The International Bar close to Dame Street was the venue for the new one act play ‘Show me your everything’ by Canadian playwright Rose Ugoalah which is playing this week. Having seen and enjoyed her short play ‘Love me Tinder’ in the same location last year, I was looking forward to this new piece. Continue reading Theatre times: ”Show me your everything’
A friend invited me for a midweek beverage. This would be a rare Tuesday night excursion for me. However seeing as the location was in George’s Dock in the IFSC, close to my house I had no excuse.
Running for a fortnight at the end of September, is the German festival of Oktoberfest. This was our destination.
I’ve never been to the German version – although I am aware that it is massive beer festival originating in Munich in Germany, where the German delicacies of beer and bratwurst and lederhosen are celebrated. People drink massive steiners of beer served by comely farm wenches. Or something. Continue reading Oktoberfest Dublin – the scam
My plans were noble for this Sunday. I was going to visit the Irish Jewish Museum on the South Circular Road. Sadly, by the time I had pulled myself together it was already 3pm – and almost closing time.
Wanting to have a somewhat productive Sunday I decided that a coastal walk would be an enjoyable alternative excursion. I had once heard loose talk in some sleazy tavern, that the Dalkey to Killiney coast walk was a pleasant stroll. Continue reading Seaside on Sunday
Each year in Ireland there is an event called ‘Culture night’ – an evening where museums, galleries and exhibition spaces are open late, and free for all and sundry. Tonight was that night.
I am a lucky boy in the sense that I finish work at 4pm on a Friday and I live in the city centre. My last quarter of an hour at work was spent clicking on the website, to find cultural things to do on the way home.
The plan was simple. My bus stops at the top of O’Connell Street – I was going to try my luck at getting a backstage tour of the Gate Theatre, and mosey over to the Writers’ Museum to see if I could draw inspiration from other authors’ pain.
I arrived in town at 5pm. The lovely woman at the Gate box office told me that their event was starting at 7.30pm. Too late for my carcass. I wandered over and investigated the Writers’ Museum which was reasonably engaging.
Then I had a brainwave. I’d head towards the Customs’ House which – for one night only – was open to the public.
En route I passed the Abbey Theatre – the national theatre of Ireland. There was a queue outside. My interest was piqued. What could this be? Continue reading Theatre times: ‘Katie Roche’
It has been a long time coming – this Red Hot Chili Peppers concert at the 3Arena. So long – thirteen months – that I have in fact written blog posts about the gig on two previous occasions.
The first post (which you can read HERE ) describes my excitement last August getting the tickets, my memories of the Chili Peppers covers band who introduced me to Amsterdam in the year 2000, and the impure thoughts I used to have about the lead singer Anthony Kiedis.
The second post (which you can read HERE) details how a mere days before the Christmas gig – the opening night of the world tour – my Anthony got the flu, and postponed the concert until last night – the closing night of the tour.
I was ready. I had been ready for over a year. I was late leaving work so I didn’t have a chance to go home to dress for a rock gig. I would not be wearing a bandana this evening. I would be eating a big, greasy burrito from ‘Burrito Blues’ in the IFSC, on the way down to the concert though. Continue reading Concert: Red Hot Chili Peppers
I was talking to someone about my recent experience hitchhiking in Leitrim. They looked horrified that I had engaged in an activity that would so obviously end with me buried alive in a shallow grave in the hills of the west. I thought about this on the bus, on the way home from work on Wednesday.
I understand people’s concern about this means of transport. A few horrible stories of murdered travellers about twenty years ago seems to have ended its popularity. It is a rare sight to see someone thumbing a lift these days.
It was not always so. Way back in the mists of time, during and immediately after college, it was my preferred method of getting from point A to point B. Firstly it was free, which was always a consideration for a poor student. Secondly it was what people did back then. There was no scandal in hitching a ride. It displayed an element of courage and practicality (even back then though people had justifiable misgivings about its safety). And you’d meet some interesting people along the way, who hopefully wouldn’t dismember you and feed you to the fishes.
I’ve had some interesting lifts. Continue reading Hitching a ride
The woman in the canteen is finishing on Friday. Everyone is quite shocked. She’s been there since the office opened about five years ago.
She is an absolutely terrifying person, while at the same time being an absolute sweetheart. I’d guess she’d be in her late fifties at this point. Although this is just a guess.
Wearing the black uniform and neckerchief of the catering company that employs her, means that she always looks the same. I had been working in the company for about a year when I saw her in her civilian clothing for the first time. I was surprised to see that her hair was shoulder length and blonde. She’s a true blue Dub, with an accent that could cut glass. Continue reading Minimum wage
Shakespeare is the godfather of the English language. Writer of plays and sonnets; inventor of words and phrases now in everyday use in the language; international man of mystery – who was he really, and how could he know the interior design of Helsingør castle in Denmark – where Hamlet is set – unless he had visited himself?
What he also is, is a man of the sixteenth century. Meaning that his classic plays can be quite difficult to follow unless you are well acquainted with his writing, or the production is staged in a manner where the explanation clear from the movement rather than just the words.
I know that Shakespeare was a genius. I know of his importance in the development of the English language. However I have never enjoyed watching his plays on stage. They are a bit too much like hard work for someone of such lightweight intellect as myself. In other words, I don’t enjoy spending 50% of my time in the theatre translating what is being spoken onstage.
It was therefore with some trepidation that I attended my old home of The Teachers’ Club last night to see Thirteenth Floor Theatre’s production of ‘Lear’ – an adaptation of ‘King Lear’ directed by Bruno Theodoro. Continue reading ‘King Lear’ because I am classy
Some weeks ago some friends asked me if I was interested in joining them for a week on a river Shannon barge cruise. Well of course I was. The problem however is the greed with which I had already consumed my holidays this year. Never fear, I told them. I will join you for the first night on the river. On Sunday I would bid them ‘Ahoy’ and make my way back to Dublin. My intention was to be back by early evening, so I could hopefully enjoy the celebrations, after Mayo’s victory against Dublin in the all-Ireland football final. Continue reading Leitrim and the Shannon were worthy opponents, but I prevailed.
This blog post will not be new to anyone sees my Facebook updates.
However seeing as it concerns my bus journey to work, I want to store it in a more permanent and accessible location than Zuckerberg’s platform – I have vague notions of turning these accounts of my daily trek to the wastelands into a musical (called ‘Why Me?’ – the theme song will be a voiceover, by the angelic Linda Martin – aged 39.)
That last paragraph is not remotely true, except for wanting to compile stories of my bus journeys in a central location. People seem to enjoy these journeys far more than I do. And I can smell potential.
On Thursday morning I had a dental appointment. Afterwards feeling all tender, I made my way to the top of O’Connell Street, to reach the bus, to whisk me away to the nothingness of my work location. I turned left onto Parnell Street.
The gathered crowd and the wailing shrieks on the pavement outside the electronics store Cash Encounters, drew my attention. Continue reading Dirty old Dublin town