“Did you know
I could claim the dreamer from the dream?
Make you feel
Everything you’ve never even seen
Yeah, it’s been
A long, a long, a long, a long, long-long
You were my
Favourite for a long time”
O’Connell / Curley / Deegan / Coll / Chatten
I don’t believe that I’ve had a solid , unbroken night’s sleep in over two years. I am not stressed, I exercise a lot, I take magnesium ( long story involving two of my ‘ologists ), I read before going asleep. And then I dream…a lot. They say that you only really remember the dreams during which you wake up. I generally remember three or four dreams each morning. I write some of them down, as they are magical to me.
Some people maintain that we dream in order to process and analyse memories, but I don’t recall hiding the Ark of The Covenant, appearing on stage with Kurt Vonnegut, or criticising Nick Cave for not weeding our patio properly.
No one knows why we dream.
Mine can blur with reality sometimes.
Exhibit A
There were 10 of us, Colm Keegan and Kate Egan were our leaders, three or four who seemed to know what they were doing, three or four that were doing it without realising it , and me.
The weather , along with everyone, was glorious. The farm itself was a slice of heaven, wild meadows, meandering paths mown through them, random little oasis with sofas, hammocks in quiet spots, chickens wandering about, a pot-bellied pig, three rescue ponies, and a dog called Lilly.
I knew Colm from a course we’d done together a year ago, and admired his poetry, so when he advertised a writers’ retreat, on a farm, I booked it immediately. I didn’t know any of the others when I arrived, but , again, it was one of those wonderful days when everyone was equally nervous, supportive and cool.
Colm took us through some introductions and exercises.We smile and introduce ourselves, holding most of ourselves back. Reflexively we jump to conclusions about each other, a practice we hate to be on the receiving end of, but still…
Then Kate introduced us to the ponies, we had lunch, a tour of the farm, jotting down ideas for Haikus, potted some plants. After a few hours we pick up bits and pieces of each others jigsaws, he loves vinyl, he’s wearing a replica of Maradona’s 1986 world cup strip, she’s here because she won a competition, she runs a forest school, she’s a festival princess, she has 60,000 words written of her novel, the lucky bitch, he loves Leonard Cohen, organic potatoes sold at €3.50/kg still don’t make money.
We wrote some more, chatted, wrote even more, had a divine dinner beside the campfire, consisting almost entirely of produce from the farm, we’re not judging each other anymore, or holding anything back, not entirely…just a bit. And then we swapped stories around the fire until midnight. We’re all the same really.
Heaven.
Lilly had followed us around the farm all day, we’d all petted and tickled her whenever she sat beside us. She slept under the table, in the long grass, under the hammock, beside the sofa…she slept a lot. She was very gentle, not barking once all day.
Of course as soon as we zipped ourselves into our tents she started to bark at everything and anything. I could here various ‘Shushes’ being hissed from the other tents for a while and then I put my phone beside my ear and started to play the greatest ever playlist on Spotify, the SuperJetRobotDinosaurs one, consisting of the best 1,560 tracks of all time. I drifted off to sleep, hearing ‘Shushes’ intermingle with the Pillow Queens and Joan Armatrading….
And then I woke. Gently. Even though I’d drifted off to the music playing I was still sensitive to changes, someone had skipped a song forward halfway through and this had jarred my subconscious. As I became aware of where I was I could hear someone commenting on the songs, as they skipped through them after a brief listen “Magic…awful…good start and then they lost it…brilliant…Jesus you never change do you…that’s cool…lovely accent…”
I didn’t feel afraid, strangely, as I’m a big scaredy cat at the best of times. I’d gone to sleep in a tent on my own and was waking to someone critiquing my Spotify playlist.
And then when they came to ‘Oh Such A Spring’ by Fontaines DC they let it play through and then repeated it…and then repeated it again. I opened my eyes. It was just Lilly , her nose against the screen of my phone. I got a hand out of the sleeping bag I was hermetically sealed into and patted her head “Good choice Lilly…”
I was dozing off again when I heard , in an English accent, “That is a wonderful tune, so sad ‘And I wish I could go back to Spring again’ gorgeous.”
I opened my eyes wide this time.
Lilly was staring at me, less than a foot away from my face.
“It’s not….”
“It is.”
“But you…”
“Go on, you’re so close, the eyes ?”
“David ?”
“Bingo! A goldfish for the young man !”
I tried to sit up, which isn’t the easiest thing in a sleeping bag. A paw reached over and pushed my chest back down.
“Relax, stay there, we won’t be long.”
“You came back as a dog ?”
“Indeed ! This magnificent creature no less.”
“Why ?”
“Why not ? I wanted to be the furthest thing away from a famous human, and I’d already been a wombat, so I chose this glorious existence, loved beyond measure in this perfect little spot.”
It sort of made sense. “Are you happy ?”
“Deliriously so. I have never been so loved.”
“Do you miss …..”
“Please don’t. I’m here now. You can’t look back, that was that time, this is now.”
“And are you aware of all that happened before ?”
“Sometimes. Like now. With the music on your thing there. And us speaking. But mostly it’s a wonderfully uncomplicated life of lolling around getting , tickled and scratched, and most delicious of all, not thinking of anything other than that very moment. You should try it.”
“Can I ask a question ?”
“Of course ! This is your gig Paul.”
“Did we meet on the that bus to Galway in ’89 ? I wrote about it, on the day you…you left us…and lots of people said they knew it was a story , but wanted it to be true…and I can’t tell anymore…and …” A lick on my cheek stopped me.
“We met.”
“Thanks”
“ I was right about that Van Morrison prick , wasn’t I ?”
I laughed. “You were…and then some.”
“Did you marry her ?”
“I did”
“I knew you would. Lucky sod. Did you do anything with the Free Cloud story ?
“No. I couldn’t face it after you….”
“I’m here. Always.”
“I do write, for myself mostly, I seem to get halfway through something and then…”
“Don’t worry , it’ll happen. It can go like that for years , lost, nothing seeming to click…”
“Like Tin Machine ?”
“Fuck off ! Tin Machine were brilliant. In 20 years they’ll be appreciated. “
“It has been 20 years.”
“Really , seems like….never mind. Anyway we’re talking about you. Write , you little shit, or I’ll bite you !”
We laughed.
“I have to go now”
“Is it time to pass on again ?” I said reverently.
“No, not that, you idiot. I’m going over to Briana’s tent. She’s having a class dream, and she gives the best cuddles.”
The beautiful dog turned to leave.
“David !”
“Yes Paul.”
“I miss you. We all miss you. I hope you know what you meant to all of us.” I started to cry.
“I’m here. Always.”
I woke up around 7. Tired but happy. I got dressed and went outside. Cathy’s tent was lready packed away. Briana was sitting outside hers.
“Did you get any sleep ?” I asked.
“Some. I heard Lilly barking, so I took her into my tent. She kept me lovely and warm.”
“I think she was in mine at one point…although that might have been a dream.”
We laughed.
Sam got up, and they both helped me put my tent away. We had little brioche buns and ham for breakfast before we left. Lilly came sauntering around. We all gave her some ham. She was so happy that her whole body, rather than just her tail, wagged.
We all said goodbye.
I started my car, Ed Sheerhan came on the radio, I could here Lilly growl. I switched from the radio to my Spotify playlist , the Pillow Queens, HowDoILookNow, she barked and wagged her tail.
I drove off.
David Bowie is a dog called Lilly, living on An Ghrian Glas farm. They grow writers there.
Exhibit B
Long before I secured the position of wandering ponderer I had a very brief period as the manager of a band, Rain, a delightful folk/rock combo featuring my two friends Milo Murray and Shane Martin. This was in 1983 and we were still at school and my role was secured due to their charity. They had tried in vain to teach me how to play the guitar and I couldn’t sing so they called me their manager. Unfortunately for them I took my role seriously and designed a logo , registered the name as a trademark in Ireland and bought a decent tape recorder so that I could keep their live performances for posterity.
The band’s success was confined to the Monaghan area…in fact it was confined to St.Macartan’s College…but it did briefly escape to the confines of St.Louis Convent for their Christmas concert. The band’s success was also short lived. Shane was the song writing powerhouse of the band and all of his songs were invariably inspired by the names of young ladies that had spurned his affections….or had briefly encouraged them and then spurned them…thank you Karen and Lorraine. But the band fell apart when the two boys found love and Patricia became Milo’s Linda McCartney, whilst Shane’s soulmate , Deirdre, will always be Yoko to me.
Anyway, it was due to my brief stint in band management with Rain that I ended up playing a crucial role in the future success of one of the world’s biggest bands…..Oasis.
By 1991 I was driving around Ireland in a red VW Golf van selling shoes….or trying to sell shoes. I had men’s shoes made in Monaghan, sports shoes that looked uncannily like Nike and some ladies fashion styles from Manchester that I considered cutting edge but my Soulmate simply wouldn’t consider at all. I would set sail from Monaghan in my little red van on a Monday, travelling around the country with my samples , selling a few bits and pieces and then return to Monaghan on a Thursday evening to pack and dispatch any of the orders I’d got.
At this point I was still resisting the growing demands that I get a mobile phone and was relying on my trusty answer machine and a series of call cards which I used in public payphones to keep in touch with customers, suppliers . Through the means of cutting edge technology I could phone my own number wait for it to answer and then tap in a secret code number, which was the number 2, and the answer machine would play back my messages. It was a miraculous age we lived in.
So, one day in 1991 I was travelling to Cork and stopped at a truck stop to get a fry and use the phone to check my messages and was taken aback to get a series of expletive filled messages in a Mancunian accent, the jist of which was :
“Our Kid is gonna fuckin’ do ya ! Give us our fuckin’ name ! Who the fuck doesn’t have a fuckin’ mobile fuckin’ phone in the fuckin’ 90’s ??? Call me fuckin’ back ………”
And that was the first message.
There were seven messages in all, each one more irate and less comprehensible than the last, until the seventh which was calmer, and left by someone else , but in a similar Mancunian accent :
“Don’t mind our Kid, he’s a fuckin’ handful. Listen , my name’s Noel, could you give me a call when you get back to civilisation. You have our band name registered and it’s causing us hassle.”
He left a number and when I got back to Monaghan on the Thursday I called it and spoke to Noel Gallagher, a nice young chap, similar in age to me, and he explained that he was joining his little brother’s band and that he had big plans for it, but they’d discovered that their band ‘The Rain’ couldn’t get a European wide trademark registration because I’d registered Rain in the same category. I explained that our band had broken up due to general contentment, but that I couldn’t give up the registration without the agreement of the others. Noel said he understood, but that they were already being offered recording contracts and time was of the essence. I suggested that he simply pick another name. He thought for a moment and at that very same moment a lifetime of memories of going to either the Hillgrove or The Oasis in Carrickmacross on a Saturday night popped into my head and I shouted out “OASIS !”.
“Sound !” he replied. ”Like in the desert , we’d be a fuckin’ oasis of good songs !”
“I was thinking of a giant nightclub in the middle of nowhere , every Saturday night jammed with thousands of hopeful lost souls desperate not to be on their own when the slow set started. We go looking for action but all we find is cigarettes and alcohol.”
“I’m stealing that !” Noel interjected “that’s a great line….cigarettes and alcohol…. fuckin’ love it. Right, we’re going to use ‘Oasis’. Listen, in two minutes you’ve given us a great name, a lyric….do you wanna manage us ?”
The universe flipped a coin………
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.
In some other part of the Multiverse Shane & Milo are better known than Simon & Garfunkel, college courses are disseminating the merits of Karen over Lorraine and the influence that the steady diet of chips in St.Macartan’s College had on Shane and Milo’s later addictions.
In yet another Liam and Noel stuck with the name ‘The Rain’ , did not meet with worldwide success, or any , but continue to play as a Blur tribute band called Blurrr.
Or maybe this is the dream ?
Toodlezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Paul
P.S. My song, for which I never received any royalties…..
