Tuesday, December 11th, at a farm outside Strokestown, County Roscommon, a private security firm allegedly staffed by loyalist paramilitaries from Northern Ireland, who were working on behalf of KBC bank’s vulture fund, evicted a family. The two brothers and sister living there, were in their fifties and sixties. The farm had been in the family for three generations. Apparently the family were in debt to the bank to the tune of €400,000 (half of which was penalties for late payment), and efforts to negotiate repayment with KBC Bank were unsuccessful. KBC Bank had sold the mortgage to the vulture fund Cabot Asset Purchases (Ireland). Accompanied by the police force of the Republic of Ireland – An Garda Siochana – the security firm blocked two access roads to the farm, and violently assaulted several people while carrying out the eviction, a fortnight before Christmas. The gardai who accompanied the security firm did not stop the assault since it happened on private property. The identity of the security guards is unconfirmed – but clearly known to the police. Continue reading Welcome to Roscommon
Yesterday afternoon I attended a screening of the John Waters film ‘Polyester’ in the New Theatre in Dublin. Starring the ‘Godzilla of drag’ Divine, this 1981 film marks the bridge between Waters’ earlier thrashy exploitation films (‘Multiple Maniacs’; ‘Pink Flamingos’; ‘Female Trouble’) and his more mainstream work (‘Hairspray’; ‘Cry-Baby’; ‘Serial Mom’).
In Polyester, Divine plays an obese, suburban housewife named Francine Fishpaw, whose husband runs a dirty-movie theatre; her son is a sex-offending foot-fetishist; and her daughter wants to drop out of school to become a go-go dancer, and have an abortion. When Francine’s husband leaves her for his dreadlocked secretary (Mink Stole), Francine becomes an alcoholic. Hope finally appears on the horizon in the form of the hunky Todd Tomorow (played by former matinee idol Tab Hunter). All is not what it seems though. Continue reading The mystery of David Lochary
In ancient Greek mythology, Iphigenia was the daughter of King Agememnon and Queen Clytemnestra, who was sacrificed to the gods to for a wind change which would allow the king to invade Troy. In the play ‘Ipghigenia in Splott’ in Smock Alley Theatre, Ipghgenia (Effie) is a hard boiled young woman in a hoodie, who terrorises her neighbours as she prowls the street of her estate. Hard drinking, tough-as-nails, she knows what people think of her. But she doesn’t care. Continue reading Theatrical: ‘Iphigenia in Splott’
Was I interested in going to see a staged reading of a play? Well sure. A staged reading of a play is exactly that – the actors stand on stage and read the text out loud, to an audience. It is different from a table reading in that it is not merely the actors reading the play among themselves. There is an audience. It is a very preliminary stage of any production. So early that even if it not an original piece you generally don’t need to pay the writer to stage it. It can be a rewarding means of sourcing cheap entertainment. You are not getting a full on production. It is only semi-rehearsed, so it is not expected to be as impressive as a fully rehearsed and learned performance. Continue reading Theatrical: ‘Death of a Salesman’
It was inevitable that this day would come – although It’s still a bit sad that it has arrived. Amsterdam has fully moved on from me. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that I have moved on from Amsterdam, never having planned to. Continue reading The city of fading lights
Sunday yawned in front of me. I could have been productive and done some Christmas shopping. That’s what Christmas Eve is for though. I should have done some housework, but I have too much self-respect for that. I needed to do something though. On the spur of the moment I decided that I would go to Connolly Station and board the next train, and travel to whatever destination was on the schedule. Continue reading University Blues
On Saturday, December 1, is the National Housing Demonstration, which convenes at 2pm at the Garden of Remembrance. It will demand action by the government to address the housing emergency which has been engulfing Ireland for several years. You might wonder why this matters to me. I live in a city centre apartment that I rent for an affordable price. The thing is though that I am extremely lucky. And luck isn’t infinite. An exact replica of my flat, on the next floor up, went on the rental market earlier this year for a price that is 70% higher than what I am paying. I live in a ‘rent pressure zone’ meaning that in theory my landlord is not supposed to increase my rent by more than 4% per year. Unless he wants to ‘renovate’. ‘Renovation’ is a loophole that allows landlords to evict tenants, paint a wall and then put the flat back on the market at whatever price it can raise. The former tenant has no redress. Continue reading To the barricades people!
In eight days I will be paying a visit to my old stomping ground of Amsterdam for a friend’s very important birthday (i.e . the celebration of an age where the second digit is zero). It will only be a flying visit this time as my gluttony for leisure went unchecked this year – I have only twenty six minutes holiday leave remaining, for the rest of 2018. It’s unlikely I’ll see all the people that I would like to, but I will do my damnedest to see a few. It comes at a particularly appropriate time as I am currently wallowing in a pit of glumness, as November draws to a close. Having spoken before about how utterly soul-destroying the final fortnight in November is, I am reminded of the brutal reality as it is being endured. A trip to the Lowlands will be a tonic. The thundering incompetence of Dublin Bus comes into sharp relief each November as I wallow in rainy, dark misery on Parnell Street each morning for the 40D bus – also known as ‘The bus that never arrives’. This morning as I boarded, my nostrils were assaulted by a noxious odour of halitosis. How could anyone not be aware of the brutal reality of their oral stench? My eyes were watering by the time I finally disembarked in the eternally grey industrial wastelands of County Dublin. Continue reading Winter wastelands
midnightmurphy 