Ruraidh (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} harmonyrocket) wrote,@ 2007-12-16 01:06:00 |
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Massively early in the morning, or so it feels, but when the first thing you think of upon hopping into bed is of smashing every piece of crockery in the house, matters of sleep become more difficult. The other night I strangely dreamt of Cathy Davey. Tonight, less fantastic.
***
On a recent afternoon I brought my boots to the cobblers to be repaired.
A few years ago my beloved but senseless cat was put to sleep. The vet was a definition of sympathy: “I'm sorry, it's for the best. It's the humane thing to do. You'd only prolong his misery”.
If only shoe repairmen had the empathy of that vet...
So I went in and asked this cobbler to fix my beloved boots.
“Bin”.
Now... the thing is, if either of my folks were going into hospital for examination of a potentially fatal itchy eyebrow and the doctor came out of the consultation room and said 'grave', I'd be very upset.
Such insensitivity is heartbreaking.
***
The other day, I was listening to a lecture given by veteran US reporter Seymour Hersh for Amnesty International at Trinity College. This is the same gig that Noam Chomsky did last year, to some fanfare. RTE have the whole thing streamed. It should, could or might be here if the link is still alive.
Anyway, there I was minding my own business listening to robust criticism of neoconservatism and US foreign policy when something odd happened with my connection and the following line was repeated, in stuck record style, until I reset everything:
“What we have, with this president, is the most radical president we've ever had. He's absolutely unguided..."
I heard this at least 25 times. It was more than psychedelic. According to one of my lecturers, since 9/11 the number of US foreign correspondents has shrunk by 30%. Here, we are told, is a nation turning in on itself.
***
There's nothing wrong with turning in on oneself, to a point at least... unless you're a country, of course. With lots of nuclear weapons and the likes. Then it's just stupid.
I'm not a superpower, but it's a shame I can't turn in on myself a bit. The bookshelves are bulging. Biographies and the like. Woodward and Bernstein saying “read me”. Fiction is being given no attention and will probably hitch its skirts and run off on me. Run off with the guitar and talk about what a shame it all is.
Well, darlings, it's just that I have to work late on this special project. My boss is a slave driver. I've been promised a huge bonus. You understand. It will all be over soon enough, then we'll take a fortnight touring France. Just you and me.
Don't be like that...
***
Anything of interest to report tonight? Bits and pieces. I take my hat off to the absolute gentleman, known in these parts, who brought my party a bottle of 16 year-old Bushmills vintage whiskey a few weeks ago. There was just enough in it to give everyone a measure. It was a superb whiskey, finest kind, best of the century. Made the night. Haughey was in power when it was distilled. Memorable.
I underline the names 'Dublin Bus' (see below exception) and 'St. James's Hospital' in my enemies list. I'll let Ryanair off the hook a little, but let this be the last time. Onto the Wall of Champions go Camera Obscura, Bushmills vintage whiskey and the bus I got up to the northside this morning which was empty, gave me a free ride due to a broken ticket machine and let me off at the front door. Unprecedented. They join the likes of Lewis Hamilton, Joanna Lumley and Johnny Marr in being shining examples of everything that is great about the world.
Most of the time I'm hassling people into talking into a microphone or notepad, which makes me feel awkward, foolish and like I'm chancing my arm. It's my favourite time of year but I barely notice it. This afternoon I played guitar but it was the first time in weeks.
College is situated on a road which has more 'Out of Service' buses than any other in the western world. This is on account of the bus depot nearby. There's a nice Christmas tree outside the campus restaurant, but they only turn the lights on when it gets dark. Which is all well and good, but food stops at 2:30 so the number of people who actually see the lights is in the double figures and pretty much confined to those who know the shortcut for the bus stop. There is no-one around beyond 6pm.
***
I had a birthday, but it's a touchy subject.
***
Some fun.
“Coffee-less Shops 'Are Not Shops'-Council”
A shop is not a shop unless it has a coffee dock, Dublin City Council has ruled.
This latest resolution effectively closes all retail outlets until they dedicate at least 30 per cent of their floor space to serving unaffordable beverages with nonsensical names.
A spokeswoman for the Council said that people were “sick of filthy consumers populating run-down record shops, bookshops and charity shops without doing the honest thing and flinging their money away on a drug that turns them into the non-penal, consumer equivalent of a Florida chain gang. Feeling alive and having one's own identity is a privilege, not a right.”
Dublin Chamber of Commerce president Charmless McBland welcomed the move. “The idea that ordinary people might buy a new shirt or pair of trousers in peace is no longer socially acceptable. It died with the 1980s, when our country was in the economic dark ages of high taxes and high emigration.
“Look at it this way: the less room for books and records, the better. Now those filthy hippies will have no way of avoiding hyper-loud mortgage gossip emanating from nauseating old battleaxes squandering their wages in the café.
“The sooner every shop in the city is swallowed by cafés the better. Think about it: Barneys Café-comma-HMV. The economy would jump up a gear”.
The global trend of shops sidelining their regular business in favour of selling overpriced pothole-water to impressionable puppets has grown in recent years, but this is believed to be the first time any local authority has turned it into law.
Last year the Catholic Church got in on the act, linking up with sandwich giant O'Brien's in a multi-million euro deal. Instead of the Blood of Christ, customers are now offered the Mocha of Christ, and the Body of Christ has become the Double-Chocolate Smarties Cookie of Christ.
Even cafés have changed with the times: the most modern now have coffee docks within the café proper, so that tired customers can sip a luxurious coffee while drinking the coffee they bought on that morning's shopping trip.
So far, seven people have died of laughing and three people have died of crying, according to a Health Services Executive representative.
Calls to the Parliament Street Militia were not immediately returned tonight as the group is 'out righting wrongs'.
***
"No-one Injured In Bicycle Saddle Beating"
Number 22 was brought to a standstill last week when a drunken loon flew out of control and attacked his brother with a bicycle saddle, repeatedly saying things like “a fight, is it?” and “I'll fight you, you fucker!”.
It is understood that no-one has any memory of the incident, which certainly did not occur around 3am during a birthday party, and did not involve one gentleman flopping into his brother's room and threatening everyone for no good reason.
Blows were not exchanged, and the pair did not fall about the floor laughing at the stupidity of the situation.
Sources say that after the vicious attack the brother didn't grab the saddle from his assailant and start hitting him in the crook of the elbow, causing two days' pain.
When the brother returned later having forgotten his keys or his wallet or something, his vanquished counterpart was not found curled up on the stairs writhing in pain.
***
There was a fantastic BBC radio documentary on Kraftwerk, including a brilliant anecdote told by my my mate Johnny Marr. But they only keep those online for so long, and it may be too late to give a link.
So that is all for now. Back to the crockery.
