Cop yourselves on people…
Why do people from places north of Dublin say they’re going “up to Dublin”? It makes no sense at all at all, as Miley used to say.
That way they’d have to circumnavigate the globe northwards taking in both the Arctic Circle and Antartica on the way before getting “up to Dublin”. That’s a journey of some 40,000 kilometres you crazies.
Get it right is all I ask.
End of rant.
Bye Bye Pat, it’s been real…
Pat Kenny, knowing me, knowing you, AHAA!!!
Some people will be delighted. Some will be quietly disappointed. But either way Pat Kenny has thrown in the towel. “All good things must come to an end”, said Pat.
And with that, as announced on tonight’s show, his tenure of The Late Late Show comes to a close at the end of the current season.
He said he had come to the decision in consultation with his family and that “it had been a joy to present the show for almost ten years”. He added that, “he was stepping down at a time when the viewing figures were at an all-time high”. Recession anyone?
Pat did however hint that he would be moving to present another TV show in the autumn, but gave no further details of this. Paddy Power have since suspended betting on who will be the next chairman of Questions & Answers, now John Bowman has announced he intends to step down. Make of that what you will.
I wonder will he take a further pay cut? Word is that Pat has lost his shirt on bank shares. Pat is ‘battered and bruised’ apparently. Is that anything to do with his decision?
Is he sick of the abuse, and more abuse, and the stalkers?
At least now he can relax and enjoy that plot of land at the back of his garden.
Anyway… the show will go on…
Pat made sure to thank his audience for their support and wished the best of luck to his successor.
My money’s on Dara O’Briain.
Time and tide…
This morning I cycled along the coast road to the bridge at Bull Island. A tad breezy for my liking but still a nice Spring morning all the same. I locked the rothar and walked the rest of the way towards the half tide wall.
When I got to the end of the path I saw an elderly man walking back along the rocks from the lighthouse. Something golden glimmered in his hands.
The rocks were a bit of a struggle. It’s not the easiest walk at the best of times and this man was no mountain goat but he was persistent. I took my place on an empty bench, watched him slowly scale the rocks and listened to Fake Empire by The National.
After about ten minutes he finally made it onto steadier ground under the Réalt na Mara monument. He sat down on the bench beside me to catch his breath and placed a golden urn at his side. He looked back from where he’d walked, in the direction of the lighthouse. The sea breeze made his combover dance. He looked at peace. Content.
When he caught his breath he stood up and picked up the urn. He gave me that nod that only aul fellas can give and walked on his way back towards the road. I nodded back.
As I watched him walk away I wondered who he was and where he was going. Moreso, I wondered who was in the urn. Was it a lifelong love? An old friend? A pet? Who knows? Not I.
I should’ve paused The National and said hello. I think he would’ve been only too happy to tell me his story. But now I’ll never know. And that’s a shame.
As the breeze blew across Dublin Bay I wondered if he’d ever seen The Big Lebowski? I wish I’d asked him.
Czech Mate….
Here at the NaRocRoc Weblog we have a long-established penchant for good European beer. Particularly the fine golden lagers of the Czech Republic. We also love a good underdog story so it was with great joy that we read the news today of a victory for the Czech brewer Budejovicky Budvar over brewer Anheuser-Busch (makers of the fizzy piss better known as Bud).
The upshot is this, Anheuser-Busch have lost an appeal to a European Union court to use the term Budweiser across Europe. This ruling is the latest instalment of a long-running dispute between the two brewers stretching back decades. For years Anheuser have tried to bully Budvar out of the European market so today’s ruling marks a knockout for the little guy. A victory for good taste. Substance has beaten style.
Anheuser already sells beer under the Budweiser name in some European countries, but was not allowed an EU-wide trademark because Budvar has already registered the name in several European countries. Six years ago, Anheuser lost a case to stop Budvar selling beer in the UK under the Budweiser name.
Czech beer brewing tradition is mightily impressive, particularly in Ceske Budejovice, which was known as Budweis by its German-speaking inhabitants. Beer has been brewed there since 1265. The Budejovicky Budvar brewery was founded there in 1895. Today they make a range of fine beers. And long may they continue.
Next time I’m in a hostlery of any description I shall raise a glass of Budvar and toast to the little guy, to the underdog, to good taste but most of all to beery fantasticness.
So as my Czech friends say… na zdraví!
Mmmmm Budvar
You blow out candles, you kindle fires…
Yes you may well blow the answer. And you may very well bring change. But you left me with enough grit in my eyes to fill a pothole. And you damn near flung me off the East Link Bridge.
See today I cycled to work against your wall of wind. A wall of wind I tell you! It made every pedal an epic, blustery struggle. Moreso you made me late and flustered me up.
I love you wind, but damn you can be so stubborn sometimes. And like Charlie with the mega beard, I don’t think I’ll ever know what colour you are.
If, but but but, if….
I fucked up. I knew it. Worse still, he knew it. I had concocted a conspiracy theory and had a stubbornnesss any mule would be proud of. I tried to begin with a “but….” and was promptly cut off. I then went for the big “if…”. I didn’t get far. For he had the line…
“Yeah but if your Auntie had balls she’d be your Uncle”.
A slight grin followed. And right then and there I know it’d be okay. It had to be, for there is no come back to that immortal line.
101 feelgood songs to banish those cleaning blues…
Mother’s Day is coming up. Next Sunday. Pencil it in folks.
This CD compilation is being advertised quite heavily on TV at the moment, just in time for Mothering Sunday. I’m not joking, it’s real.
Now, I ask you, who would be stupid enough to buy this as a gift for their Mother? I for one would most definitely get a slap if this was purchased for Mother NaRocRoc.
“101 feelgood songs to banish those cleaning blues”, they say. It includes Chubby Checker and the Fat Boys. Are you brave enough?
Never a dull moment…
For a fresh, new take on everything from movies to music and gadgets to random whimsy go here….
NaRocRockin’ Developments…
As of today I shall be contributing the odd post over at the mighty Blog Pound. See, the other day I received what can only be described as “an unexpected e-mail”. Why? Because the subject line read… “An unexpected e-mail”. I was, admittedly, pleasantly surprised.
The email came from Someone Living, the omniscient proprietor of the collective that is the Blog Pound. It asked if I’d “like to become part of The Pound and write a little something for us from time to time”.
After thinking about it for a day, I gladly gave my consent. “No pressure”, said Someone Living. Initially I was slightly concerned about taking on another blogging effort but thought fuck it. A change is as good as a rest and all that jazz.
I do like the Blog Pound and those who contribute to it and comment there. So I gladly accepted the offer and promised to be “vaguely regular”. I hope that’ll do.
In other blogging news… The Lives Of Others is back. The blog that is, not the dark and moving East German Secret Police drama.
I was always a fan of The Lives Of Others blog. It really was/is an inspired idea. It had some really frank, honest and courageous posts the likes of which you’d never see on people’s own personal blogs. However of late the site had gone fairly quiet. Maybe because its group of anonymous contributors had simply posted all they could.
But now I’m glad to see it’s back and with some welcome changes having been implemented. The goalposts have been shifted. But in a good way. The Lives Of Others is now an open forum where anyone can post whatever they like and still remain anonymous and untraceable. An anonymous postbox if you will. So let’s see how much we’re willing to reveal about our inner selves.
Go here for more info and to post the posts you could never otherwise post. If you get my drift?!?
Like a flesh tuxedo….
All day I’ve had one song in particular going through my head. A fine song. And I can’t help but sing it.
While that’s usually okay, today I’ve been working with some females of the species and more than once I’ve been asked, accompanied by a filthy look, “what was that you were just singing?”.
It’s kinda understandable as the song in question is Big Bottom by the legendary Spinal Tap. The lyrics are only slightly dodge. Such gems as:
My love gun’s loaded and she’s in my sights
Big game is waiting there inside her tights, yeah
and
My baby fits me like a flesh tuxedo
I’d like to sink her with my pink torpedo
So you can understand the dodgy looks when I kept blurting it out. Great track though.
Art or Deception?
My old mucker Claude DeBussy once said… “art is the most beautiful deception of all. And although people try to incorporate the everyday events of life in it, we must hope that it will remain a deception lest it become a utilitarian thing, sad as a factory”.
I love that last line. Sad as a factory. So poetic. So evocative.
So why on this Monday morning am I gettin’ all poetic and deep on your asses? Well because I’ve been thinking all weekend about the deception of live performance. Particularly in music and of so-called artists and performers miming in front of a live audience who are investing their time, money and hopes in the artist and their work.
Maybe aul Claude has a point but miming, mostly on TV shows but also in stage performances, happens all too frequently and if truth be told it bugs the hell out of me.
It’s been said that “the art of pleasing is the art of deception”. So should audiences be happy just to be pleased by the lifestyle and image and presence of a performer in front of them who is lipsyncing to a backing track? I for one don’t think so. The essence of lying is in deception, not in the action itself.
People come to music to seek oblivion, which in itself is also a form of deception. So where’s the harm? Well the harm is in the cheating, the lying and the falseness. It’s not on in my book.
Now there are those who may argue that “a deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths”. And there may well be some logic there. A grain of truth. But I don’t buy it.
I know why artists mime. And I know modern music is more about image and lifestyle than about the actual core of music and performance. And I know management and record companys put the pressure on for their clients to look and sound as good as possible. But If I were an artist, a musician, a performer I couldn’t stand in front of an audience and mime. Be it on stage, on television, whatever. I couldn’t deal with the shame. The shame of deception. It’s glorified fraud.
So Andrea Bocelli and Steve Craddock, this is my truth, tell me yours.
I take it all back…
Previously, both on this very blog and others commented upon by yours truly, I have questioned the success and popularity of Dara O’Briain across the water. It seemed he was on everything. Absolutely everything. And I just didn’t get it.
Maybe it was just ignorance on my part or the begrudger in me, I don’t know. But now I take it all back. Mainly because he is genuinely funny. He’s clever, and writes sharp, original material. He’s confident, has a unique style and an infectious enthusiasm. And that’s why he’s achieved such success. I can see that now. And he’s still on fucking everything! But that’s okay. Could be worse, could be Ed Byrne.
So I take it all back Dara. It wasn’t you, it was me. Maybe I was blaming you for Andrew Maxwell and the other half-wits on The Panel. But now I’ve come clean I really hope we can move on?
Sex, Drugs and Snowy Balls…
I went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona the other day. And watched No Country For Old Men last week. And now I want to make a movie.
Lately I’ve been listening to the new Prodigy album and have discovered the joys of Neon Neon. Oh and Florence and the Machine. So now I want to record a post-rock, avant-garde, synth-fuelled album too.
I’m all abuzz with wanting to be creative yet I can’t come up with any inspiration to write a post other than this one before your disbelieving eyes.
So what hope have I of outdoing the Coen Brothers, Woody Allen or even Gruff Rhys?
It’s gotten so bad I was going to write a post about Bouli, the fucking cartoon snowman from the early 90’s. Yes him of the “fear sneachta beag, hata ar a ceann” fame.
*Light bulb over head type moment*
Wait a minute.
Maybe I could do a live action, movie version of Bouli? The snowy lad with the red nose could definitely get it on with Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson while being chased by an ageing sheriff around the dusty plains of Texas.
To the strains of NaRocRocian pan-pipe interpretations of Neon Neon and the Prodigy you say? Why not.
“Sex, drugs and snowy balls”. That’s the tagline right there.
Bouli, The Movie... Coming Soon!
I think I may have a hit on my hands here people.
Anyone got Javier Bardem’s number?
Work. Life. Spring.
A breeze. A scent. A sense of life.
Spring. The sun. A golden light.
A car. Red car. Go slow. White door.
A sound. A band. Of marquee moon.
A man. Old man. No plan. Grey beard.
A haze. A hum. Mechanical strum.
A girl. Short skirt. He looks. She likes.
A child. No cares. No hair. All smiles.
A day. A life. A walk to work.
