“All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
I like watching the puddles gather rain
And all I can do
Is just pour some tea for two
And speak my point of view
But it’s not sane
It’s not sane”
Smith / Stevens / Hoon/ Graham / Thorn
More than once a week I get asked “What do you do ?”, usually by someone confused by the amount of time I appear not to be doing anything, or at least not anything that anyone would be employed to do.
On Thursday last a wonderful bear of a man , wearing a yellow hi-viz vest , with a rather fetching pink lace trim, growled at me “What are you doing ?”.
Just before he had growled at me, I had been smiling as I gazed at two men in a cherry picker paint rust on a large Metro sign high above a railway carriage that was being repurposed as a bar. I was fascinated by the efforts that were being exerted to make a huge archway , that I had witnessed being constructed and freshly painted only moments earlier, seem old and decrepit. And for point of reference I was wearing a black hooded waterproof Odlo jacket and an orange hi-viz vest…which sadly had no lace trim.
I didn’t say any of that though, in reply, I simply answered “Huh ?”.
“Are you here with someone ?” the wonderful bear of a man , wearing a yellow hi-viz waistcoat , with a rather fetching pink lace trim, growled.
“Oh…Benny.”
“Well do some work and stop gawping at the lads in the hoist, they think you’re a Health & Safety Inspector !”
I went bright pink, and mumbled an apology.
The wonderful bear of a man , wearing a yellow hi-viz waistcoat , with a rather fetching pink lace trim, rolled his eyes and walked away, then he turned back and thrust out his hand and said “I’m Stephen, nice to meet you.”
I went in search of something useful to do.
I met Liz and then Clair and we became the ‘Hessian Fencing Squad’. Although, if I’m honest, Clair and Liz were the fencing team, and I was more of an assistant to the fencing team. Liz had to patiently show me , three times, how to zip tie bits of fabric to the scaffoldinig poles…and then Clair had to show me a further 4 times.
After that, and ‘that’ went on for some time, I became the person for any non-technical, non-skilled, and generally light duties that everyone else was either too busy or over qualified to do. This involved lots of moving sheets of discarded plywood , scaffolding tubes/pipes/ and general lumps of timber ‘over there’ and then an hour later , in reply to a question “Who the hell put them there ?” moving them over there there, which was a different ‘over there’ to the original ‘over there’ , but wasn’t the last ‘over there’ they were moved to. By the end of the day I had given all of my sheets of discarded plywood , scaffolding tubes/pipes, and general lumps of timber individual names and would chat to them as we moved between random points around the back stage area of Brutoplolis.
My moving things from over there to over there there was regularly interrupted by being greeted by old friends and introduced to new ones.
Siobhan has catered at Electric Picnic for Benny’s crew ever since there has been a Benny’s crew. My daughter Robyn is especially fond of Siobhan as she has made special veggie meals for her every year that she helped out. She gave me a big hug , and another one for Robyn.
Mark is the creative director/ artist whisperer/ electrician / car pass blagger for Brutopolis and is generally run ragged , highly stressed and sometimes shocked… literally. He took time out of his chaos to give me a hug.
Conor , from Bearded Man Productions, made fantastic vinyl lightboxes and signs for the Metro maps and internal carriage signs. They were brilliant and perhaps the most photographed element of Brutopolis. I’d met Mark briefly before…in Brogans on Dame St. in Dublin after last year’s foot stomping ‘Last Waltz’ gig in the Olympia, and we managed to fit in a few pints in the Ramsbotton during EP.
Paul #1 , ( including me, there are 4 Pauls, I am Paul #4… I know my place), is the true spirit of Brutopolis State. His ‘Eejit Terminal’, dud ATM, Empty Central Bank, and most importantly his public decrees give Brutopolis and would almost lead one to believe that he’d actually be happier directing affairs at his own anarcho-syndicalist- commune…almost.
Una gave me the biggest hug because she’s Una. She whispered “Are you well ?” As she hugged me and squeezed me tighter when I said “Mighty.” She runs the Printworks where Brutopolis Passports are made after unsuspecting punters are interviewed:
“What is your name ?”
“Alan.”
“THERE ARE NO NAMES IN BRUTOPOLIS !!! You are citizen 4379R.”
“What is your favourite colour ?”
“Eh….blue?” a very nervous Alan stutters.
“THERE ARE NO COLOURS IN BRUTOPOLIS !!!”
Alan is genuinely terrified of Una now. When I pass by , on my way with a lump of plywood I now call Wilbert to over there there , Alan is mopping the grass outside the Printworks, and Una’s lieutenants are shouting at him that he missed a bit.
She’s lovely really.
Owen G said hello to me twice before I realised who he was.
Paul#2, Gerry, and Fran were new friends and gave proper Monaghan handshakes. They all either fed me or lifted things out of my way when they saw me wobbling.
Nikita was another new friend. Nikita is the person that every crew needs. No matter what the question, which you were asking because the solution wasn’t easy or obvious, the answer was always “Ask Nikita.” She was the second coolest person in Brutopolis…in terms of keeping cool under pressure, calming everyone else, actually knowing what to do , and rocking out in a Mackintosh, lycra leggings, and welly combo.
And the coolest person of all was Benny.
I first met Benny over 10 years ago when an exasperated mentor on the Local Enterprise Office’s national ‘Young Entrepreneur Of The Year’ programme rang me and asked if I’d help this young fella put his pitch together for the competition. “He’s either a genius or insane, and he could win the whole competition, or go to jail. Will you have a word with him and see if he’ll listen to you…he won’t listen to me.”
Benny and I got on like a house on fire. He won the regional and national finals and ended up pitching his idea in the world finals in New York. But I couldn’t ever truly say who mentored whom. I learnt a lot. We have been great friends ever since because , and despite, Benny always being himself, which , as you get older, you discover and appreciate , is a rare gift.
On the Saturday Benny and I had to go to the Production Office to sort out a pass for my car, as I was due to leave the site that afternoon to collect the composer and pianist, Roger Doyle, in Dublin and take him to Brutopolis , where he was playing that night at 8pm. After getting the pass we wandered back through the main arena of the Picnic and Benny said he was hungry. I recommended the ‘Laois Local’ tent which featured a farmer selling bacon and sausage baps. He reared the pigs in a forest before sending them off on their ‘delicious’ holiday. I ordered a breakfast bap, sausage, egg, and bacon from the lady, while Benny was still deciding. “Aren’t you ordering one ?” I asked.
“I’m just looking at the menu here.” Benny said , slowly scratching his beard.
“They only do the breakfast bap !” I snapped.
“Aye….” He continued to stroke his beard. “Yeah, I’ll have one of those as well…and I’ve left my wallet in the jeep.”
“I’ll get them. Two breakfast baps please.” I said to the patient lady.
She took our order and passed it to the chef and then turned back to us and asked “Are you a couple?”
Benny was taken aback, doubly so , when I said yes.
“How did yous meet ?”
“I found him on the side of the road with a thorn in his paw. I removed it and he’s followed me ever since.” I said, thinking I was hilarious.
The lady looked confused.
Benny said “He’s joking. We’re both from Monaghan, and everyone in Monaghan takes it in turn to look after Paul. This is my weekend.”
She laughed.
When I was a kid we were told the biblical story of Daniel in the lion’s den. Daniel is condemned for his beliefs and is thrown into the lion’s den, but the lion refuses to attack Daniel because years before he had seen the very same lion in distress and removed a thorn from it’s paw and it was loyal to him ever since. It seared into my memory and I’ve alluded to it many times over the years to be greeted with a polite but confused response. It turns out that that Old Testament story wasn’t told anywhere else outside of Mr.Powers First Class in the C.B.S in Dundalk in 1973. And the story doesn’t actually appear anywhere in the Old Testament at all. It’s a Greek fable about Androcles and the Lion.
Ten years ago I was lucky to get a phone call asking to help an insane genius.
I said ‘Yes’ and as a result I had another wonderfully uplifting and inspiring weekend meeting some of the best , amazing, creative, fun, decent, and groovy people you’d be lucky to ever find in one place.
Always say yes.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. I did get to see some performances, but I’ll save that until next week in order to do them justice.
P.P.S. For all the Brutopolis State crew, this is Blind Mellon’s ‘No Rain’.
