day among days

Spent the morning working on adjustments to my Dracula play. Came up with a rather nifty new scene which I think will change the history of dramatic theatre.
Have a look.
My morning's work highlighted in red.
It is a source of some chagrin to my poor spirit, that the Leinster Lootheramawn used to pay me to write such nonsense. I mean they used to pay me while I was writing it.
Anyhoo.

(Scene: Castle D. Evening. Dracula is about to fang a nubile young lady.)

Dracula: "Now my darling..."

(The window bursts open. The Hero Type lands in a shower of glass on the floor.)

The Hero Type: Stop you foul fiend of hell.

(Dracula looks up, startled. There is an uncomfortable pause.)

Dracula: Line.

Prompter: (from off stage) Oh f--k.

Dracula: Oh f--k.

Prompter: (Enters. She is pretty in a Diane Keaton/Sonia Gomez sort of way.) No. Sorry. That was me. I've lost the page. I don't know where we are.

Dracula: No. Sorry. That was me. I've lost the page. I don't know where we are.

Prompter: No I mean...

(Dracula fangs her.)

The Hero Type: You evil bast--d. You've killed the prompter.

See what I mean folks?
A new age dawning in theatre surely.
Remember you were in on it at the beginning.

In the afternoon I drove to the city to meet Luisa.
A two car pile up at Kilmainham became a three car pile up when one of the afflicted vehicles ploughed into Esmerelda.
Esmerelda is the name of my car.
She received a medium dent on her rear bumper.
I got a good shaking.
Exited the car for a brief chat with the occupants of the other vehicles.
Thankfully they weren't really hurt.
More shaken than anything else and obviously a little excited to be meeting Ireland's greatest living poet.
Presently we were joined at the side of the road by members of Dublin Fire Brigade, the ambulance service, and the police force.
After an hour I broke up the party and drove on into town.

Coffee with Luisa and her friends Giovanna and Daniele.
It was a very Italian gathering.
They talked animatedly for two hours about food.
I listened.

Back home to see highlights of the Olympics opening ceremony.
It was good.
Probably the most visually astonishing opening ceremony ever.
I thought the guy rising up and appearing to run on air was the best bit.

How many people will be watching it from Tibet?
Hey China!
Yeah you.
I'm talking to you.
Don't make me come over there.
Allow the Tibetan people their freedom.
You know it's time.
Repudiate your fifty year act of international piracy.
Thanks.

I was moderately appalled to hear that a week ago the International Olympic Committee had banned Iraq from taking part in the games. Clearly this was a decision taken for anti American reasons.
The International Olympic Committee pretended to have been offended that the democratically elected Iraqi government had removed a few Saddam era appointees from their own Iraqi Olympic Council.
Ah yes.
The IOC going in to bat for Saddam's henchmen.
A thorough going Olympic disgrace.
Now I hear Iraq is being allowed to compete afterall but most of the athletes will be too late to enter for their events.
What a lousy thing to do to them.
It would have been fun if the Olympics were being held in a free country. You would have heard some cheer when the Iraqis walked into the stadium, I tell you.
And no backroom backstabbing backwoods quisling marxian IOC bureaucrat would have dared to try and keep them away.

Flicking from the Olympics, I came across a news report on the Beeb.
My jaw dropped.
Barely 24 hours after my stirring I-love-Russia speech and just a week after my unconscionably magnificent literary tour de force Tribute To Mother Russia on this blog...
The Russians have invaded the Republic of Georgia, a small country on their southern borders.
Bloody hell.
I have a talent.

Salad with the Mam and Dad.
Fed MC Hamster. (My salad.)
Paddy Pup brought me for a walk.

Bed.

in london town

the theatrical succession
years flung away
ham actors chewing up the stage
in their anodyne atheistic little play
stand now as one
with those who hammed
in shakespeare's day
and there's something very old and very fine and very grand
in this damp tacky theatre off clubland

saying the unsayable with doctor heelers

A month ago the radar system inexplicably shut down for several days at Dublin airport.
By "inexplicably," I mean no one has offered an explanation as to why the radar system at Dublin airport would, could, or should, ever shut down in such a fashion, when it has been specifically designed not to do so, with the most modern back ups, and widgits, and whosees, and whatsits, and so on.
A report into what caused the shutdown has been suppressed.
The Phoenix magazine speculates that the report was suppressed due to embarassment at the failure of new technology.
No newspaper or broadcast media outlet covering the story has mentioned the possibility of an Islamist infiltration at Dublin airport.

Two weeks ago there was an explosion in the hold of a Qantas airliner.
The plane made an emergency landing in the Philippines. By the grace of God, nobody died.
In the aftermath of the explosion, the plane was checked for explosives by sniffer dogs from the Philippino bomb squad.
I wish to suggest that allowing the Philippinos to check the plane for explosives is tantamount to not really searching for explosives at all.
Without saying anything negative about Philippinos, I wish to state categorically that they have a third world bomb squad.
The cockpit voice recorder from the Qantas jet involved in the incident has been erased.
I wish to suggest that the erasure of the cockpit voice recorder is a deliberate attempt to conceal evidence which might indicate the presence of a Muslim terrorist bomb on the aeroplane.
Officials from Qantas now say there was no terrorist attack and that an oxygen cylinder exploded in the hold of their jetliner.
They have checked the plane for explosives using Philippino sniffer dogs. They have erased the cockpit voice recorder.
I do not believe their explanation.
Within several days of the explosion on board this Qantas plane, two other Qantas planes were forced to make emergency landings: One when its door opened in flight; The other when fuel began leaking along the wing.
During copious international media coverage of the three downed Qantas aeroplanes, not one report mentioned the possibility of an Islamist infiltration of Qantas or its maintenance crews.

Three days ago an Al Qaeda group attacked China. The Al Qaeda group killed sixteen Chinese police officers. The attack took place in China's Muslim province of Xinjiang. The Al Qaeda group attempted to hack to death with axes several wounded police officers at the scene. At first satelite broadcaster CNN managed to report this attack, as did most other media outlets, without once mentioning Al Qaeda. Sky News seemed reluctant to report the story at all. I waited for hours and nothing came through. In subsequent days, Sky remained doggedly determined not to make the story its lead on any news bulletin. Many of the major international news outlets initially reported the attack without even mentioning the peaceloving religion of Islam. I have to ask you. Is it possible that CNN, Sky, NBC, CBS, ABC, Channel Four, the BBC, the Irish Times, the New York Times, the Washington Post, et al (Particularly Al; I hate him!) is it possible they are all so mired in denial that they are desperately trying to prevent the general public from forming any perspective on current events that might even vaguely corroborate President Bush and America's heroic actions in the war on terror? Sixteen dead police officers is a big story, even if it did happen on the far side of the world. It's a positively huge story with five days to go to the Olympic Games opening ceremonies in Beijing. And it's a positively humongous story given that it means Al Qaeda has now openly made war with communist China, as well as with Russia, India, Europe and the United States of America.
Yet most newspapers downplayed the story, devoting only scant paragraphs to it, and surprise surprise, all but ignoring the Muslim angle.

Memo to the journalists of the free world:
When reporting Islamic attrocities or conspiracies against the rest of humanity, whatever you do, don't mention the Muslims.
I mentioned them once but I think I got away with it.

bliss was it in that dawn to be alive

among the immortals

These are the salad days.
That is to say, we're having salad for dinner every day.
The old chateau is a hive of activity.
The scents and sounds of August fill the evening air.
Nephews and nieces running around the place. MC Hamster, Paddy Pup and Robindranath Tagore, exuding an Edenic amity. And we've just been joined by a new guest, Squealy Squirrel.
He needs a better name but I think he's going to fit right in.
A hive of activity indeed.
The only thing we're missing is a few bees.
I think my feminist cousin Pauline intends to sort that out next week.
Some business venture she's hatched with Papa.
I don't know what effect that idea has on you bold readers, but it sure scares the hell out of me.
Anyhoo.
Drove to the city late.
Seeking anonymity among the crowds of August.
Flumped in the Starbucks cafe on Dame Street.
Two Dublin Horrors sitting at an adjoining table.
By Dublin Horrors, I mean the class of girls who catch your eye, and mutter "weirdo" loud enough for you to hear it, and then keeping trying to catch your eye again to prove some arcane point of their own devising.
It doesn't help that while I'm sitting with my coffee, I've been reading an eminently depressing collection of James Joyce short stories called Dubliners.
The particular story I'm reading right this moment is a cosmically morose thing about men who are single.
It's art okay.
But for crying out loud, Joyce, cheer up.
James Joyce and the Dublin Horrors seem to be in alliance against me.
They ain't got nuthin nice to say.
The ghost of Homer appears at my shoulder.
The great philosopher whose thinking underlies the entire western tradition of scientific discourse and method.
I wonder what Olympian wisdom he'll impart.
What great liberating insight will he bestow upon me from the Elyssian heights?
"Don't mind them Heelers," he murmurs. "They're just provincial pieces of s--t trying to project their unhappiness onto someone else."
"Joyce or the girls?" sez I.
"Yes," sez Homer and vanishes.
I'm telling you folks, I've got to stop listening to advice from imaginary neoclassical philosophers.
It can't be normal.
The two girls are trying to catch my eye again.
I groan inwardly.
Hmmm.
What would Bart do in these circumstances...

A BIT IRISH, at Galway race week (by Medbh Gillard)

"We really lost our shirts this time!"

the electric company

Evening at the Chateau de Healy.
Parents and favourite son are ensconced in the kitchen.
The Mam addresses the Dad.
"I am sick asking you to pay the electricity bill," sez she.
"I'm sick listening to you," replies the Dad.
James intervenes as peacekeeper.
"It's not like they're about to cut us off," sez he mildly.
"They cut us off before," shoots back the Mammy.
"When?" sez I.
"About forty years ago," sez the Mammy.
"No way," sez I.
"They did," sez she.
"And what was it like?" sez I.
The Mammy thinks for a moment.
"It was hellish," sez she. "I was crying. The kids were crying. The man from the electricity company didn't know what to do. He was mortified with embarassment."
The noble Heelers grins.
"Ah it wasn't really like that," sez I. "You've been reading Angela's Ashes again, haven't you?"
The Mammy shakes her head.
"It was exactly like that," she muses. "The man from the electricity company was standing there looking helpless. All you kids were standing around crying. Okay, and to be completely honest, I was pretending to cry."
"So what happened?"
"Eventually he told me: Ah don't worry Missus, I have to cut you off, but I'll only cut you off for a minute. So that's what he did. He cut us off and switched us back on again straight away."
There you have it folks.
An Irish solution to an Irish problem.
The Mammy turns to the Dad once more.
"It was forty years ago," sez she. "But I'd prefer not to have to go through it again any time soon."