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Tuesday January 29, 2013

Amongst The Moans, A Glimpse Of Beauty

Rosie de Burgh - avoid at all costs!

By Charley Brady

It's the first month in 2013, which as we all now have heard ad nauseum is the Year of the Gathering. So I think that it is only fair to give you a heads up on some things to avoid, especially if you are visiting these shores for the first time.

Some of them might seem to be no-brainers. Irish politicians, for example. They're probably no different to politicians everywhere; which is to say that unless you are coming up to an election and find them trying to shake your hand as if you were their best mate, even whilst you are counting your fingers to make sure that they aren't trying to steal one, AVOID!

It may be a little harder for you than it is as for us at the moment as they will be trying to pump money out of visitors as hard as they can. As for us, they couldn't give a rat's arse because they don't need votes for a while.

On this note, believe everything that Gabriel Byrne is telling you because it is the truth. I'll get back to our dear elected later, though.

You may want to avoid reading any newspapers entirely, because on the off chance that one even falls open in front of you by accident it is very possible that it will have a photograph (usually posted by herself) of Rosanna Davison in it. At which point you will be scratching your head and wondering what the fuss is about? Why is she everywhere? (I think that there is some sort of unspoken rule that when you mention her you must use the words "stunning blonde" or the like so consider them mentioned.)

That's a good point: but in Ireland of the Gathering she is not just a B-List celebrity who was once Miss World, she is the daughter of Chris de Burgh, a balladeer with an enormous sense of his own importance. Thus, in the weird world that we live in, Rosie de Burgh is seen as some sort of icon.

Rosie herself has been absolutely phenomenal at pushing her own image, be it telling us frankly weird things like her belief that she was married to her father in another incarnation or just simply getting her gear off for Playboy magazine.

I suppose that the reason she irritates normal people here so much is because she's one of those characters who endlessly tweets and sends images to total strangers concerning her perfect life. Again, easy to AVOID except that now and then she'll come out with a beauty where she boasts that she was coming home from one her many upmarket nightclub trips and couldn't get a taxi. At which point some friendly policemen recognised who she was (Chris de Burgh's daughter, in case you missed that one and if you did she won't be long in telling you) and screamed to a halt in order to take her safely home.

That's our Rosie: whilst the peasants wore out the shoe leather there was Rosie with a police escort.

She recently got engaged and because she's Rosie de Burgh images were flashed to all and sundry about this exciting news and the fact that when her hubbie-to-be popped the question - in Mauritius, where else? - out sprang Chris to sing "Lady in Red" (of course!) to them. Any normal person would be dying of embarrassment at the nonsense they go on with, but no, in the world of those who walk between the raindrops this is seen as everyday life.

AVIOD! BOTH ROSIE AND CHRIS.

If you are not a soccer fan then avoid all those who are. This is much more difficult than avoiding politicians or Rosanna as it is almost taken for granted in Ireland that you are a fan of English soccer.

It may be that, like me, you don't see the sense in harping on about a game where there are overpaid clowns falling down, rolling on the ground and crying about non-existent injuries that a hurler would laugh at. If you take that attitude then it might seem sensible to just stare at your pint after telling whoever is bending your ear that you don't care who scored what goal last night.

This does not work. Despite the fact that you have explained - often in four letter words -that you do not care for the game of soccer, it is still entirely likely that you will be regaled with tedious tales of who scored what ten decades ago. You may have left your pint, gone out for a cigarette, taken a walk and had a cheeseburger with horse in it but you will still return to find the designated Pub Soccer Bore in full flight. He possibly has not even noticed that you were gone.

The only way to discourage this is by wondering aloud why so many who demonstrated against the visit to Ireland of Queen Elizabeth were wearing English soccer jerseys. At this point you will be greeted with a dopey blank stare and a look of umbrage that is mixed with puzzlement.

After that it is likely that he'll go off and bore someone else about 800 years of British rule and how his favourite team are Manchester United.

AVOID! WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE!

When I returned to this column I didn;t think that I would have to worry about avoiding writing about Bertie Ahern. He scuttled off into the sunset a couple of years back. Yet like some others I could mention he hasn;t gone away, you know.

In 2010 Bertie announced to his less-than-adoring public that he would be forfeiting one of his pensions in order to help the public purse. He has, of course, spent decades portraying himself as a simple, humble man of the people with simple, humble tastes. It is an image that was more than a bit shredded by this stage so I guess that Ahern thought this might scrape him back a few brownie points with the gullible; and let's be honest, you have to be very damned gullible indeed to believe anything that comes out of this fella;s lying mouth. I suppose, though, that the fact that he was so upfront and open about it put a few minds at ease. But this is Ahern, the man who even a prize fraud like Charlie Haughey stood in awe of. Ahern probably hoped that the bigger and more outrageous the lie the more chance there was of getting away with it.

If Jesus Christ returned tomorrow and found his name being uttered by the likes of Ahern in order to give him a bit of weight, he would run amok on the lot of them with his whip of cords in a way that would make the clearing of the money-lenders in the Temple look like child's play.

So it was in February of two years ago that Ahern very quietly, and with no fuss, arranged with the Department of Finance to go back on his word. Well, that is something that he is very good at, of course; but this time it was so devious that even I was stunned. In fact, after that public hand-wringing all he gave up was a total of €14,000. And what can you say when you consider that this regular mass-goer -this man who tells us how much the study of the Beatitudes means to him - has not a problem in the world with lying yet again. He would lie on a stack of bibles, Beatitudes or no.

If Jesus Christ returned tomorrow and found his name being uttered by the likes of Ahern in order to give him a bit of weight, he would run amok on the lot of them with his whip of cords in a way that would make the clearing of the money-lenders in the Temple look like child's play.

In fact, with his TD pension of €53,000 and his Minister's pension of €111,000 he is pulling in €150,000 a year (at which it is capped) as a reward for helping to run the country into the ground. He's not the only one capped at that, of course. Brian Cowen and Liam Cosgrave are the same. We're not particularly surprised at these sums; it is the sheer blatant lies that leave you with the jaw open when it comes to Ahern. And then of course he turns around and claims Artist's Exemption on his autobiography. At least some confused booksellers filed that one under 'fiction'.

Staying with the Bible analogies our beloved leader Enda Kenny did a fair old Pontius Pilate impression during Leaders Questions in the Dail concerning this. "I do not speak for them", he wailed to the multitude. Of course not, Kenny. You don't seem to be able to cut anyone's money except the ordinary worker, except the ordinary tax payer. You're helpless to intervene with the bankers as well. They can continue to pay themselves outrageous sums as well as bonuses, but with Paddy and Bridget Q. Sucker it is slash and slash again. You have to look good for Angela Merkel, you have to look good for the Germans; and meanwhile young Irish people leave in droves and the ones left behind get poorer and poorer whilst watching the architects of their destruction walk away.

He is not the only one at it but I single Ahern out because he is symptomatic of the malaise in this country. And then we are supposed to get all enthusiastic about The Gathering? We are all supposed to smile and tell the world that, sure, we're just fine; we're taking it on the chin so we are. The hell with that. We're not fine and there is a real feeling of despair here, no matter how many Time magazine covers Kenny gets his face on.

Should you see Bertie coming from Mass, pondering some point of scripture and contemplating a simple, humble pint of Bass then AVOID! For the sake of your sanity and your wallet, AVOID! For somehow, some way, he will end up costing you money.

When I get this stuff down on paper it can sometimes be cathartic and sometimes just put me in a foul mood. So it is nice to finish today with something that was completely unexpected for me. During the week I found myself watching a DVD of an amateur production of a musical. Yes, you read that correctly. Now normally the words 'amateur production' in conjunction with 'musical' would be enough to send me screaming for the hills. Combine them with 'DVD of...' and it would be time to stick the red-hot needles in my eyes. So imagine how surprised I was to find myself sitting there with a big dopey grin of happiness on my face.

This was something called Open-Air Oklahoma! It was filmed in 2010 on a GAA field in County Tipperary and starred what seemed to be the entire population of Boherlahan-Dualla. From beginning to end it was an absolute joy. When it was over I felt as if I could have watched another two hours of it. Fabulous music, wonderful songs and a marvellous setting.

Now I will emphasise that I know nobody involved in it and the details on the disc are a bit sparse. I'm only writing about this because this is the kind of thing that I hope The Gathering is contributing to. This was an entire Irish community coming together and doing something (for charity) that must have taken them months to organise. It was a real kick at the end to see credits like 'horses supplied by...' or 'turkeys supplied by...' If ever there was a labour of love done by an entire town - it is situated between Thurles and Cashel - then this is it. I got that warm glow that you feel when you watch the dance sequence in My Darling Clementine; or perhaps an even better example would be the wonderful barn-raising sequence amongst the Amish in Witness: a whole township coming together and making something really beautiful. The costumes, the props, the look on the faces of the village children having a great old time... there was nothing not to like.

I really can't rave enough about this production. For a couple of magical hours I was reminded of what real Irish men and women can accomplish; and I forgot completely about venal politicians and a world where people become 'celebrities' because they stay in a bloody house together for a few weeks. As I say, I don't know anyone involved in it, but I'm sure if you Google it there will be details and photographs.

NB: I had finished this as we began to hear some of the details on the murder of Garda Adrian Donohoe coming in. There's little I can add at this point except to send my sincere condolences to his family. RIP.

You can contact me at chasbrady7@eircom.net or follow me on my blog at www.charleybrady.com

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