The Rural Juror

I had a very strange gig at the Winterfest in Fibber's last night. My shoulder was still sore from the Limelight show in Belfast, so I couldn't rock out onstage. It was a nice change of pace though, for once I could just play the tunes without being wrecked after about ten seconds. I couldn't resist the temptation to go a little mad at the very end of the set though. We all went for very civilised drinks in the Market Bar afterward. It was nice and quiet, and everyone was able to chat pleasantly. Not a particularly metal evening, but I had fun.

My family Christmas shopping is largely taken care of, which means that I am now free to go and look for a few little knick-knacks here and there for non-family members. Today seemed as good a day as any, so I thought I'd head into the city and have a wander. I was only after arriving in town when I got a text from my good friend Rory, who I hadn't seen since my last trip to London. He was in town with his baby son Rua, looking to do some Christmas shopping, so I went to meet him. For some reason we ended up going to the café in the Jervis Centre for a cup of coffee; it might have been my fault. The queue was full of knackers who complained about their sandwiches and skipped me in the line. All I wanted was two cappuccinos. Rory had presents to buy for his brother, sister, mother and girlfriend, so after the coffee we decided to get down to business. For some reason, every idea I had for presents worked out really well. If only these skills translated as well to my own shopping.

Ricky Roma

The internet has been down in the gaff for most of the last two weeks, making it very difficult to update the auld blog. It's a pity; a lot has been going on and I'm not sure how much I'll remember.

I suppose the first thing I'm going to mention is that we had to put Pushkin, the family's beloved cat, to sleep last week. She hadn't been on top form for a while, but on Monday last week things took a sudden turn for the worse. The vet told us that all the signs were pointing to kidney failure, and that quality of life was going to become an issue. It appeared that the symptoms she was going through were the thin end of the wedge, and we didn't want her to suffer. She went to sleep very peacefully. The house seems very quiet without her though.

The band have been playing a few gigs too, including our first gig in Belfast in years. We were playing the Limelight with Two Tales of Woe, Sinocence and Devilmakesthree as part of a Christmas show run by The Distortion Project. It was a great night with a great crowd, but the cold Northern climate made it very difficult to rock out onstage. About ten minutes after we were finished, my shoulder cramped up very painfully and has been sore ever since. I put a Nurofen heat pack on it today, hopefully it'll be feeling better before our next gig in Fibber's on Sunday. I don't fancy sitting down onstage at a metal show.

I had my first jam with the DIT Big Band yesterday as well, covering for their usual bass player. I wasn't sure quite what to expect, and I could feel my stomach sink when I was confronted with a chart with a fully written out bass line in the key of D♭ major. Playing the parts on a six string bass without any preparation is not for the faint-hearted, my hands were sweating like crazy. Still, I was glad for the opportunity to play some new stuff and to catch up on my sight-reading. I'm going to photocopy the music from the band's book before next time, though - as great as it is to have your ass kicked every so often, I don't intend to make a habit of it.

The Mock Turtle

There has been one thing on the nation's lips since the last time I wrote: Thierry Henry's handball during the French match the other night. It's even gotten to the stage where the Irish government is trying to get involved. You can't help but feel that this is just an attempt for them to curry favour with the public after the economic turmoil of the past year or so. Either way, I'm getting a little bored of the whole saga. For me, the biggest event of the week has been discovering Raymond Carver. Ever since I read through Kurt Vonnegut's books I've been looking for another good short story writer, and I think this is the guy for me. I first read about him in the Guardian a few weeks ago, and happened across some of his stuff going for less than a tenner in Hodges and Figgis the other day. It seemed like an omen. The book I bought is called What We Talk About When We Talk About Love; girls always want to know what it's about. I suppose it does seem like a very romantic title, but really it's a collection of some very dark, bleak stories. I finished it after a couple of hours, I have another book waiting for me in my bag.

The Mad Hatter

It was a good day yesterday. Walking though town on the way to practice, I came up to an enormous crowd on Grafton Street. I didn't know it at the time, but John and Edward (I'm not going to call them Jedward, except for this one time) from X Factor were there to turn on the Christmas lights. There were thousands of screaming girls, none of whom would get out of my way. I pushed through, knocking my bass off of loads of people. As I got to the studio, I heard the sound of a guy making a countdown - someone else was turning the George's Street lights on. The announcer counted down to zero, flicked the switch... And nothing happened. He got it to work "second time round", luckily. It was a nice scene though, I went into practice feeling festive. The jam was really great, we have a proper set together for the gigs in December. I'm really looking forward to playing now. It was also momentous because I finally got my paws on a physical copy of the CD, ten and a half months after we started recording it. I had already seen H's copy at a distance, but looking at my own copy in my room was a different experience altogether. I had forgotten that my name is down as "Patrick Kiernan" on it though, my mother will be thrilled.

I had a strange dream last night too - I was in a cafeteria with my friends, and insults were flying. Things were getting a little outrageous, so I went to a table far away from everyone else to sit down with a copy of The Observer. I didn't realise it, but a gorgeous, short-haired girl was sitting opposite me. She had heard the insults I had shouted and was laughing. She hinted she wanted a man who could make her laugh like that. So I do the standard Paddy thing and give her my phone number on a piece of torn-off newspaper. The girl looks ecstatic, like I'm Jesus and I've just cured her leprosy. You could nearly see tears of joy streaming down her face... Until she makes a very small moan. And then another. And then another. They start to get louder, and before you know it she's having a full When Harry Met Sally-style orgasm at the table. I could see the boys running away with embarrassment. I didn't move, I think dream-Paddy was enjoying the show.

2BR02B

After the wildness of last weekend, it has seemed like a very quiet week. Only three things of note happened, as far as I can remember:

1./ The band had their first jam since Matt got hurt. It was nice to get back to playing, it had been a long time since we'd done some of the tunes. At the end of the jam Dave's long-suffering guitar cut out, and he smashed it off the ground.



I think he'll need to do some repairs.

2./ I watched Four Weddings and a Funeral on Saturday night, I didn't have the energy to face going into town for the evening. Really terrible. Andie McDowell might well be the worst actress I've ever seen, I couldn't even enjoy her on an ironic level. I capped the night off by watching the tail end of The 100 Greatest Ads ever on Channel 4. The Smash Martians won. A night well wasted if there ever was one.

3./ On Sunday night I went to see Ingrid Laubrock, Tom Rainey, Ronan Guilfoyle and Michael Buckley play in JJ's. I saw this lineup a few years ago, and was really impressed; Tom Rainey is a bit of a hero of mine. It was a really amazing show, they played for the guts of two hours with not a tune in sight. I was worn out by the end though, it was very intense. As I was leaving, I saw this absolutely gorgeous girl standing next to the bar. Short brown hair, the works. It just so happens that the last few times I've noticed someone like that at a jazz gig, the girl is always with this one guy. This time was no exception; he's like a magnet for chicks I fancy. I wonder what his secret is.

Number Six

The band had two Swedish visitors over the last few days: our producer Jens, and our good friend Emil. I was really glad for the chance to hang out. For one thing, I was probably a little too stressed out over the whole recording process in Sweden to fully appreciate my time there, and this was a chance to make amends. It could have been the best weekend I've had in years, I literally cannot remember the last time I laughed as much. By the end of our time together I was worried I had strained my tongue from talking, it was aching and sore. It's feeling better now though.

The Stag's Head

It was my birthday on Friday, the big Two Nine. I was dreading the occasion all week, but once midnight actually came and the world didn't stop turning, I felt OK. My brother Joe got me an awesome razor, and I was sent a lot of birthday greetings, so I was pretty happy with that. I didn't really have anything planned for the evening, so I headed into the studio for a relaxed evening's jam with the boys. Things were originally going to start at around seven, as per usual, but I headed out for a quick coffee with Johnny beforehand. We were moving along at a relaxed pace; we even made a few stops on the way back. At this stage, I got a missed phone call from our drummer Matt. I called him back, but the phone rang out before picking up for a split second. I thought there might have been a problem with the connection. We were only around the corner from the studio at this stage, so we walked on. As we neared the studio, we saw a police motorbike go around the corner, and a crowd assembling. We walk around, and see Matt outside the studio door, bleeding, talking to the police. It turned out two homeless guys had attacked him, and in the struggle had broken a bottle over his neck. It was pretty shocking, to be honest. We've been in the studio for nearly six years, and there's never been trouble before. That area of town is very nice, and I've felt safe walking through it at any time, day or night. Two undercover police took a statement from Matt, while others went looking for the guys who did it. The cops seemed pretty inured to what was going on. Paramedics came pretty quickly, and took Matt to James's Street Hospital for stitches. It was my first time in an ambulance, I suppose I've been lucky so far. The A&E department at the hospital is a pretty grim place, like I imagine most emergency departments are, at least outside of TV. At least it was still early enough on a Friday night, so we had arrived before the alcohol-related cases started to pour in. An LCD screen helpfully informed us that patients could be waiting between four and six hours for treatment. Matt was taken into triage very quickly, but this was only the first step; they put a bandage over his wound. Some pretty desperate looking cases came in - one homeless looking guy arrived with blood all over his head. He was absolutely filthy. Much to the triage doctor's credit, he was treated the exact same as every other patient. Matt's dad had arrived at this stage, and after a quick discussion with some paramedics, decided to take him to a private hospital for stitches - with health insurance it would cost around a hundred quid or so. It seemed like a price worth paying, within a couple of hours we would have had front row seats to all the chaos that Dublin provides in its hospitals on a Friday night.

Dubhlinn Gardens

On the way to Stewart Lee's show in Vicar Street on Monday, the three of us who have taste in comedy (that's Shawna, my brother Joe, and I) stopped into a Pizza Hut. It was pretty quiet, so we sat ourselves down in a booth and waited to be served. After a few minutes, we were still waiting. Shawna said that I should call one of the waitresses over, so I jokingly flailed my arms around to get their attention, in a display that would shame someone suffering from Tourette's. I didn't realise that it would actually work; a waitress duly came over and served us. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Stewart Lee himself was absolutely hilarious - my face was sore from laughing by the end. I had no idea that a completely preposterous story about a slogan for pear cider could be so funny. On Tuesday night, the band had a photo shoot. It was hard to find a location, so we headed down to Dublin Castle and roamed around looking for a good spot. The main garden area of the castle was closed, but we snuck in through a side gate and managed to get an hour or two of shooting done before we were caught by security guards and made leave. Apparently you need a permit to take pictures in parks in Dublin. Especially when they are closed. On Wednesday night, the Electric Penguins were scheduled to play in Bewley's Theatre. I got there pretty early, and entertained myself for a while playing a super-slow blues in G on the piano. The rest of the boys came with their array of synths, but without the interface we needed to run backing tracks from the laptop. This could have spelled disaster, but luckily they managed to make contact with someone who happened to have the relevant piece of equipment, and he graciously gave it to us for the evening. By the time this problem was solved, we had less than an hour to soundcheck, but somehow everything ran very smoothly. My bass sounded absolutely amazing. I wasn't able to go through the PA system because we had run out of channels, so I had to turn it up onstage to project it out into the audience directly. Everyone was making comments about how good it sounded, especially considering how small the amp is. The first band on were really great, they were doing a lot of vocal harmony-based kinda stuff. They had this fourteen year old guitar player with them, and he was really nailing stuff that some guys twice his age would find tricky. We went on pretty quickly after they wrapped up, and as we started I leaned down to turn on my amp... Only to find that it wouldn't switch on. I tried looking through all the plug sockets to try and figure out what was going wrong, but everything seemed to be in place. Then, without any warning, the amp started working again. I can't explain it. The gig itself went really well, especially compared to the other two shows we've done. For once I could hear the synths, the piano and the backing tracks really clearly, which made things a lot easier for me. The set was nicely arranged too, there was plenty of ebb and flow. It also helped that there was a good crowd, Bewley's is always good for that kinda thing.

Ben Bulben

The trip up to Belfast on Saturday was long. I arrived in Belfast at six o'clock, just in time for the shops to close, so I didn't get a chance to check out the Levi's shop there for jeans, and the weather was terrible. It was absolutely lashing out, and the wind was practically making the rain fall horizontally. I almost missed my old Columbia jacket. The usual feelings of paranoia hit me a little as I was walking around; I saw two rough looking characters in tracksuits wearing poppies, and I couldn't help but feel that they were staring at me. I am a Fenian bastard, after all. As it happened, I was also very early for the gig - I thought doors were opening at seven, but a quick glance at Google as I walked past City Hall confirmed that they would in fact be opening at eight. Luckily I also found out that the venue for the gig had a cafe for me to shelter in. All I had to do was find it. I got directions on Google Maps, and followed them. I normally trust my geographical skills, but when I found myself at the end of a completely unlit, narrow street, I was a little worried. My dad hates the idea of me travelling up North, and I couldn't help but wonder what he would have to say about me walking through such a place alone in a relatively unfamiliar and potentially hostile city. Either way, I decided to man up and walk down it - and there was the place, exactly where Google said it would be. I'll never doubt again. The cafe was lovely. There was nice music playing, good coffee, friendly staff, art on the walls, sofas to sit on... I was thrilled, especially because the gig was going to be right next door. Altar of Plagues came on eventually, and were absolutely amazing. It was probably the best metal gig I've seen since Behold... The Arctopus last year. I was so impressed that I even bought a t-shirt, which I never normally do. It'll be handy to have a band shirt for gigs, it'll help me blend in with the metallers. I was in no humour to listen to Isis (ever album they've made since Oceanic sounds kinda similar to me), so I left for the ten o'clock bus back to Dublin. There was a birthday party which I was going to pop into, and I had an early start on Sunday morning. The bus landed at Busaras at quarter past twelve, and I was absolutely exhausted. I didn't hear anything back from the birthday party, so I went for a Nitelink home, where I bumped into my mate Laura. It was nice to catch up for a little while. I collapsed into bed at two o'clock, but thanks to the magic of Daylight Savings Time I managed to get an extra hour's sleep before waking up for the trip to Sligo with the Electric Penguins. It was a beautiful morning for a drive, although it was farther to Sligo than I remembered. Still, there was some really stunning scenery along the way, and we had a good laugh in the car. We were playing in a very fancy new hotel, right next to the river in Sligo town. Before we had even finished setting up, a crowd started to arrive for the show, which made things a little stressful. There were some technical difficulties in getting the PA system working - even though the setup had been stripped down since the Oxegen gig a few months back, it was still very complex. Due to a lack of plugs, we couldn't even use one of the synths. Still, the show must go on. All in all, things went pretty well. There were a few small hiccups, but nothing major. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, and I even signed a couple of autographs afterward. We left for Dublin at the very un-rock and roll hour of five o'clock. The nights get very dark now that the hour has gone back; it was twilight by half five. There was some seriously reckless driving on road through the countryside though, one car had to go on a verge to avoid a collision along the way. I was feeling pretty worn out at this stage from the weekend's activities, I had done around 500 miles travelling since Saturday morning. Luckily it was a nice relaxed drive back home. Tonight, Stewart Lee is on in Vicar Street. I'm really excited.

Lampan

I headed out to Ikea in Ballymun on Sunday for the first time, with my friend Shawna. That neck of the woods is pretty unfamiliar to me - I normally only see the outlines of the flats on the horizon as I get the bus into town. I got an unexpected tour on the bus though, as it took an unscheduled detour through the area. I don't want to sound like a naïve, middle-class kinda guy, but I'd never been confronted with such abject poverty before. The buildings which I see as tiny specks from my bus are in fact rotting, half abandoned concrete hulks covered with graffiti. You'd think they were empty, except you can see signs of life through the windows that aren't boarded up. Groups of surly looking guys congregate on balconies. It looks like some Soviet wasteland - until you remember that you're still in Dublin, only four miles or so from the city centre. Ten minutes later, we were stepping off the bus, and into a haven of Scandinavian design. It was an odd shift. The crowds were huge, but I suppose that was to be expected considering it was a Sunday afternoon. There were kids everywhere, and I kept tripping over them. I bought my mother a lamp for four euro. Even though it was cheap, it was really well made. That's generally the case with the stuff they sell there, I think. In the cafeteria, they had an enormous picture of Stockholm hanging on the wall. I couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. I have a busy weekend ahead of me though - on Saturday I'm heading up to Belfast to catch Altar of Plagues supporting Isis, on Sunday I'm playing a show in Sligo with the Electric Penguins, and on Monday night I'm going to Vicar Street to catch Stewart Lee. I'm pretty excited.

The Frieze of Life

The band had a good jam last night; myself, H and Matt got down early enough and started running through some tunes from the album that we hadn't played yet. It was nice to break the monotony of playing through the set repeatedly, I'm starting to find it hard going every so often. Afterwards Dave and I decided to head up to a gig that was on in The Tap up on North King Street. I'd never been there before, but it seems to be the place for punk and hardcore gigs lately. It has two floors - the main bar is on top, and looks very shady. A function room is in the basement, and that is where the gigs are. The barman used to play in a few bands and seems sympathetic to the kinda things that go on. When we got to the door, some young girl was puking on the footpath. I hadn't been to any of these kinda gigs in a long time, and I wasn't sure what to expect. The place was full of dudes in hoodies or obscure hardcore band t-shirts, and girls who looked way too young and posh to be in a place like that. In a room that was apparently full of vegans, it looked like I was the only person wearing a leather jacket. Either way, the music was pretty good. Very different to what I'd seen at the last few gigs, though. Everyone kinda sounded like Bane to my ears, although I'm not much of an expert on that style. There were a few friendly faces at the gig too, I kept bumping into people I hadn't seen in ages. Some seriously vicious moshing broke out too, I saw two guys go into the bathroom with nosebleeds. The whole thing wrapped up by half eleven, and I was home an hour later. Good buzz. This morning I woke up, and found my old phone that got a soaking a few months ago. I decided to see if it was working now, and it was. Even the memory card with all my pictures worked. Maybe it just needed a few months to dry out.

Mintropstraße 16

I was in the humour for a little culture on Monday, so I headed into the Munch exhibition in the National Gallery. Everybody recognises The Scream, but I hadn't actually seen much of his other work before. There were a few recurring motifs in the prints - some women standing next to the sea looking sad, some guy sitting around looking sad. Sperm made an appearance in at least three prints. I got the feeling I didn't quite understand what was going on - after all, I got an F in Ordinary Level Art in my Junior Cert. Still, I enjoyed myself - and it was free!

Kling Klang

I played in Whelan's on Thursday night with my mate Val. It was my first time playing there since they refurbished the place a few years ago. There was also a stunning new backstage area, equipped with a fridge, a bathroom, mirrors, and a very comfy sofa. Unfortunately, that particular room wasn't meant for us; within seconds of sitting down on the most comfortable chair in the universe, we were being ushered out. It turned out to be the backstage for the main act, which we were not. I had a feeling it was too good to be true. The consolation prize was a slightly smaller backstage area, overlooking Wexford Street. It was also nice, I suppose. The gig was smooth enough, but things went on slightly longer than planned, meaning I missed the last bus home. There was nothing that could be done, so I packed up my gear and headed back to the studio to drop it off before going for a Luas. As I was trudging down the street carrying everything, some guys in a car shouted "Baldy!" at me. I turned around to respond, but they were off before I had a chance, windows up and music blaring. I wanted to tell them that they were all a shower of useless cunts. It took three quarters of an hour to walk home from the last Luas stop. I have a new way of walking home now - it's probably no faster than the old way, but it's slightly less boring. I spent most of my Friday walking around town in the rain, collecting rent money for the studio. The whole trip took four hours, all in all, and I have no idea how. As I reached my Starbucks for a coffee to relax after all my travels, the skies cleared and the sun came out. I could enjoy the irony, if nothing else. The bathrooms in the cafe had a hand dryer, so I managed to dry off my jeans. My hoodie was a lost cause though, it was totally soaked. Myself, Dave, and Johnny jammed in the studio for a while afterward. The rest of the weekend was pretty quiet. Dave and I headed out to Dundrum for a bit of a wander. We went for a quick coffee in a bookshop there, here is the view from the window when you sit down:



Irish architecture at its best.

Finch's Landing

There was a music exhibition in the RDS over the weekend, and I went on Saturday afternoon with my brother Joe, and my friends Dave and Mick. It's an annual affair, and at this stage I've gone for the past three years. It's always the same kinda thing: big crowds, loads of noise, no good gear. I always tell myself afterward that I'll never go again, but after a year or so the bitter taste of disappointment fades and I find myself getting roped into going back. Things started off pretty well - I managed to get in on a student discount, saving myself four euro. I didn't even need a student ID card. The thrill didn't last long though, I had seen practically everything there was to see after about ten minutes. Somehow, I managed to spent two hours there. It was like being in a time-warp. The highlight of the exhibition for me was getting to play a gorgeous bass through a €2,500 Bose sound system. The tone would nearly bring tears to your eyes. Dave also managed to find an excellent deal on CD duplication. So I suppose it's not all bad. I walked very slowly into town afterward - I was playing in Bewley's that night, and we had a soundcheck to do before. It was a gorgeous day for a stroll, the road from Ballsbridge is beautiful in the autumn. The preparations for the show were pretty simple - I plugged my bass in, and I was happy with the sound straight away. The gig was pretty good too, I was much happier with it than I was with our last show there the other month. Jenna Harris' band went on after us, I really liked them. I was kinda expecting a free jazz onslaught, but they just played some tunes really nicely. I went into town again with Joe yesterday to hit a sale on in Music Maker. They had some ridiculous deals. I bumped into my good pal Fraz, who had gotten married since the last time I saw him. Now he has a lovely wife, a beautiful little dog, and a Fiat Punto. Crazy.

Operation Bernhard

Pardon me for getting a little political, but the second vote on the Lisbon Treaty is on in Ireland today and I'm in the grip of referendum fever. It's been very confusing trying to learn the facts about what the Treaty really means for us, there have been a lot of conflicting opinions flying about lately and very little sober debate. On the yes side, there are a set of amorphous threats coming out that if we reject the Treaty for a second time we'll be relegated to second tier membership status of the EU, and multinational investment will dry up. The no side are more succinct: under the treaty we would be reduced to being an outpost of a new European empire, with abortion, pay cuts and conscription for all. So it seems to an extent that nobody is really telling us the truth of the matter. On the one hand, I don't believe the EU has the power to affect our status inside the Union, and I think that multinational investors care far more about low tax rates, worker skills and proximity to European markets than whether or not we ratified a treaty. On the other hand, we have a set of guarantees safeguarding the constitutional restrictions on abortion rights, minimum wages, taxes and neutrality in the event of the Treaty being ratified. I suppose the only thing you really can learn from all this is that most people involved in the campaign - regardless of political affiliation - are goddamn idiots. It makes me wish that we really were going to be made into a European province; we need someone like the Germans to step in and save us from ourselves.

Gull Things Considered

I went to Gig #3 of the past week last night: Zu in Crawdaddy. I normally have Eyesclosed rehearsals on Tuesday nights, but there was a change of plans which left me free for the evening. I originally thought that the gig was going to start at about eight or so, like I remember normal mid-week rock gigs doing, but when I arrived there was nothing happening, only people drinking outside. I was surprised to bump into loads of people I knew; I guess Zu must be more popular than I had realised. Either way, the show kicked off close to nine o'clock or so. I was a little anxious about missing Zu's set - last bus was at half eleven and it seemed that there were now four bands on the bill instead of the three I was expecting. My mate Ciarán and I were in the venue for the first band to come on. A guy strolled up with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica and started playing some tunes with a slightly ropey sounding band... We left after a few seconds. I only found out today that the bass player (who was hidden behind a speaker) was none other than Bassetti from Jackbeast, one of my favourite bands of all time. I probably should have paid more attention. Oh well. My friend Alanna came up a few minutes after, just before Bats came on, who were great. I was standing next to their merch table as they were playing, and I couldn't help looking enviously at their t-shirts. They came in three colours: white, yellow, and brown. When our band's t-shirts come, they'll be in black, black, and black. I ended up in the smoking area for most of the next band, being friendly. By the time Zu were meant to come on, I had a good spot close to the stage. For about twenty minutes before they started, they had a bass drone playing over the PA. There were snippets of voices in the mix somewhere too. It was very strange. When they actually started, I was completely stunned. Even though it was super-noisy and really loud, they were the tightest band I had ever heard. I think I only saw them count in one tune the whole time I was there. Every so often there would be a second or two of silence in a tune, and it was so quiet you could hear the hair grow on peoples' faces. I was literally slack-jawed watching them. It was so much fun that I decided to miss last bus home, and get a Luas back instead. At one point the drummer ran offstage (to grab a can of Tuborg, by the looks of things) and the sax player and bass player went into a little noise duet for a minute or two. Ordinarily, I would have thought this would have been a bad idea, but I think the crowd really got into it - all around was a sea of rapt faces, all looking like they were dying to know what was coming up next. It was a genuinely eye-opening experience. I left Crawdaddy with the band still playing, and went for a Luas home at around midnight. It was a shame to leave, but I was faced with a fifty minute walk home from the last stop, and I wasn't prepared to shell out twenty quid for a taxi from town. I hate being a slave to public transport.

La Touche Hotel

I was at a gig over the weekend - Bats, in Greystones. I hadn't been down there in ten years, so I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was much nicer than I remembered. I was going with my friend Alanna, who is back from Barcelona for a few weeks. As someone who ends up mainly at heavy metal gigs, I was a little shocked by the culture of this show. For one thing, every band had at least one member who wore glasses onstage, during performance. Wow. The music was very different from what I was used to as well; even though Bats are "heavy" in places, there was no palm muting, double bass drums, or Meshuggah-esque polyrhythms to be heard. It was even funny in places, in a knowing kinda way. I liked it. Tonight, I went to see some jazz in Le Basement. The band were great, but there was only a handful of people listening. It was kinda depressing.

Eazy Tyger

I was standing at the bus top today on my way to a rehearsal, talking on the phone, when a little girl who was also waiting at the bus stop with her mother walked up and stuck her tongue out at me. I was a little surprised, and it threw me a little. After the phone call ended, she walked back up again, and stuck her tongue out. So I did the only thing I could do, and stuck my tongue back out at her. That settled matters for a few seconds, and the girl went back to her mother. The bus was a long time coming, so after a minute or two, the girl walked back up to me and called me an "eejit", which is Irish slang for "idiot". I looked over at this girl's mother -she was a seriously rough looking character. I would have killed for the bus to come. The girl was hovering around me at this stage, and at one point walked up to me and asked me what I "was staring at". I laughed or something, and she mimicked my laugh in this really nasty little way. I'm not saying a five year old hurt my feelings or anything, but this was first hand experience of how little scumbags come about. Her mother was drinking a bottle of Lucozade or something, and let out the biggest burp I'd ever heard from a woman. I was goddamn mortified.

The Mean Fiddler

I was out last night for Dave's girlfriend Niamh's birthday, down in the Foggy Dew. It was a great night; there was a good group of us there and we were all having a laugh. All good things must come to an end though - by about one o'clock everyone decided to head up to Whelan's. I just didn't have the energy for it, so I headed home. I had the strangest dream when I got to sleep, though - I had an enormous abscess in the front of my mouth. It was so big that it bulged out the front of my face, I couldn't even open my right eye. Doctors came to operate on me, but they had an argument around the operating table and one of them stormed out, knocking his instruments all over the floor. I ended up talking to a big bald dude about all this, and he told me not to complain - he had swallowed a bunch of nails, and was in pretty serious pain. At this point I woke up, feeling pretty refreshed. I suppose dreams only last for twenty seconds or so in real life. I'm heading into town today for a gig - The Whiskey Limbs are playing in The Mezz. It's being videotaped or something, I'm not sure. At least it's something to do on a Sunday afternoon.

The Gospel From Outer Space

If you Google me, you'll find that I am probably the first person that comes up, via my old Myspace page that I hardly visit anymore. You'll also probably find links to this blog, or maybe my Facebook page or whatever. On my blog, I have a Statcounter web tracker installed. I use it mainly to see how many visitors it gets, but occasionally the counter gives away information about how people found their way on to it. I find it kinda interesting to read, if only for my own curiosity. Yesterday, a person stumbled across my blog after searching online for the name of an old acquaintance from years ago, namely a girl who I saw way back in the year 2000. I have a horrible feeling that it was the person herself who was looking - who hasn't done it at least once? Things didn't end particularly well between us, and the last time I heard from her was when she made a few obscene phone calls to me in work a couple of years back. What fun. So she got a mention or two in the auld blog, and I suppose I never thought she'd have the mental wherewithal to actually find what I said. Unfortunately, if you type her name and the name of her town into Google, my scribblings are the first and only thing that come up about her. Here, take a look for yourself:



I kinda feel bad, even if she is a total mucksavage.