As I sat in the waiting area of Heuston Station for my train to Limerick, I heard a deep sigh to my right. Well, well, well. What was this? A visually appealing gentleman in his late twenties, with his arms crossed, huffing and puffing. I looked away. I’m not good with small talk. Especially when someone looks anxious. Continue reading Weekend in Limerick
Later this afternoon I will travel to the homeland. To Limerick. Home place to Terry Wogan; Richard Harris; The Cranberries; Ruth Negga and Donkey Ford’s fish and chip shop. Incomprehensibly I have never partook of the deep fried goodness on offer in the latter location. Donkey Ford’s is a Limerick legend. A fast food emporium that has won national awards for its greasy goodness. Continue reading A weekend planned in advance – chips from Donkey Ford’s
Some months ago I started reading the book ‘The thing about December’ by Donal Ryan. I put it to one side in the run-up to, the duration and aftermath of the theatre festival. On my recent weekend in Lisbon it accompanied me. Continue reading Bookworm: ‘The thing about December’
The bus stop on the quays of the river Liffey, is a bus stop of promise. It brings you to the airport – to fly away to exotic places like Liverpool and Hull. And Lisbon. On Friday like a busy worker bee I was buzzing at the stop, waiting to be whisked to Terminal 1 of Dublin Airport for my Ryanair flight. Continue reading Lisbon in spring
Tomorrow afternoon I go on my travels. A long weekend in Portugal to the capital city of Lisbon (or Lisboa in Portuguese) to be more precise. Continue reading Getting in touch with my Lisbian side
It’s coming up to the two year anniversary of the marriage equality referendum. In what is becoming a minor annual tradition, I updated my Facebook profile picture to a snap taken of me the day before the vote. I had just come home from an afternoon of haranguing passers-by ,encouraging them to vote in favour of equal civil rights for their fellow citizens, on the streets of Limerick. I sported a hi-viz orange vest which proclaimed ‘Yes Quality’. At the time, I didn’t bother telling anyone that, as I’d been out of he country for fifteen years I was not allowed to vote. My voting card still arrived at the Mammy’s address however. What should I do with that I wondered? In time honoured ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ tradition I exercised my forbidden democratic right. Continue reading Culture vulture: The Literary Festival
If a music artist or band plays a gig, I find that the first time I see them perform has a tendency to be the most enjoyable. The most obvious example is Madonna – although in her case my perception might be skewed by the fact that a gaggle of gays from Amsterdam and Dublin, convened in London to her see her perform her Reinvention Tour – which was essentially a greatest hits tour to re-engage her fanbase after a flop album; and before she descended into a parody of her former self becoming the oldest swinger in town, who’s down with the kids.
It was an outstandingly joyous event. My father had only died a short time before. Another fatherless Canadian gay friend and I, teamed up with a random fatherless lesbian and unmelodiously shrieked along to ‘Like a prayer’ like it was our anthem,.
Later tours exposed her musical mediocrity – her obsession with being regarded as some avant-garde, alternative genius, exposing how ropy and uninteresting her newer music had become. Play the hits woman – you’re charging over a hundred quid a ticket, nobody wants to hear you rap. Continue reading Hometown glory – The Cranberries
Each morning about fifteen minutes after arriving at work I will go downstairs for breakfast. I am not an adventurous person when it comes to my morning meal – it is the same every day. A mug of coffee, a slice of batch toast (with butter, not margarine) and a hardboiled egg. Monday to Friday sees little variation (although I have – on occasions of mild rebellion – been known to partake of a bowl of porridge). It’s not that I lack an adventurous spirit, it’s just that being a diabetic of the Type 1 kind, a food routine is important. Maintain those blood sugar levels. Continue reading I lost this battle. But I will win the war
Meetings are a pet hate of mine. In my (completely unscientific) opinion they are an utter waste of time in about 95% of cases. They serve no purpose other than to allow some show-boater who was deprived of attention as a child the chance to engage in a bit of self-promotion. Continue reading A manifesto for mediocrity
A year has gone by since this little adventure.
I’ve already described my time as a volunteer at the International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival in detail. So the vast readership of this blog (all 23 of you) may be a bit sick of my babbling about the gazillions of plays that I have seen over the past fortnight.
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