Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Well good morning to you on this lovely Tuesday. I am in London basking in the late morning sun leaking through the window of this Hackney bedroom. The air is full of the residue of celebration, as the English have gone about their day with a sprightly spring in their step after watching a true sporting hero being born. To be honest I lost my desire to see England lose years ago and last night I was truly delighted to see Wayne Rooney join in the fine ranks of sporting heroes of the world. I am thoroughly enjoying the European Cup and must most definitely accept that I am now a real football fan as not only do I enjoy it but also a passion grows in me even when I am watching the most meaningless matches. So as the Birds sing on the trees around Well Street Common with a cockney whistle I find myself that little bit less annoyed with the English than I have been most of my life.
So I went to the Fleadh on Sunday as much as I am softening on the English I needed a break as well. Saw Bob Dylan on a not so great night of his. It was great to see a legend in the Flesh though. Saw Damien Dempsey though and he was amazing. What a passion this man has. What an unashamed honesty. It’s hard to write a song called Love Yourself in Ireland and not worry about every sarcastic bastard in the country taking the piss out of you. Saw Christy Moore too. Never had before and it was great though the rain was pumping down at that stage. Great day though. Still plenty of Irish in London that’s for sure. Not enough Irish acts I fear but I am sure next year will be different as the organizers came in for some criticism on that one.
Going to see Conor McPherson’s new play tonight. I fear I have spelled his name wrong. Looking forward to that. Have to keep supporting the Irish stuff over here. I don’t know what’s happening to me. God when I go home to New York I might even have to go to Gaelic Park or up to Woodlawn to get some tayto. I don’t even like tayto its just something you do when you are away from Ireland. You see Paddy shams walking around the Irish areas of the Bronx whispering in your ear. “Hey you wanna buy some Tayto, first ones for free you like it come back.”
10 days later….
“Hey man come on give me one bag. You gave me the first one free can’t you just give me one more. My wife has left me, as she can’t take the bad breath. My kids hate me because I won’t share. I have lost everything. All I have is that little yellow bastard that ran away with Tommy Nicholson’s Ma. Please hook me up.”
The pain of emigration
So I went to the Fleadh on Sunday as much as I am softening on the English I needed a break as well. Saw Bob Dylan on a not so great night of his. It was great to see a legend in the Flesh though. Saw Damien Dempsey though and he was amazing. What a passion this man has. What an unashamed honesty. It’s hard to write a song called Love Yourself in Ireland and not worry about every sarcastic bastard in the country taking the piss out of you. Saw Christy Moore too. Never had before and it was great though the rain was pumping down at that stage. Great day though. Still plenty of Irish in London that’s for sure. Not enough Irish acts I fear but I am sure next year will be different as the organizers came in for some criticism on that one.
Going to see Conor McPherson’s new play tonight. I fear I have spelled his name wrong. Looking forward to that. Have to keep supporting the Irish stuff over here. I don’t know what’s happening to me. God when I go home to New York I might even have to go to Gaelic Park or up to Woodlawn to get some tayto. I don’t even like tayto its just something you do when you are away from Ireland. You see Paddy shams walking around the Irish areas of the Bronx whispering in your ear. “Hey you wanna buy some Tayto, first ones for free you like it come back.”
10 days later….
“Hey man come on give me one bag. You gave me the first one free can’t you just give me one more. My wife has left me, as she can’t take the bad breath. My kids hate me because I won’t share. I have lost everything. All I have is that little yellow bastard that ran away with Tommy Nicholson’s Ma. Please hook me up.”
The pain of emigration
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