Poo Shaped Biscuit

MATCH REPORT

2010-04-05T15:06:00.000-07:00

Sligo Rovers 2, Dundalk FC 2

By Robert Cullen in the Showgrounds
Sligo Rovers sterling work in gaining a two-goal cushion against visitors Dundalk FC was undone by three minutes of madness late into the second half as the opposition scored twice to level things in this Airtricity League tie played in squally rain and heavy underfoot conditions.
Gary McCabe earned a place in the starting 11 thanks to his goal last Friday against Drogheda and the winger with the sweet strike was in form again tonight, scoring the opener for Sligo and setting up the second.
The frantic opening 25 minutes saw half-chances falling for both sides. Padraig Amond came closest for Sligo early on, when a fortunate bounce fell into his path, but he failed to beat goalkeeper Peter Cherrie from close range.
At the other end, Stephen Maher was adjudged to have fouled Richard Brush when going for a loose ball inside the penalty area. Fortunately for Brush, as the ball had broken free of his hold in the challenge.
Conor O’Grady was the first of a number of names to go into referee Noel Doyle’s notebook, for his foul on Maher, which although not malicious, was late.
Sligo showed ominous signs of breaking through in the 20th minute when a move started by striker Matthew Blinkhorn eventually fell back to his feet, but he blazed just over the crossbar.
But Dundalk had their chances too and Sligo hearts were in mouths when Ross Gaynor’s inviting pass flashed across the Sligo goalmouth, but there was no Lillywhite there to meet it.
The opener, when it did come, was straight out of the top drawer. Gary McCabe picked up the ball after it pinged around in front of the Dundalk goal. Spotting Cherrie off his line, the winger unleashed a left-foot strike which curled just over the netminder’s reach and in to the top corner of the net.
The goal sparked Sligo into life and they put Dundalk under the kosh for most of the remainder of the first half, but the visitors defended resolutely and Sligo were restricted to speculative efforts from outside the area.
After the break injured striker Neale Fenn made way for Johnny Breen in the Dundalk attack, but it was Sligo who again looked strong.
Danny Ventre presented Dundalk with a scoring chance for his cynical foul on one-time Showgrounds favourite Fahrudin Kudozovic, but the self-same winger sent the free kick just over the crossbar.
A double substitution for Sligo, with Mark Doninger and Dean Marshall, replacing Padraig Amond and Eoin Doyle, reflected the fact Sligo had played two games in four days, but it did Sligo few favours.
However, before things got worse for Sligo, they first got a whole lot better. In the 69th minute Gary McCabe’s corner kick on the left curled over the Dundalk defence to the far post where Doninger and Almeida was waiting, the latter heading it into the net for Sligo’s second.
Two up and in control, Sligo looked for a third to kill off the game, and nearly got it when Mark Doninger’s cross into the penalty box was cleared only as far as skipper Conor O’Grady, whose strike screamed just inches wide of the upright.
But then the tide turned most decisively. Kudozovic sent striker Ross Gaynor free and he rounded two Sligo defenders to slide the ball under Richard Brush.
A goal to the good, Dundalk sensed the momentum turn and within two minutes they were on level terms. This time a sloppily conceded corner allowed Kudozovic to send the ball into the Sligo six-yard box and substitute Ciaran McGuigan rose unopposed to head the ball beyond Brush at the far post.
The Showgrounds were stunned into silence and Dundalk looked hungry for all three points, chasing down every Sligo pass. When an innocuous backpass came to Brush, the Showgrounds faithful held their breath for an agonising moment as the goalkeeper’s strike rebounded off Breen and beyond Brush’s reach. The netminder’s blushes were saved when the ball bounced off the upright and he smothered the rebound.
Sligo could have won it themselves with five minutes of normal time remaining. Richie Ryan picked up the ball in the centre of the park and struck a stinging drive which Cherrie could only parry into Blinkhorn’s path.
The striker, who has yet to get on the score-sheet this season, failed to beat the Dundalk ‘keeper and the deflected strike was eventually scrambled to safety by the visitors.
There was just time for Dundalk to be denied by the woodwork once more, in the second minute of injury time when Kudozovic’s corner to the near post was chipped by Breen and deflected by a Sligo boot onto the crossbar. The resulting corner was cleared and shortly afterwards Doyle brought this thrilling game to a conclusion. Final score, Sligo Rovers 2, Dundalk FC 2.

Sligo Rovers: Richard Brush, Danny Ventre, Alan Keane, Gavin Peers, Mauro Almeida, Conor O’Grady, Gary McCabe, Richie Ryan, Matthew Blinkhorn, Padraig Amond (Mark Doninger, 62), Eoin Doyle (Dean Marshall, 67). Subs not used: John Dillon, Derek Foran, Ciaran Kelly.

Tell me why I don't like Dublin

2009-07-27T09:25:00.000-07:00

In the back of our minds, if it wasn’t too much trouble and if it wasn’t going to lead to bloodshed or crippling cost implications, most of us would like to see a united Ireland.
We’d like to imagine a time when the 32 counties are reunited and the island is a country once more. Well for me, I’d prefer 31 counties. Get rid of Dublin.
Memories of Dublin in my childhood revolve around trips to the zoo and long journeys on rickety trains with a bunch of other over-sugared, feral kids.
However, every time I have returned there as an adult I have hated the place, detested it on a level only usually overheard in conversations in Cork bars.
It is not enough for me to hate Dublin the place though. Because frankly I hate Dubs too. Now hating Dubs is a national pastime for the other 25 counties of the Republic, but trust me, the vitriol I hold for the citizens of the capital is bordering on the criminal.
Now genocide is an atrocious, horrendous side of humanity that we would all like to pretend doesn’t exist. But if anyone suggested killing off Dubs, I’d recommend doing it alphabetically, starting with the Anto’s.
What is it about the Dubs that I hate? First and foremost is their arrogance. The notion that anyone outside The Pale is still living in the land of thatched cottages, water from a bucket and candlelight.
Then there is the notion that everything good in Ireland should naturally migrate to Dublin, because it is somehow a happening place to be.
In reality Dublin is a sprawling metropolis, hard to get around, which requires a top-hat and tails to get into most of the night spots and the credit rating of a small oil-producing Middle East country to buy a drink.
The bars are over-priced, over-hyped and over-full… and you know what, the same can be said for the entire city.
Then there are the accents. Dublin must be the only city where the common accent and the posh accent grate equally. Whether you’re listening to a ‘scanger’ tell you his life story on the Luas or overhearing some D4 suit waffle into his Bluetooth penis extension in a bar at lunchtime, you just want to tell them both to shut the hell up.
And worst, by far worst of all. You have to go to Dublin if you have any interest in live music. And as you pay for your ticket from a tout with a ‘scanger’ accent (who bought it off some D4 suit working for MCD no doubt), you realise that the rest of the country is funding Dublin. If we just cried ‘enough is enough’ what would happen? Dublin, a Capital pain in the ass!

All we hear is Radio Ga Ga

2009-07-27T09:23:00.000-07:00

Hey Mr DJ, try playing something original for once. I was sitting in a waiting room recently and was forced to endure an hour or so of Today FM’s finest mid morning spewings.
Now I have perfectly functional radio in my car and for years I used to listen to Ray D’arcy every morning on the way to work, but I haven’t listened to radio regularly for more than a year and my listening habits are all the better for it.
Nothing infuriates me more than hearing the same song blaring out of a radio again and again, and thanks to the wonder of the playlist, that is exactly what Today FM and 2FM offers its listeners.
Whatever is ‘hot’ at the moment, which unfortunately this month means Lady Ga Ga (literally all we hear is Radio Ga Ga), is forced out of the speakers like a pound of lard through a mincer.
What infuriates me more is the amount of music that does not make it to the radio stations in this country. In the US, college radio is the new bastion of musical taste, where plugged-in college students can request their favourite alt-rock, indie or nu-folk band and providing enough requests are received, their music is played.
Something tells me all the mobile phone requests in Ireland wouldn’t be enough to persuade Today FM to stick some obscure folkster like Neko Case or The Decemberists on their primetime shows.
Which exposes the very principle on which playlists sit like a vulgar nude statue upon a laboured looking horse. The originators of the playlist are dictating to us what is fashionable. What we ‘should’ be listening to.
Which is a crying shame, because for me the talking around the songs has become more interesting than the music itself. But there is a solution. Stations like Today FM regularly create podcasts of their shows, but because they are not licensed to play the music they have to edit the songs out, leaving you with just the talk.
BBC radio podcasts from the likes of Simon Mayo and Jonathan Ross work along similar lines, making for condensed shows with no ad breaks, no music, just banter, interviews and some very funny segments.
Mind you, the popularity of radio without music is something we all know already. Newstalk has gone from strength to strength since its launch and who are we to knock a winning formula.

Food for thought

2009-07-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

What did we do before fruit smoothies were invented? Well the answer is we ate fruit the boring ‘old fashioned’ way, but it raises an interesting topic on modern methods of consuming food.
Within the lifetime of most of our parents, such exotic meals as lasagne, tagliatelle, cappuccino, korma, stroganoff and other continental and eastern delights were not just unusual, they were unheard of.
And nowadays we can get tagliatelle in a packet, korma sauce in a jar with some celebrity chef’s head on the label and even the most rudimentary of restaurants will serve you up a frothy coffee with some cocoa powder on top.
The kid of today is as likely to ask for coleslaw or garlic mayonnaise with their chips as they are tomato sauce.
The coffee connoisseur was a rare beast even 15 years ago, but now everybody has a favourite coffee, whether it be a double espresso or a skinny half-calf latte with a shot of hazelnut and vanilla.
And the influence of other cultures has been accelerated by the more open European Union created in the last decade. Many of us have tried traditional Eastern European dishes such is the increasing proliferation of Polish restaurants and supermarkets.
But the eating habits of yesteryear are never too far from the surface in Irish life. I was down in Durkin’s pub in Ballinacarrow earlier this year and during a music session, the very welcoming family who run the pub broke out some superb grub.
Included among the potato wedges and sausage rolls were boiled spare ribs (not barbecued, not roasted, boiled), a food I haven’t consumed since the dark days of the 1980s. I enjoyed picking every scrap of meat off them, I don’t mind admitting.
On the occasions where I’ve talked to the older generation about food, some of the descriptions would turn the stomach of a lesser-constitutioned listener.
I’ve heard all manner of less recognisable animal parts being used for family meals, and not just the, nowadays quaint, ones like cow’s tongue or pig’s trotters.
Of course, Ireland’s history with food and famine is something every successive generation has been reminded of and its importance to our national identity is such that even in this time of relative prosperity, culinary diversity and cultural diffusion, we still recall the million that died, the million that left and the millions left behind.
So the next time you order a strawberry and banana smoothie to go alongside your cajun chicken and sun-dried tomato panini, think about what our ancestors would make of what is on our plates today.

Born in the wrong place

2009-01-16T07:55:00.000-08:00

I was listening to a Chicago bluegrass band on Wednesday night called Special Consensus. If you get the chance to check them out, I would recommend you do. Great musicians, great music. Makes me think I should have been born in North Carolina, for the following reasons:

1) I would be able to buy clothes to fit my (delete as politically correct) burly/obese/big-boned/gargantuan frame.

2) I would be able to wear dungarees and drive a pick up, two of my life-long dreams which the narrow minded social elitists in this country frown upon.

3) I would be able to visit an all-you can eat steakhouse.

4) I could pick up the banjo and write songs about how I lost my wife/girlfriend/favourite pig but was saved by The Lord.

5) I could own several guns.

6) I could make moonshine.

7) I only need to shower every second month

Finnegan, Feeney and Cullen: the unedited history.

2009-01-12T09:20:00.000-08:00

It was a bitterly cold November night outside, but in the body-heated warmth of a heaving “The Alley” niteclub, the first seeds of a rock supergroup were planted. The year was 1995 and the group was Finnegan, Feeney and Cullen.

The Alley, the scene of some of the biggest scandals to hit the music establishment, was thriving like never before in 1995.
Celebrity bouncer Chuck Norris oversaw the arrival of A-list stars almost every night. It was a regular haunt for Prince, (or as he was known at the time, Prince), David Bowie (the mens bathroom was called Ground Control in his honour) and George Michael (who rarely left said bathroom).
During the summer of 1993, the club had been rocked when well known cult actor River Phoenix died outside of the Viper Room in Hollywood.
The actor had been a regular at The Alley and had nearly died of a drugs overdose on two previous occasions. The Alley’s owner, Declan Roundovich, said his death in Hollywood was just a case of bad timing. “I wish he had died outside our club,” the owner told Hollywood Review at the time.
Two years on and Roundovich got his wish when a second cousin of pantomime star Twink died just around the corner. The club’s reputation as the ‘in’ place to go was cemented.
On that frosty November night, three very different factors had brought Sean Finnegan, Andrew Feeney (pictured right in the Priory Clinic in 2005) and Robert Cullen together.
Finnegan, recently split from Hawaiian supermodel Helena Watanassshehasa, was drowning his sorrows with childhood friend Andrew Feeney.
Feeney too was coming to terms with loss. His goatee beard, grown and cultured over many years of personal grooming, was removed for him to undergo corrective chin surgery. He felt its loss greatly and was rarely seen in public until it had grown back with the help of hair transplants.
Robert Cullen, a naïve 21 year old with a penchant for corny poetry and complex harmonies, came to The Alley to be seen.
He had travelled from his small home town seeking stardom and after being tipped off about the importance of this night-time hot-spot, he showed up, bluffed his way past Norris with his boyish good looks and entered a world of rock stars, actors and industry bigwigs.
As fate would have it the first guy he met in there was Andrew Feeney.
“This guy with wild hair came walking up, he wouldn’t take his hand away from his chin. I thought he was kind of weird at first, but he asked if I wanted to snort a line so I said yeah,” said Cullen.
Feeney’s account of the first meeting was a little bit different.
“I was walking round The Alley, man I was wasted, and this chubby guy with a goatee beard came up and asked me did I have any coke.
“I told him to go fuck himself, but he just wouldn’t leave it alone and I couldn’t get over how good his beard looked, so in the end I said ‘Fine, follow me to the jax’. I was planning to beat him up and shave his goatee, but we ended up doing a line and that was that.”
Feeney introduced the newcomer to his clique, where he immediately caught the attention of record producer Derek “Coke” Lee for all the wrong reasons.
“I just saw Andy lead this guy back to the table and I knew straight away he was trouble. I wasn’t wrong. He fucked my half-sister Lisa Scott-Lee shortly afterwards, the same night in fact.”
However a bond had been formed between Andrew and Rob which would lead to great things for both men.

Check back for more from this unofficial biography....

Claude Berri

2009-01-12T08:08:00.000-08:00

A note about the passing of French filmmaker Claude Berri at the age of 74. He is most famous for his stunning Provence-set masterpieces "Jean De Florette" and "Manon Des Sources" which brought together generations of fine French actors including Yves Montand, Daniel Auteuil and Emmanelle Beart, not forgetting the best French export Gerard Depardieu in the title role of Jean.

The films, if you haven't seen them, stand as a testament to the rich and sometimes harsh countryside of Provence and to the vagaries of rural life, its pros and cons, its false idylls and its painful realities.

I would recommend that you get both of these films. Make sure you watch them in order (Jean first, then Manon) and marvel at the simple story which explores so much of the complexities of the human condition.

My plans for orphans

2009-01-12T07:54:00.000-08:00

How can I combat the mid afternoon sleepiness. The 3pm slump is the buzzword, but really it's just a lack of something to do. In fact I'm typing these words now just so that I look like I have something to do. I was in at 8.30am this morning for work, which is an ungodly hour of the morning to start work.
I have a few ideas of how to combat the rising unemployment figures in Ireland - Work the entire country on shifts. I know a lot of people who are perfectly able of waking up at 6.30am and doing a day's work, but I am not one of them. However, if I was to start work around 1pm I could then get a good morning's sleep. Let all the morning people start work at 7 and work through to 1pm, then they can have lunch/breakfast with the shift workers who start work at 2pm, fill them in on what is going on that day, then the afternoon shift work through to 9pm.

Failing that, I'm going to recommend that you sponsor an orphan in Africa, pay the 45 euro a month or whatever it is, make sure that orphan is taught how to do your job in secondary school, then when he or she turns 18, invite them over to Ireland and let them take over from you. Obviously you'll have to increase their monthly allowance, but if you include food and board, what more could they ask for.

The education system over there could be streamlined too. There is no need for an orphan to learn French if he is going to be working in Ireland, or to learn about geography if he is going to be mending broken computers all day long, is there!

Heck, we might even see positive racism - "These black kids coming over here, taking our jobs. They're a godsend aren't they."

Please feel free to post comments/hatred in the space provided

Gadgets gone mad

2009-01-12T04:10:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine invested a stupid amount of money in an electric wine bottle opener recently. Now I like gadgets as much as the next person, but this is surely a gadget too far. Unless you are an alcoholic with brittle bone disease, arthritis and the biceps of a rotting baby deer carcas, why would you need an electric bottle opener?
I say this really because I got a Swiss army knife for Christmas and proceeded to open the Christmas Day bottle of wine with the small corkscrew contained within. I ended up with sore hands and a sense of macho frontiersman pride which lasted all the way to dessert.

Blue lights

2008-12-17T03:42:00.000-08:00

Fucking blue lights. Since when has blue lights been associated with Christmas time. They're everywhere. On trees, in windows, in gardens, on buildings. Blue is not even a Christmas colour. To paraphrase Jurassic Park: "Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could make blue Christmas lights, they didn't stop to think if they should."

Know when to use CAPITAL LETTERS people

2008-11-25T04:13:00.001-08:00

Will companies, charities and other entities stop this fucking fascination with having their brands in lower case, or a perplexing mix of upper and lower case. Three examples.

1) The Irish Permanent and TSB were for years two separate entities with no pretensions. The Irish Permanent went with capital letters at the start of their names and TSB, being an acronym, went with all caps. However when they join forces they become (all lower case) permanent tsb. How the fuck am I meant to make permanent tsb stand out from all the rest of the text?

2) eircom. When it was Telecom Eireann it was straightforward. So why, when it changed names did it have to change the rules of grammar. It is an entity, a thing, and its name is Eircom... capital fucking "E", Eircom. Get It!

3) The MS society of Ireland are a worthy organisation. But why oh fucking why call their annual charity reading event a READaTHON. One lower case 'a' thrown in half-way along a word. What were you thinking? For an event designed to encourage reading the least you could was get your fucking spelling right.

Jesus wept

Crocs

2008-10-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

How in the name of all that is sacred in fashion did plastic sandals in ridiculously garish colours become popular? The last time I wore sandals in primary colours was when I was a baby, and even then the only reason I wore them was because I couldn't walk yet.
If there is one thing wearing clothes and shoes for the past 31 years has taught me it is this - you cannot breathe through plastic, whether they be cheap plastic runners, polyester t-shirts or rubber long johns (ahem). So ladies the next time you walk up to me and start flirting, take a look at your feet and if you're wearing crocs keep walking.
Then again, maybe that's what they are. Crocs are the shoe equivalent of big granny pants. You put them on when you don't feel like making an effort for the opposite sex.

Madonna and Guy

2008-10-15T06:12:00.000-07:00

So Madonna and Guy Richie are getting divorced. THANK GOD! Now maybe he can go back to making good movies and she can go back to... well maybe that's hoping for too much.

Sexist and proud

2008-10-10T04:26:00.001-07:00

A female friend of mine posted this on her blog

• 15 things I learned from watching porn

1. women wear high heels to bed
2. men can have a boner always and everywhere
3. a woman smiles appreciative when men jerk off in her face
4. women enjoy having sex with ugly, rather chubby, middle-aged men
5. women always orgasm when men do
6. a blowjob will always get a woman off a speeding ticket
7. people in the 70's couldn't f*** unless there was a wild guitar solo in the background
8. nurses suck patient's cocks
9. when your girlfriend catchs you flat-footed while her best friend is blowing your head off, she'll only be momentary pissed off before f***ing the both of you
10. women are always willing
11. when a woman is sucking a man's cock, it's important for him to remind her to "suck it"
12. women always look pleasantly surprised when they open a man's trousers and find a cock there
13. when standing while getting a blowjob, a man will always place one hand firmly on the back of the kneeling woman's head and the other proudly on his hip
14. even dorky guys never have to beg
15. when going down on a woman 10 seconds is more than enough satisfaction for her

To which I had to respond:
• Porn and the truth about sex

1. No, women wear utterly unattractive cotton pyjamas with umbrellas and teddy bears to bed and still expect men to find them attractive. We thus imagine them in high heels.

2. Yes, yes we can. If we don't have a boner for a certain woman, it's her fault, not his.

3. And rightfully so, after all, it is the only time men notice women's skin complexion

4. yes, rather chubby, middle-aged men with big BMWs and a bulging bank balance. Go figure

5. No they don't. But just because it's fake doesn't make it any less emotional. After all, women cry at Bridget Jones and that's fake.

6. If that was the case, every man would try out for the police forces

7. that's because 70's homes were so badly built and the walls so thin. Modern building techniques have allowed the music to be turned down during sex.

8. only if you can afford private care

9. this is a technique many marriage counsellors are recommending. It reduces the blame factor and allows the couple to engage in an activity which is mutually fulfilling

10. women ARE always willing. However, they often say they are not to make sure men have enough time to get the important man work done, like running countries and providing for their family. Let's face it, if women revealed the truth, men would never get out of bed.

11. It is amazing how short an attention span many women have. It is necessary to keep them focused at the 'job at hand' so to speak.

12. You know that warm fuzzy feeling when your favourite TV show comes on the television, that's the feeling women get when they open a man's trousers. It's like meeting a familiar friend.

13. what else can a man do with his hands when getting a blowjob? If he takes up a crossword or a Rubix Cube the woman will think he is rude.

14. hey, dorky is the new sexy. Forget your six pack, go for a nerd with a laptop and you'll never have hard drive problems again.

15. when a man goes down on a woman he is not looking to pleasure her. he's just making sure that the directions his mate gave him beforehand are still correct. He is, if you like, looking at the map before sticking the keys in the ignition.

The best pub quiz team in the world.

2008-10-10T04:02:00.000-07:00

Now the easy option would be to gather together the quiz kings on Eggheads. If you haven’t seen it, “Eggheads” is a BBC programme in which five friends take on five people who have won Mastermind, Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Fifteen to One, The Weakest Link, Going For Gold, Brain of Britain and presumably every game of Trivial Pursuit they’ve started.
But just picking them is too easy. I want to draw a disparate group of know-it-alls together, and in my mind I have.
First off, without question is Stephen Fry. How good would he be in a table quiz, seriously? All those tricky Greek mythology questions which pop up in general knowledge rounds, he would know them all.
He’d also be good at foreign cultures, Shakespearian plays (in fact all fine literature) and anything involving Latin.
Next I’d have Dave Fanning. Fanning not only holds encyclopaedic knowledge of music down through the ages, but he is also a keen movie buff and, at the risk of not getting a word in edgeways, I would love to have him on my superteam.
Third on the list would be Brian Dobson from RTE news. I have extolled the virtues of “Dobbo” in this column before and it would be great to have him on your quiz team.
Not only would he be au fait with all matters political and topical, but if they make a mistake on our scoring or give an incorrect answer to one of the questions we got right, you can bet Dobson will give them a grilling (“Answer the question Mr Quizmaster, did you or did you not say the capital of Peru was Havana when it is, in fact, Lima?”).
Completing the four horsemen of the pub quizocalypse would be… Me! I have neat handwriting and I’m not too bad at subject like TV shows, movies, sport and food.
And let’s face it, with Dobson, Fanning and Fry on my side, the other teams don’t stand a chance. So Brian, Dave and Stephen, if you want to give it a try, drop me a line.

The worst time to find out you're adopted

2008-10-09T09:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, stemming from a conversation over a coffee what would be the worst time to find out you're adopted. Some scenarios below, add more if you like. The more surreal the better.

• If you need a kidney transplant and phone up your dad to see if he will give you one.

• If you are seduced by an older woman, only for your mum to find her in your room and tell you "how could you sleep with your biological mother?"

• If you have just found out that your family tree stretches back to a very famous leader, maybe Wolf Tone, and you've told all your friends that you are the reason they enjoy the freedom to live in a republic.

• If you turn 30 only to discover that the hair on your head suddenly falls out while at the same time your back hair starts getting abnormally thicker and longer, which your doctor diagnoses as a genetic disease called "Bald Gorillitus" which must have been past down from your father, who has a full head of hair.

• If you discover your mum is peeing standing up and suddenly you realise that she is the "Pre-op transsexual steals baby from maternity ward" referred to in the newspaper front page which is hanging framed in the hallway, which she told you was from the day you were born.

• If you are confronted by an Italian hitman who says he has been hired to kill you because you stole $4million from the Cortese family and who then shows you a picture of a man who is your identical twin putting dollar blocks into a rucksack in a bank and who goes by the name of Julio "The Orphan" Frederico.

• If you go to a dating agency, are sent on a blind date to meet a beautiful woman called Annalise, whom you fall madly in love with, not least of which because you share the same exact birthday, and whom you get pregnant, producing a son with his eyes too close together, a cleft lip, eleven toes, twelve fingers and the IQ of a non-stick frying pan, only to undergo DNA testing on an episode of Gerry Springer to prove the child is yours and suddenly discover that you, Annalise and your son Buddy all share too many genetic markers and she is, in fact, your non-identical twin.

• If you are wandering through the jungle when you suddenly discover a group of animals which look exactly like you and you suddenly realise your very hairy mother and father are in fact gorillas and these people are humans, one of whom takes you in and trains you to speak, read and write and you then follow this man back to England to try to join high society, but your peers always view you as some sort of savage because you can mimic animal noises really well so you pursue a career in acting but discover that after playing an immortal man from the highlands of Scotland, that there isn't really that much work going for an odd looking guy with a dodgy accent, only to have obsessive computer game fans remember that god-awful film where they made you wear a straw hat and a long white wig.

The real leader poll

2008-10-06T09:10:00.001-07:00

Okay, the poll on the right is a great hypothetical question. Who would you like to have as your country's leader. Base your choice purely on instinct. I picked Sarkosy. He's dating a model, which means he's not going to take his frustrations out on his country. Also, you get the feeling other male leaders want to be him and other female leaders want to bed him.

2008-10-06T09:04:00.001-07:00

I watched "Tell No One" at the weekend. It was recommended by two friends. I read the reviews and wanted to see it, and yet I hadn't seen it for over six months since its release. Sometimes my procrastination has no rhyme or... i'll finish this blog later.

The man from Offaly, he say "Yes"

2008-09-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

Brian Cowen has come out and said that the No vote on the Lisbon Treaty has caused Ireland's recession. He also said that every time a person voted No on the Lisbon Treaty a fairy died. Think of that No vote advocates! I hope you're happy with yourself!

Movie clichés are growing

2008-09-15T06:05:00.000-07:00

Quote of the day comes from the October issue of Vanity Fair. James Wolcott, writing about the way television has created products better than movies in recent years said one of the problems of cinema is the growing list of movie clichés:

"It’s millionaires telling you that there’s more to life than money. Celebrities telling you that there’s more to life than fame. That for all their quirks and frustrations, there’s no substitute for family, especially around the holidays, when everyone gathers together to knit Uncle Bill a new straitjacket while waiting for the snowflakes to bestow their blessing. That nothing melts a careerist’s selfish heart like having to parent a child who has nowhere else to go—sure, it’s a crimp in your single lifestyle, helping with their homework and wiping away drool, but that’s a small price to pay for learning what it is to care. That a mouthy teenager with attitude knows more about life than placeholder adults who have abandoned their dreams (the Juno effect). That you don’t need superpowers to be a genuine hero, although they help, especially when fending off fighter jets or intergalactoids. That good and evil are two faces of the same flipped coin, kindred spirits embroiled in a terrible co-dependency in which evil gets the best lines, good the last word. That war takes a terrible toll on the joshing innocence of our soldiers in combat and is hell on the nerves, as evidenced by the palsied camerawork. That puking is the highest form of physical comedy, with kicks to the crotch a dandy second. That we are never closer to God than when Morgan Freeman consoles us in a voice-over, never closer to wisdom than when Tommy Lee Jones shares a chawed piece of beef jerky, and never closer to nature than when Matthew McConaughey (“Matthew Mahogany,” as he’s endearingly known) bares his teeth and torso to the salty air."

Read the full article at VanityFair.com

The fast-moving world of technology

2008-09-10T06:07:00.001-07:00

I was pondering the other day with a mate, what we did before the advent of digital cameras and mobile phones (or indeed mobile phones with digital cameras).
They are now ubiquitous, but even five years ago, if you had a mobile phone with a built in digital camera, you were the envy of your friends.
Nowadays, they are on the verge of being given away in packets of cereal such is their availability and affordability.
Nerds out there will often make reference to Moore’s Law of Computing which basically says that new computers will either double in capacity or halve in size every 18 months (if you’re a nerd and you disagree with my summation, tough).
The same rule can be applied to more areas of technology too, such as mobile phones, digital cameras, digital music players and the like.
My first mobile phone was one of the most popular Nokia models, the 5110, which provided a basic grey screen, some dodgy ringtones and the ability to buy multi-coloured covers.
Scroll forward and today my phone of choice is a Sony Ericsson W810i which, even though it has an mp3 player, a digital camera, bluetooth, a built in radio, a colour screen and a voice recorder, is still considered antiquated because it’s approaching its second birthday.
The digital camera I have has under 5 megapixels which makes it the equivalent of caveman paintings compared to the squillion pixel cameras currently on the market.
At least my iPod Nano is up to date, but the screen is bust so all I can use it for is music and not photographs, games, videos or podcasts.
Casting my mind back, I can remember getting my first walkman cassette player in 1989 after collecting NCF (now Connacht Gold) tokens. Music cassettes look and feel so antiquated now. Even CDs are considered old-hat these days.
My first twin deck cassette player was another milestone which seems hilariously out-of-date these days.
Ironically, it is now the older technology which has become more expensive. Walk into your local electrical retailer and you can pick up a DVD player for as little as E30. However, a Video Cassette Recorder costs more, because it is viewed by the home entertainment industry as a dying form.
The only format which seems to be bucking the trend is, ironically, the oldest still in use – Vinyl.
Vinyl long players from bands like Radiohead, Coldplay or Duffy are available by special order or from discerning stores. You never know. In ten years time, movie studios might release new films on VHS format, just for old time’s sake.

Slow driver campaign needed post haste

2008-09-10T06:06:00.001-07:00

Speed Kills! Kills! How many of these signs have you seen around Ireland? We motorists are told the worst thing we can do, after drink-driving, is speeding in our cars.
Now there is some merit to this obviously. Mr BMW driver in his Teutonic tank tearing down the inside lane of the dual carriageway at three figure speeds is just the kind of person you want to see pulled over and handed a ticket.
However, let’s face the first reality of modern motoring. Almost all of us speed at some time. We might creep a few miles north of 100kph or we might set our cruise control at 112kph in the hope that we are going faster than some traffic but not fast enough to attract the attention of the authorities.
The margins in urban driving are much, much slimmer. It might seem acceptable to blast through an estate or along a deserted back street at 80kph, but it is not big or clever and nine times out of then if an accident does happen it will not be you in danger, but a pedestrian.
This is a very simplistic argument, of course, but simple messages are most effective when it comes to dealing with serial speeders.
Why is there nothing done about serial slow-coaches?
You travel on a road in Ireland for two hours or more and, chances are, you will have to overtake slower drivers at some stage. There seems to be a driver ‘type’ who, for reasons fathomable only to themselves, insist on travelling 20kph, or more, less than the posted speed limit.
The Road Safety Authority has a campaign in place with signs that say “100kph is a limit, not a target.” I don’t agree. I think it should be a target. Motorists should be encouraged to stick to the speed limit and help create a more efficient road network, with fewer hold-ups.
And this is not just the ranting of some speed merchant. On a recent trip to Galway I met a string of about 15 cars which was being held up by one motorist who decided to travel at less than 80kph on a 100kph national primary road.
The tail back was compacting and expanding like an accordion behind this vehicle. Brake lights were being flashed every few seconds as motorists got too close to the car in front and had to hit the brakes. At one stage it looked like an elaborate light show.
I increased the gap between my car and the one in front to around two seconds (the recommended safe distance). No sooner had I done this than a car overtook three cars and slotted in to the space in front of mine.
Was I at fault for leaving a large space in front of my car? Was the motorists who overtook me at fault for his impatience? Or was the driver at the front of the queue who insisted on travelling almost 30kph slower than the speed limit on a road with ample hard-shoulder space in perfect driving conditions the root cause of all this annoyance.
A few weeks ago I wrote a firmly tongue-in-cheek column about how some road rage was good for you. In instances like these road rage is the enemy and it is perpetuated by drivers who decide to impose their own speed limits.
If this particular motorist was on his driving test and had been travelling that far under the speed limit, chances are he would have failed or been marked down severely.
Part of being a good driver, a competent driver, is your ability to make progress efficiently – to keep up with traffic. It is what every learner driver is told by their instructor.
The authorities hands are tied on this issue because there is no specific legislation for going slower than the speed limit.
However, the Road Safety Authority are spending taxpayers cash in an effort to improve our driving habits and they have never addressed the issue of slow drivers. Maybe now is the time to start.

A tribute to my former maths teacher Johnny Chadda

2008-08-26T05:38:00.001-07:00

We all eventually turn into our parents. Well maybe not. However, as we grow older we do tend to see their points of view more clearly.
Take for example the notion, oft said to a young Robert Cullen, that your school days are the best days of your life. You say that to kids nowadays and they are liable to roll their eyes back in their heads at the prospect of another ‘lecture’ on how tough being an adult is.
Mind you, when I was young it was just the same. We could not imagine, as kids, that being a grown up was anything but fun and games – staying up late and watching whatever you wanted.
We were never able to make decisions as youngsters. Our parents told us where we could go, how late we could stay out, what we could and couldn’t watch on TV. We yearned for the freedom to make decisions for ourselves.
And then life came along. I spend a year studying on a PLC course in journalism in Galway. I spent a blissful summer on the dole in Sligo and then I made the mistake of getting a job, and I haven’t been out of employment since.
It is a strange situation to realise you have made the transition to adulthood. It might be the first paycheck you receive. It might be the first time you move out of home into your own place. It might be the first time you buy a car and cry when the insurance quotes come in.
Some things stick with you though and no matter where you are in your life, or what you’re doing, these memories will still provoke the wonder of your childhood.
A tarmacadam yard, the kind of one that I played football on in school, always takes me back to those days in primary school. A group of boys scrabbling over a football. The pace of Ross Murray taking the ball beyond me. Colm Dufficy between the posts stopping every strike that came his way. David McDermott gliding with the ball past players as if they were standing still and my own version of a crunching tackle which left more than a few bruised shins behind.
In secondary school it is the teachers and the classmates which have the biggest impact. “Cool John” McLoughlin, the English teacher who could keep more students in line with a withering line than some teachers could with a dozen detentions.
And Johnny Chadda. I went in to Summerhill College in 1989 and spent two years being taught maths by Mr Chadda, before he retired from teaching.
His pronunciation of some words might have sounded weird, but his methods were faultless. When we were in his class there was rarely indiscipline. We were not afraid of Mr Chadda, we were charmed by him. He always, always had a smile and in two years I never saw him lose his temper with a student.
Through the infinite wisdom of subject selection, i.e. because our class all chose two practical subjects – mechanical drawing and woodwork – we were given the Foundation-level maths curriculum.
Under Mr Chadda’s tutelage we completed a three-year course in half that time. I remember that he spoke to the class near the end of second year with words of encouragement and a hint of pride.
He told us that we were very capable of completing the Pass-level maths course, but that he would be retiring and it would be up to another teacher, Derek Wynne, to bring us through to the Junior Cert.
In later years I would often meat Johnny either selling Sligo Rovers lottery tickets or at matches in the Showgrounds. He remembered me and I could never forget him.
His passing, like his life, will be remembered for all the right reasons – a lifetime of helping students, of raising a family and working tirelessly for Sligo Rovers.
In the final equation, we can ask no more of our own lives than what he achieved in his.

All that Jazz? Not for me

2008-08-26T04:31:00.002-07:00

Jazz appreciation is God’s way of telling you you’re middle aged. No other musical genre can offer such a diverse range of music or attract so many pretentious fans as that which bears the label Jazz.
Of course, we all have at least some small appreciation of Jazz. It could be that we turn the radio up when the sax solo in “Baker Street” comes on or that we tap our feet when Dave Bruebaker and his quartet ask us to “Take Five”.
Even hardened indie rock fans fall at the feet of Nina Simone as the Jazz diva it’s okay to like (thanks mostly to artists from Muse to Jeff Buckley covering a Simone classic at some stage).
I readily admit that middle age has crept up on my musical tastes like single strands of grey hair. I can count excellent and somewhat overlooked jazz artistes like Sylvie Lewis, Kurt Elling, Stacey Kent, Rebekka Bakken and Silje Nergaard among my large music collection, and I even find space for the odd Simone compilation too.
What I have no time for is the cacophony of sound which appears under titles like “Free Jazz”, “Jazz Improv” or “Experimental Jazz” and I’d say most of the population would agree.
In fact, “Jazz Improv in session” is a bigger deterrent for keeping burglars away than “Beware of the Dog”.
My exposure to Jazz improv has been limited not by a lack of opportunity, but by an unwillingness to shove the sharp end of a pencil in my ear.
Here is a form of music where all melody, rhythm and coherence has been removed. It is, in essence, a group of musicians each playing a different tune at the same time, with all the acoustic chaos that implies.
Of course, jazz is all about the individual performers, which is why during the average 20 minute jazz song, every member of the band gets to perform a solo.
Herein lies another problem. Double bassists are an integral part of the jazz scene, but performing a solo on a double bass is like playing a riff on a triangle.
The bass is there for rhythm, not melody. Admit it, the last time you heard a double bass solo in a song, it sounded like two cats were fighting on top of it.
Thank God for modern technology then. Kurt Elling, a celebrated American jazz singer who was described as “The Stradivarius of voices”, has a penchant for allowing his session musicians to play drawn out solos halfway through his songs. Five minutes on a music editing programme and problem solved.
Jazz fans, if they haven’t screwed their faces up in disgust at the sheer blasphemy of my column would do well to read on.
I will put my hand up and say the appeal of more flamboyant modes of jazz is lost on me. The music just sounds like unstructured noise to me. It goes over my head.
However, I believe it goes over the head of a lot of jazz fans. People who sit there with their legs crossed tapping out an imaginary beat on their kneecap. I don’t think most of them get it any more than I do, but they are unwilling to admit it.
So, until my mind is able to decipher the mess, I’ll put jazz back on the shelf and stick with far simpler sounds. Anyone for a bit of bluegrass?

A difficult interview

2008-08-26T04:31:00.001-07:00

In this line of work you meet a lot of people. Some are friendly, some are not. Many have ulterior motives, but some are just genuinely interested in what you do and where you work.
And, of course, you get to interview all sorts of people, from the famous to the infamous, the globally recognised to the unknown.
I always get asked the same three questions too. Who was the most famous person you interviewed? Who was the best? And who was the worst?
The first two are hard to quantify, the third is very easy. But before that, lets go through them one at a time.
I have been privileged to interview some amazing people. From their earliest incarnation I interviewed Westlife, and down through the years at a number of functions and events I have been able to grab a few words with Shane, Mark and Kian.
Although they became and remain a global phenomenon, you are acutely aware of just how ‘normal’ the three men are when you interview them.
It is usually a brief conversation, such is the pressures on their time, but Shane, Mark and Kian always made time to talk to the Sligo Weekender and I held a strong professional respect for them as a result.
With the spotlight of the world focused on Sligo last November, the cream of the World Rally Championship crop turned up for Rally Ireland. During the weekend I spoke to some of the main drivers in the event, including third-place Jarri Matti Latvalla, now a works Ford driver.
I also interviewed a legend of Irish motorsport, Eddie Jordan, who was the figurehead of Rally Ireland. An amiable individual, he was only too eager to talk to a local publication. Afterwards, I ticked his name off a long list of people I would love to interview.
The best interviewees in my mind have always been the ones I wanted to talk to. I spoke over the phone to Irish tenor Finbar Wright and then met him in person. He was a charming, gracious man who even dedicated a song to me during his Hawk’s Well concert.
Mundy wandered in off the street shortly after the launch of his second album, and before “July” was to become a summer phenomenon. He was slightly hungover and enjoyed answering questions with a meandering answer, which had us both laughing.
Josh Ritter is a larger than life character on and off the stage. His quick wit made an interview with him a memorable experience for the right reasons.
Every interview with Kieran Goss is an enjoyable one. He remains one of the most engaging people I have ever turned a tape recorder on.
Of course, not all interviewees are as forthcoming, as forthright or as friendly. At the other end of the scale, a phone interview with Sean Keane made me glad I was not sitting eye to eye with him. His tone was defensive, his answers brief and mumbled and his desire not to answer certain questions downright frustrating.
However, he was practically a chatterbox next to the man who was my worst interview by some margin. In writing “The Butcher Boy”, Pat McCabe spoke to thousands of readers all over the world and they listened.
It’s just as well he can write a bit, because he was singularly the most unpleasant, dour, monosyllabic and awkward interviewee I’ve ever had the misfortune to phone.
The pretext, as I remember, is that one of McCabe’s plays was being staged in Sligo and the company involved had considered it a good idea to get Pat to talk to the newspaper about the play.
Alas, his opinions on theatre, film, symbolism, writing and more I was not able to garner. In fact, I was doing well to get him to use more than one syllable words. Thanks Pat. Thanks a lot.

Car anger is all the rage nowadays

2008-08-26T04:29:00.000-07:00

Some of the nicest people you know turn into demons behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. A combination of safer and faster cars, modern traffic congestion and the demands on our time conspire to turn mild-mannered individuals into fire-breathing gargoyles with our faces perched on our talon-like hands sitting atop the steering wheel like disembodied heads.
I am the first to hold my hand up and say Mea Culpa. I have experienced road rage in different counties at different times of the day and in different cars. The common factor is me.
Now those who know me well know my tolerance for fools runs about as thin as the profit margins of an Eircom League club, so it is not that big of jump to make from being angry at people outside of the car to being angry at people inside it.
However, other people who are quite tolerant, sympathetic individuals in everyday life are transformed into snorting, red-faced, vein-bulging motorists by the simple act of not indicating, dawdling at traffic lights or stealing a parking place.
Years of watching soccer on the television have come in useful when I observe such behaviour. Every time a footballer gets booked he unleashes a verbal tirade against the referee which the TV cameras pick up perfectly. We may not hear what he is saying, but we still know. Catch my drift?
Well it is the same for motorists. Sitting in glass and metal armchairs, they can unleash the frustrations of the world through four-letter expletives without ever raising their voice.
Which is why I think some level of road rage is good for you. Now I’m not suggesting you pack a hurley stick or a baseball bat away in your boot for the next time someone nips into a parking space you’re trying to reverse into.
No, I am simply saying, do not be ashamed of your road rage. It is a return to our baser instincts and frankly, even the most reserved of the human species needs that at some stage.
Of course there is constructive road rage and deconstructive road rage. Constructive is when you vent your anger, shout, perhaps punch the horn and then get on with your drive.
Deconstructive is when you drive your vehicle into the subject of your ire, in which case neither if you are going anywhere.
Of course, there are always signs on how to avoid road rage. Chief among them in my opinion is to stay well clear of Nissan Micra drivers, Toyota Yaris drivers or, the new scourge of our road, Toyota Prius drivers.
The latter in particular can be infuriating to get stuck behind. Having spent the extra money on a car that is meant to ‘save the planet’, Prius drivers have an extra smugness not present in any other drivers (aside from BMW owners that is).
But, in order to extract the best economy they must go slow EVERYWHERE. A strongman attached to the front of a Prius with a towrope could pull the car away faster from a set of traffic lights than the average owner does with the accelerator.
Their utterly joyless jellymould shape has to be endured by the outside world of course, because the owners can’t see how ugly they are.
And worst of all, they are nearly always seen with just one person on board. If I have two people on board my Volvo and get half the petrol mileage out of it, am I not doing as well, per-person, as the one-up Prius.
Mind you, if any of my friends owned a Prius, I wouldn’t accept a lift off them if they were rescuing me from a gang of knife-wielding youths down a dark alley on bonfire night. I think I’d rather get stabbed.

Send your spam friends a message

2008-08-26T04:28:00.000-07:00

Bloody spam! From online casinos wanting my credit card details to Nigerian businessmen wanting me to look after their fortunes, there seems no escape from the scourge that has become e-mail spam.
Now I must say, our work e-mail system has a pretty good filtering mechanism when it comes to sorting the wheat from the chaff, but even so, the occasional ad promising increased width and length somehow manages to sneak through.
Of course the people who deliver these spam e-mails can hardly be to blame. They are, after all, just trying to earn a wage like the rest of us. Compiling e-mail addresses and sending out ridiculous advertisements can’t be a spiritually fulfilling job and there are probably a lot of low-level computer operators on minimum wage doing the sending.
So in the grand scheme of things, spam is not a major moral problem, more a necessary evil of the modern era. However, chain spam is an idea from the very heart of the prince of darkness himself.
I like to consider myself a moderately compassionate person. I don’t mistreat animals. I love my family. I give to charity. But if another ‘friend’ sends me a Chinese proverb or a virtual hug or a good luck charm I will hunt them down and force feed them fortune cookies until they have Confucius coming out their noses.
Your computer pings and you look to your e-mail programme, see a familiar name and innocently click on the e-mail.
All of a sudden you have been unwillingly thrust into a world of hard sell, veiled threats and pseudo-moral responsibility:
• You must pass this on to ten people you know or risk having your reproductive organs shrivel and die and all your hair fall out.
• You must forward this to 20 people in the next five minutes or risk being run over by a truck driven by a monkey carrying a load of manure.
• You must forward this to 30 people or a little girl called Lucy who lives in a hospital in Quebec, Canada and has never been well enough to go outside will die knowing that you, yes YOU, broke the chain and ended her dream (presumably of the e-mail reaching a doctor in Angola who has a cure for her fatal disease).
• You must forward this on to anyone you know who has a computer because it is not a chain letter, just an e-mail telling you that there is a dangerous virus called Gullible 2.1 which will invade your computer and set up deposit accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP! Stop sending out these chain letters. All they do is confirm that you are either incredibly gullible or superstitious beyond belief.
If you think that God or Karma will reward you for sending an e-mail to a load of other people by giving you E99 million or helping you find your true love, then you need a reality check like Amy Winehouse needs a haircut.
Never mind peer pressure. Just decide the next time one of these evil things lands in your Inbox that you are not going to perpetuate the sentiments of these messages (which is basically, co-operate or DIE!). Simply hit the delete button and worry about it no more. And if you want lots of money, try the Lotto.

Recommending music to your friends: the pitfalls

2008-08-26T04:24:00.000-07:00

Recommending music can be one of the scariest things to do for one of your friends. You are basically pinning all your hopes that he or she likes what you like, that the song you feel passionately about, they will feel passionately about.
It is the same if you persuade someone to come along to a concert with you. In my previous role as Entertainment Editor of the Sligo Weekender I attended many concerts in venues from Leitrim to Mayo to Roscommon and all over County Sligo.
I managed to drag many friends and family members along to these concerts and the trepidation was always the same.
Would the performer be as good as I had hoped? Would the person I was bringing enjoy it as much as me? Thankfully the answer was usually yes. And with that acceptance comes the exultation that you have switched someone on to the charms of a particular artist. You have opened their eyes.
Recommending music for someone is even more fraught with worries because usually you cannot sit there and gauge their reaction. You mention a name, you maybe throw a few tracks on a CD, and then you hand it over to your friend and hope he or she doesn’t throw it on a pile of “must listen to this… sometime”.
Well bearing all this in mind I’d like to throw out some music recommendations to you the reader which perhaps over the next week you will seek out and listen to, for better or worse.
The first is not too much of a gamble quite frankly, because he is already being tipped as the “next big thing” on the UK music scene, and if that sounds like an over-used cliché, then rest assured Leon Jean-Marie’s music is anything but clichéd.
The 24 year-old Londoner already has a song which has earned considerable airplay, the addictively rhythmic “Bring It On”, taken from his debut “Bent Out Of Shape”.
Well I can tell you the album is full of funky rhythms, soul influences and genuine pop melodies. It is an uncomplicated album, instantly accessible and with enough stand-out tracks to warrant investment. If you’re still not convinced go to his Myspace page and listen to a sample of the new album.
Okay, if Leon is the safe bet of recommendations, this next act certainly isn’t. Seth Lakeman is another Englishman, but his music is at the other end of the spectrum from Leon’s.
Lakeman made his reputation with a Mercury Music Prize nomination in 2004 for his second solo album “Kitty Jay”. Seth had, previous to this, collaborated with a number of other folk musicians and bands and toured most of Europe in the process.
His music is very much rooted in the English folk tradition, but he brings a modern urgency and pace to what had been a stale genre prior to the arrival of a ‘new dawn’ of folk musicians (see Kate Rusby, Kathryn Roberts, The Waifs).
“Kitty Jay” is a powerhouse album with themes drawn from his home town of Dartmoor in Devon, England, but with universal resonance.
He followed it up with a more expansive album “Freedom Fields” which had obvious reference to the ongoing war in the middle east, if not directly through the lyrics then through his choice of historic battles.
This year he released an album which confirmed him as one of my favourites – “Poor Man’s Heaven”. It sees a greater rock influence coming into his material, mostly through his live touring with a full band, but the purity of expression is still there on songs like “Blood Red Sky”, “Feather In A Storm” and the pounding opening track “The Hurlers”.
And finally, a thank you to Leona for recommending Simian Mobile Disco. They are indeed awesome!

Sono nell'amore con coltura Italiana

2008-08-26T04:23:00.000-07:00

Since as far back as I can remember I’ve always had an affinity with Italy. I like its culture, its language (even if I can’t speak it) and most definitely its automobiles.
Most of all I admire its names. There is nothing as romantic as an Italian name. Now I’m all for promoting Irish culture, but most of our anglicised names, when translated back into Irish, sound like you have a frog in your throat.
Take my name for example. In English it’s Robert Cullen. As Gaeilge it’s Roibeard Ó Chuilleain. In Italian It would probably be Roberto Culliano. Which sounds better? No contest is there.
It’s the same for Italian place names. An Italian named Romano Artioli relaunched French car maker Bugatti in Italy in the early 90s and brought it to a place in the North of the country called Campogalliano. That sounds like a place where fast cars should be made.
Although the project was short-lived, the Bugatti factory was just a few miles down the road from a much more established name – Ferrari. The Prancing Horse, as the firm is known, is located in a place called Maranello, surrounded by twisting mountain roads and constantly echoing to the sound of the best engines in the world.
The chairman of Ferrari is a man called Luca di Montezemolo (pronounced Monty-zem-oh-low). How cool is that name.
Best of all, chances are in Italy you will not be surrounded by friends with the same surname, because Italy has the biggest collection of native surnames in the world, with over 350,000 Italian surnames recorded.
In fact the ten most common surnames only cover one percent of the population. Put that in your pipe Messrs Murphy, Kelly, Walsh, O’Sullivan and Ryan.
Frankly, I’d rather be in the top ten of Italian surnames anyway. They include Rossi, Ferrari, Romano, Bianchi, Marino and Greco.
This whole love affair with Italy has been ignited recently by the excellent BBC programme “Francesco’s Mediterranean Voyage” in which Italian architect and historian Francesco Da Mosto boards a Venetian ship called the Black Swan for a journey from Italy to Turkey, via countries Crete, Montenegro, Bosnia and Greece.
This programme followed on from “Francesco’s Italy” in which the same presenter gave an amazing insight into areas of Italy which are very familiar and many which I’ve never heard of before.
Ah, the romance, the history, the sunshine. No doubt I’ll end up in Italy some time and I’ll revel in the accents and the culture. Until then, just call me Roberto.