“I told my friends that life was sweet
I told my friends that life was very sweet…
I told my friends some things were good
That love would endure if it could…
I said we can love someone
Without hurting someone…
And the cinnamon horses
Stroll through the castle ruins.”
Cave/Ellis
I sometimes feel that I am the bane of the lives of my ‘ologists. My physio/acupuncturist , Alexia, knows that I never ever do any of the exercises that she suggests in between my appointments , but tolerates me nonetheless. My kinesiologist , Ann , laughs every time I make an appointment, as she knows I’m a complete cynic, which is true, but as I always tell her , “I’ve no idea what you do , but I’m glad that you do, and I always feel better afterwards.” And lastly , but by no means least, Edel , my reflexologist who I’m sure dreads my visits at this stage as my feet regularly go into spasm during our sessions which upsets her. It’s not her fault of course. My freaky foot spasms began, oddly, when I was 10 or 11, and were caused by Humphrey, the Devil’s own pony. But that’s not what I’m talking about this week. ( If you do want to know about Humphrey, his story is in the PSsss )
I attended a session with Edel today, and Hurray ! we only had one tiny spasm , early on, so I could relax. In those moments of bliss my mind wanders everywhere. I reflected on two of possibly the finest days of my current existence, both of which took place since last Friday.
Last Saturday my Soulmate and I travelled up to Dublin at an ungodly hour to meet up with a gang of folk who we went to New York with in March for a half marathon, and had such a good time that we’re now going with them to Switzerland in January for another half marathon. We’re those people now.
“Those people ?”
Yes, idiots.
Granted, happy idiots , but idiots just the same.
It’s a Saturday morning, and we could all still be in bed or having a fry, but no, we’re standing in a circle in the overflow carpark of Johnnie Fox’ doing warmup exercises , led by Chief Lugz Compliance Officer, Jamie. Oh, and it is raining. To tell the truth , everyone else is doing warm up exercises, I am posting a photo that I’d taken earlier. My Soulmate keeps nudging me and telling me to exercise. I say “In a minute”. When I say “In a minute.” On the third occasion the nudge becomes a well placed poke.
“Ouch ! What’s that for ???”
“Georgie’s trying to get a nice shot of everyone exercising and you’re ruining it !”
Georgie is the Chief Lugz Compliance Officer’s partner and angel.
I half heartedly exercise a bit.
Before we head off on our dreadful run, 5k uphill, while being attacked at various intervals by manchildren on BMX bikes, hugs are exchanged. And then I remember why I love this group so much. I hugged and was hugged by Georgie, Niamh, Eugene, Kathryn, Fiona, Shane, Lolita, Teilo, Aisling, Rebecca, two Helens, and the aforementioned Chief Lugz Compliane Officer. The hugs were both literal and emotional…at least they were to me. This whole group wishes each other well in every respect, and looks out for each other. Many chats are had , encouragement and support traded gleefully and it’s just…well, the best thing.
It certainly gives me a lift.
Chatting afterwards as we were leaving with the Chief Lugz Compliane Officer, he asked what I was doing for the evening and I said that as Eileen was going out for the evening I was going to treat myself to a Chinese takeaway of beef with green peppers in blackbean sauce with fried rice, a small portion of chicken balls and some chips, and that I was planning to eat it while watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang which I’d recorded the previous bank holiday Monday on RTE.
He looked a little dumbfounded, and that he’d have been happier if I’d just said “No plans,and you ?”, but he smiled politely and gave Eileen a very sympathetic wave. Everyone seems to have sympathy for Eileen…
We drove home in great spirits.
Later , after I’d left Eileen in to the Squealing Pig, and while waiting for my Chinese, I flicked through FB and saw a post from my friend Stan, a Yankee who is always posting about US college football, chicken wings , and Georgia…not always in that order, but always in the same post. Stan is a friend I’ve never met. We were both on a writing course over 10 years ago and even though it only lasted a couple of months we’ve been buddies ever since. I sent him proper Lyons tea and Tayto and in return he sent me grits which I’d only ever seen in cartoons and episodes of The Dukes of Hazzard. Grits may be the foulest thing I’ve ever eaten..and I’ve eaten frogs legs, snails and English crisps. We disagree on almost everything, especially music, and in fact I think the only thing we both agree on is that our respective partners are the best things about each other.
Georgia were due to play “Ole Miss” and I asked where I could watch it and he messaged back :
Stan : “YouTubeTV or YouTube? Usually it’s on YouTube.. but the link doesn’t go up until game time. I have it on Sling…”
Me : what’s Sling ? Some anti-European , Yankee thing ?
Stan : lol. Nah.. it’s Sling, a streaming service. I know in Ireland it’s used for having your… uhmm… self in a sling!
Having tried to access Sling, and been greeted with a ‘Not Available In Your Territory’, I replied :
Me : so , yes , it is an anti-European , Yankee thing
I found it being streamed live on YouTube and settled in.
Me : “accuracy downfield and protection are key factors…” I opined.
Stan : “you got that interception ?” he messaged after a crushing tackle in which 17 defensive hulks all jumped on the poor defenceless Ole Miss quarterback.
Me: “it was so fierce , I’m limping too !”
Then the game was halted because a squirrel was running around the pitch.
Me : “do they have squirrels in every match ?”
Stan : “what if I said yes?”
Me : “does each team get to release a squirrel , like a timeout ?”
Stan : ”everybody except Alabama. They get 2.”
Apart from the squirrel , the thing I enjoyed most about watching the game was the American ads. If I still had my prostate I’d now have at least 3 different medicines that I could try for free…and that was just in one ad break ! In the next ad break I messaged him :
Me : “I’m enjoying the Once Weekly Ozempic ad in between the $7 Deluxe TacoBel box ad and the Chipotle bucket of brisket one. I now also want Cheez-its and Modello , and various health plans and am very excited about the upcoming CMA awards..”
Stan : “its better than the deluge of political ads we had up until now. That was tiring.”
Me :” Anyway, can’t talk now, signing up for a no credit check Experian card, and I’ve just bought a 0% deposit Tiguan…”
The game was not going well for Georgia. The replacement quarterback had scored a touchdown for Ole Miss, and now the one they’d tried to murder was back on the field and promptly scored another one. The Georgia quarterback, Beck was having a mare.
Stan :” we’re still in it…” Stan said, hoping against hope..and the scoreboard.
Me : “we better be ! I got a Beck tattoo after the first 10 minutes and am now consulting with my AFLAC consultant if the policy I bought with my new Experian card will cover it’s removal under a personal injury clause…”
The game ended…badly, if you were supporting Georgia. A record home win for Ole Miss. Stan posted :
Stan : “There ain’t enough chicken wings in the world to fix this …..”
Me :”Are you sure ? I some amazing offers during the game from Wingstop, Zaxbys, and those fine people at Buffalo Wild Wings .”
A downhearted Stan replied :
“I’m sure. I don’t think this is our year.. but we’ve had a good run for a bit now. No complaints, just reality these days.”
I replied that it was just a blip and he sent me this quote from RJ Andersen which I found absolutely gorgeous :
“I realized then that even though I was a tiny speck in an infinite cosmos, a blip on the timeline of eternity, I was not without purpose.”
I was so impressed with its loveliness that I thought immediately to Georgie and Jamie….they’re some of the nicest blips I know. I made Georgie promise that she wouldn’t tell anyone that I’d been nice to Jamie.
I woke up. My left foot had spasmed. I hadn’t even realised that I’d dozed off. Edel and I both said ‘Sorry’ to each other. I stamped my foot on the ground and the spams stopped. Edel went back to working her magic and I went back to thinking about blips….
On Tuesday I’d headed off to Dublin. I was going to see Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds in the Point Depot, and had asked my friend Micky if I could stay at his place. I arrived up with him in good time and after we’d had a cup of tea I said I’d better be heading off , as I was to meet Karl at The Flux. Micky insisted on accompanying me to the Luas station and waited until the train arrived to make sure that I got on the right one.
Karl was our mentor/course facilitator/cult leader when we did an exploration into ourselves in Trinity in 2020. The course was officially called Creative & Cultural Entrepreneurship and I believe that it changed my life and the lives of a good few others…for the better. I made friends there, Nollaig, Denise, Noelle, Colm, Aoife, Seamus, Lynda and Mad Anne. We all agreed that Karl was the best thing about the course, but never told him, because we all assumed someone else would, or he’d know already. I must find a way to tell him sometime….
The Flux is an anarcho-syndicalist artists commune, or a cultural social enterprise…or an affordable artists studio space AND gallery. It is very, very Karl. I got a tour, saw some of the magic he’s creating and stole some stickers. Then we went to meet Baz.
We met Baz down in Eddie Rockets and had the most expensive chicken tenders in the world, €11.50 for 4 ! We call them goujons in Monaghan, and there are 6 in the kids portion in the 4 Seasons ! The Peroni was tolerable.
Baz is my Soulmate’s cousin, and Tadgh’s & Maureen’s son. That would be enough to qualify him as great company, but he is one of the kindest, funniest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. And he is my gig-life partner. He hides all of this magnificence behind a veil of grumpiness..and at times, biblical levels of rudeness. Baz and Karl had never met each other before, and both aren’t shy about saying exactly what they think, so I was a little concerned that there’d be some awkwardness. There wasn’t. A casual observer would have sworn that they were lifelong friends and that I was someone they’d bumped into outside and felt sorry for, and asked along.
We swapped stories about golf , sushi, water fights and previous gigs…and then realised that we were going to be late meeting Adrian.
Adrian and I spent every waking moment of every Christmas, Easter , Summer and Halloween holiday together between the ages of 12 and 15. He was our neighbour, Mrs.Turley’s godson, and lived in Dundalk, but came down to stay with her every holiday. We goofed around together, spent late nights sitting up with Mrs. Turley’s daughter Denise, who was 10 years older than us, effortlessly cool, and listened to Fleetwood Mac, The Kinks, and The Human League and many other albums. We spent a good chunk of formative time with each other. And then we’d see each other less. We kept in touch until we were 17 or 18 and then we only met at funerals. We bumped into each other earlier this year at Electric Picnic, had a few beers together while not listening to Jinx Lennon, and said we must try and meet up sometime.
This was sometime.
Adrian had invited us to meet in a Fancy Dan club in the Point before the gig. Similarly, he’d never met Karl or Baz before…and they also got on like long lost friends. I’d told Karl earlier that even though Adrian was a year or so younger than me, I’d always thought of him as my cooler, older brother.
Adrian was with his buddy Eddie who was also an avid muso , so we all had a great chat , drank Murphy’s , and had to be called twice to go out to the gig.
It had already been an epic evening, but, my stars, the gig.
I love Nick Cave.
I have loved Nick Cave for a long time.
I have seen him live before.
I have some of his art , signed, hanging in my kitchen.
I have lots of his albums.
And yet this gig was just incredible.
It was a religious experience.
The band were all on top form. The backing singers added gravitas, volume, and general epicness. It was only near the end that we realised Colin Greenwood from Radiohead was playing bass !
He played Frogs, Wild God, and Song of the Lake, from the new album right from the start. Wild God is magnificent and lent itself to an indoor arena with 16,000 fans singing along. And , unbelievably , everything after that was better. During ‘Conversion’ there had been a crescendo of sound and then a pause during which, again in a crowd of 16,000 people the only sound was Nick Cave taking a breath. We were hanging on every single word.
He glided up and down the stage, laying hands on worshipping fans at the front. Towards the end of ‘Tupelo’ he noticed a bare chested man who had large tattoos of Nick Cave and Warren Ellis on each breast, he paused and said “That’s commitment” the crowd went nuts. A moment or two later he knelt down at the edge of the stage and placing a hand at the back of the tattoo guys neck and touching foreheads he sang the end of the song , just to him.
Later he sang Bright Horses. That song means a lot to me. I cried when he sang it. Karl asked if I was OK. I just nodded my head. I was enraptured by it. Nick Cave pointed to me from the stage. I nodded to him and smiled. And he nodded back and carried on. Yes, I was on a balcony, 100m from the stage, in the dark, with 15,999 others, but I know he sang that song to me.
It was that kind of gig.
Old classics , like Red Right Hand, Jubilee Street, and new ones like Wild God and O Wow O Wow, lifted the roof at times. And then after playing three songs in the encore with the band , they left and sitting at the piano, he played ‘Into My Arms’ and we serenaded him by singing it back.
It was heaven…
Afterwards , before I’d got to bed, other blips, Paula, Bryony, and Colm, who were at the gig, but whom I hadn’t bumped into, messaged with outpourings of their joy…
“Paul…Paul….”
“Yes ,Nick ?”
“PAUL !”
Sorry Edel, miles away…thank you.
Edel told me that I had a busy head. I told her I always have a busy head. She asked, kindly, if I was worrying about something. And I told het that it’s not stress, it’s just that a lot of magnificent things happen to me all the time.
I am such a lucky guy to have so many of these magnificent moments, and these wonderful blips in my life.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This is for all my beautiful Blips, you’re beautiful ! Conversions – Nick Cave
P.P.S This is a story about the Devil’s pony, Humphrey
Humphrey , Humphrey, I defy thee !
Monaghan , the true centre of the Universe, holds a dark secret. It was once the setting for an epic battle between the forces of good, i.e. me, and the Devil himself. Close your eyes for a moment and picture the devil.
Red ? Horned ? Little goatee beard ?
WRONG !
The devil is white, rather small, has four legs, a swishy tail and a mane and goes by the name of Humphrey. I have stared into his coal black , soulless eyes and lived. I am the most courageous person ever, ever.
When I was eleven my family had more pets than anyone else I knew. But they were all tiny, we weren’t allowed to play with them and they lived in Dad’s aquarium. My friend , MIcahel , on the other hand had two dogs and a pony. And not only did he have a pony, his two brothers and two sisters all had horses or ponies. They all went to Monaghan Pony Club gymkhana’s and Pony Club socials, which were like disco’s , but with no one dancing with each other. The highlight of the Pony Club year appeared to be the annual Pony Club Summer Camp where you spent a week away from home, and your parents, camping out with your horse, there would be discos , campfires, and eating barbeque every single night. They made it sound so exciting. I wanted to go, they wanted me to go, but I didn’t have a pony, which seemed to be the most important criteria in order to attend the Pony Club Camp.
Then one day at school Michael told me that his younger brother wasn’t interested in going to camp and I could take his pony, Humphrey. I was thrilled.
Humphrey was a tiny little white thing, my feet wouldn’t quite trail along the ground when I sat on him, but wouldn’t not far off. I didn’t care, I was going to Pony Club Camp. I hadn’t had much experience with horses, but Humphrey was so small I didn’t have any fear. I had no fear of Humphrey, until I actually met Humphrey. Everyone just saw this tiny little playful pony , but the moment we met, he fixed me with his coal black soulless eyes and as I got closer his eyes appeared to roll back into their sockets and he bit me. I yelped, Humphrey laughed, I looked at him and as he glared back at me defiantly, I saw it for the first time, Humphrey was the Devil Incarnate, or rather the Devil In-Pony-Ate.
Camp started badly, and then went rapidly downhill from there. If I dared try to steer Humphrey in any direction other than the one he wanted to go in he would simply contort his neck back and nip my leg. If he stopped and I had to kick him with my heels to get him moving he would go forward a few paces, stop again suddenly and lower his head, neck and front legs so that I would slide forward over his head, slowly. And woe betide me if I dared to try and get him over a jump. He would simply run at it full tilt and stop short or swerve suddenly at the last moment. Both actions resulted in me flying off. I fell off so, so, so many times. The only thing that saved me from serious injury was the fact that Humphrey was so small that I didn’t have a long way to fall.
The worst part of Pony Club Camp, for me, was cleaning and looking after your pony. This involved using medieval instruments of torture called ‘curry combs’, hoof picks and sweat blades. This grooming was performed every evening after we’d finished our horsey activities for the day. Humphrey and I had one thing in common, he hated being groomed and I hated grooming him. He seemed to take it as an affront that I dared to approach him at all let alone approach him armed with metal combs, scrapers and picks. He regularly stood on my toes and nipped me as I laboriously tried to clean the ungrateful little git. On the second night of camp I was woken at 3.00 am to be informed that Humphrey had got out of his stable and that I had to return him and that he had to be presentable before we headed off the next morning. I wandered out to the old yard to find Humphrey rolling around in a large muddy puddle. I dragged him back to his stable and started to chip off the caked in mud from his little white body. I went back to bed at 5.30 and was woken at 6.30 for breakfast.
On the third day we set off on a ramble through the Castle Leslie estate. There were about 50 kids on the camp varied in ages between 10 and 16 and had a variety of ponies or horses in all sizes. Humphrey was the smallest. On our way back to camp I was in the middle of the group chatting to people either side of me on bigger ponies. I hadn’t noticed but in front of Humphrey and I were two giant horses’ asses belonging to the two oldest camp member’s horses . Humphrey had noticed. He decided to nip both horses’ asses in quick succession and both horses kicked back hitting Humphrey and I , Humphrey galloped off through a forest of thistles with me hanging on for dear life , stopped suddenly and I flew over his head landing on a bed of thistles and nettles. As I looked up I’m sure I saw Humphrey laugh. Others thought he was being playful, considered himself the bigger horses equal , but I knew that he was simply downright evil.
Camp was rapidly losing its allure.
Humphrey went for his early morning spa treatment again and again I was woken to put him back and clean him. Each morning I considered pretending to be ill so that I’d get out of the morning session with him, but I found the courage to get up and face him. Also I couldn’t pretend to be ill and then have my breakfast, and I was starving.
On the last afternoon we went out for a last ramble around the estate. I just wanted to go home. I dreamed of sleeping the night in a nice warm bed, without having to listen to fart jokes, without having to get up in the middle of the night to wrestle a stubborn tiny ninja pony into its stable and without dreading having to use an outdoor chemical toilet.
But for the moment we were out on our ramble.
On the way back to camp there was a very large hill and as it was the final day we were allowed to race up it. I had no intention of racing anywhere, I just wanted to go home. Humphrey had other ideas. He tore off up the hill at high speed. I was trying to hold him back. I was literally standing in my stirrups, leaning back as far as I could straining my bony little arms to pull the reins back as far as I could. It was all to no avail. Humphrey stormed ahead. I looked like a kite he was pulling after him.
Humphrey stormed past horse’s ass after horse’s ass. Soon we were in front. My initial fear was replaced with delight. I sat in the saddle. We got to the top and had a moment to catch our breaths before the rest caught up. I gave Humphrey a ‘well done’ slap on the neck, he turned , smiled , nipped my leg and bucked, I ended up on the ground. This was Humphrey’s victory , not mine.
Humphrey was a tiny little pony, but he had the heart of an Arabian stallion. An evil minded, bad tempered stallion, but a stallion nonetheless.
That evening we were assessed on what we’d learnt during the week. There were 7 beginners with me in my group and as is the way of these things there was to be a presentation at the end , with parents present, and the camp leaders had categories for awards and would be presenting rosettes for each category. I don’t know why rosettes are so desired by horsey people, but they would kill their own mother for one. The rosettes were ranked yellow for third place, blue for second and red for first. In the beginner’s category they tried valiantly to make sure that everyone got at least one red ribbon. God bless them. I got one yellow and one blue. They hadn’t got a category for ‘Most bitten by evil midget Pony’.
And me? I never sat on a horse /pony ever again. The only time I ever think of Humphrey now is when I use a PrittStick and I wonder if there is a little part of Humphrey in there…and I smile.
Who’s laughing now Humphrey?
