The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, June 29, 2013

love story

The dog days of June.
Me and the ghost of Ryan O'Neill quaffing coffees and shooting the breeze in the Tearman Cafe, Kilcullen.
I begin to recite from memory.
"What can you say about a girl who loved Bach and the Beetles and me..."
Ryan smiles in recognition.
"My best film," he murmurs fondly. "Boston photographed in the snow. A 1970's feel to everything that you just couldn't capture now. A moment in time immortalised. Me and Ali McGraw in our shining days  and acting like our lives depended on it. What could have been emptily louche sensual elements of the material transformed because we were living it. A musical theme that was completely original and an instant classic. Supporting actors who were each one of them perfectly chosen and in love with their craft. The storyline based on a bestseller that was a little bit joylessly atheistic but still uniquely evocative of passionate love. The director, the cameraman, the crew, all the talents involved Heelers... they were incredible. And they never worked together again. Do you get that? This was their finest hour. Pure gold. Almost by cosmic chance, we came together at the right time and the right place to make a piece of cinematic history."
"Sorry Ryan," replies me drily. " I wasn't talking about your film. What I meant was: What can you say about a girl who loved Bach and the Beetles and me... I am referring to a particular girl who also happened to love Bach and the Beetles and me. Oh and she also loved a guy from Korea. And a Somali guy. And a guy from Leitrim who ran a horse riding place. And a guy from California. And a guy from Spain. And a couple of others that I can't prove. All in the space of a month."
"Lugnaquilla?" ventured Ryan delicately.
"Lugna-f--king-quilla," I affirmed with a modicum of bitterness.
"Heelers you only liked her because she was beautiful," sez he.
"So?" sez me.
"Looks aren't everything," sez he.
"She wasn't just beautiful. She had a certain soulfulness," I recalled wistfully.
"You could have cared less about her soulfulness."
"You can talk. You were married to Farrah Fawcett."
"Yes, but was I happy?"
"I'd say you had a few good moments," I mouthed staring into the middle distance.

(Delenda est jihadis.)


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