Posts Tagged ‘ Life ’

Nothing else to say.

As none of you may have noticed, there is a huge gap in my posts. I would explain, dear non-existent readers, but what would be the point? I barely remember the last few years myself, so what could I divulge but a soggy mass of days glued together by fear and inaction. No, let us move forward, a new beginning, a fresh starting line. I launch today.

So I am going to start therapy. The woman I picked out of a rather short list of local psychotherapists had a little (Negotiable) sign beside her per hour price. This appealed to me for two reasons. The first and most obvious being that I am and probably always will be a poor saintly hobo, so getting her down in price will help me actually afford it on a weekly basis. The second reason, and I hope I am right in this, Is that her choice to make the price negotiable reflects a higher form of empathy than her fellow therapists. She wants her service to actually be available to the people that need it most, including us poor folk.

I’ll know by Tuesday, my first session starts at 2pm. I am quite scared, but I really need to stick with this, stick with something. I’ll have to break myself down and rebuild, a Keith better capable of dealing with this world, I have wasted enough time. It all hinges on my courage, which… Given my past history, does not exactly inspire me with the greatest of confidence, but I know there is a Lion inside of me somewhere, I need to get him out of hiding.

In other news, I am in love with a young woman I have never met, she’ll need an entire blog post of her own, such is her stranglehold upon my affections. Technically as of right now we’re not really supposed to be speaking at all. The final farewell was nice enough, the one before it not so much. Anyway, I am in love with her but I lack the courage to follow the path, for various reasons. We’ll get into those as the weeks progress.

So… Dear phantom audience, I am back. From this moment on, only the hard truth shall find its way onto these virtual pages, no more bullshit or delusion. We’re going deep.

Tata for now.

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Neil Young?

I remember the wonderful sunny day in Dublin City. I remember the amber whiskey flowing so smooth. I remember the fantastic concert as a swirl of noise and laughing faces. I remember that thirty minute guitar solo that bleed all over the large crowd. I remember my cousin Daniel asleep on the grass, with limbs out like some slumbering angel. I remember Philip having one of the most profound experiences of his life at the piss pots. I remember leaving. I remember an insane amount of ranting while standing in the middle of nowhere in darkness. I remember threatening to throw both myself and Vincent out of the emergency exit of the bus and under a speeding car. I remember meaning it. I remember Vincent laughing that he would gladly die if it meant I would die too. I remember him also meaning it. I remember the fifteen minute discussion on the best way to eat your own face. I remember the laughter that would not stop because I had temporarily lost my mind. I remember the middle aged woman and her husband beside us, masks of fear etched across their faces. I remember another couple laughing. Oh dear lord, what happened last night?

 

I don’t think I want to remember some of it.

Low and behold things are killing me.

Well…

My family is on the verge of fracture, it’s a sad state of affairs, this Blog will more than likely be depressing, so if you’re in a good mood and want to keep it that way I would suggest you come back when you’re already in a lousy dark mood, or just don’t read it at all, that way I won’t be responsible for bringing you down. See how fucking considerate I am?

Anyway, They’re divorcing apparently, I say apparently because they’ve been attempting to figure out just how to go about it for some time now, still living under the same roof, quite a bizarre living arrangement… An acrid taste of bitterness surrounds the pair of them the closer their proximity to each other, you can feel it, like waves of unspoken, unheard of anger and disappointment, they co-exist peacefully while everyday life is smooth, but as soon as a bump comes along the tensions resurface and my mother is telling my father and us (My brothers and I) that she’s on the phone to a lawyer to start the process, this invariably comes to nothing after a few days of heightened tension between them..my mother lacks the strength to leave my father I think, too afraid… years of dependence on him has cemented a sort of warped symbiotic relationship in which she needs and resents him in equal measure.

The problem I have with the whole thing is that they just can’t seem to make a break, even though it’s painfully obvious that they’re both suffocating in the coffin that their marriage has become, I have to contend with the pair of them approaching me and in very subtle and deceptive ways, seeking my support against the other. Oh how I wish I wish upon a star they would leave me out of the whole tangled mess, being around this constant state of despairing flux without getting sucked into it requires a tremendous amount of energy. I can’t possibly take a side, either of which leaves me hurting and alienating the other… The only choice I have is to stay out of it, even if it means both of them resenting me for it short term. It would be easy to hate them both, but I found in the past that to hold onto anger is to ferment bitterness and that rots you from the inside out, they both made plenty of mistakes down the years, failing to look at themselves and their actions honestly, they only reserve those particular goggles of truth for the other in the marriage, but I can hardly turn around and say that to the pair of them, both unwilling to leave their drowning embrace of blame, I don’t know every facet of their ruinous marriage story they would say, and they would be right. Nothing to be done it seems, I must endure.

My oldest brother is another story, during his late teens he developed Schizophrenia, it completely devastated his life, gone was the brother I knew of old, outgoing… Happy…  At ease with himself, all replaced by irrational and terrifying fears that rule his life. Who… Without medication that makes him feel emotionally numb, becomes so anxious and convinced of an unseen pending doom that he literally just shuts down, all because some wiring in the brain is slightly off. I’m not sure we ever really recovered fully from that, that was the knockout punch that finished my staggering family off and we’ve been falling to the canvas ever since. I think for a long time I was convinced what happened to my brother would happen to me, that I would go crazy or was going crazy, I distanced myself from him in many ways because of it, he reminded me of one of my deepest fears. Many years ago when I used to visit him at the time he was first diagnosed in hospital it used to fill me with dread, not the going to see him part, but the hospital itself, it was so run down and monochrome and all the patients, from the young to the very old, all just seemed to stand and stare or stagger down lonely echoed halls in those flip floppy slippers in silence. I used to wonder why no one said anything, I didn’t know at the time they were all ultra heavily medicated or trapped inside their skulls unable to escape back to the world around them. The Atmosphere in psych hospitals is uniquely morbid, more so than a morgue, which I’ve also had the displeasure of being in, people in the morgue may be dead… yes, but there is a finality to it, an end, with madness there is no such luxury, only a life and a world that offers constant confusion, a horrible isolation of mind that no one should have to go through, people joke and laugh about being insane… But if you saw it take someone you loved, it starts to lose its appeal.

For all that my brother has to endure, he is the kindest soul I’ve ever known, there is no badness in him… None whatsoever, a purity of character reserved for those who must live life with the awful affliction of mental dispair, it breeds a remarkably unique empathy, at least it has in my brother, I really must try harder to be a better brother to him, at least I know the fear that kept me distant before, I have the luxury my brother does not have of choosing not to give in to despair. My father is planning on building a house and wants to put it in my name to comply with Meath planning permission, I told him to put it in my brothers name, that way he will always have a roof over his head, always have a home, the torch of responsibility for taking care of him will one day pass to me, but like that fabulously catchy song goes, he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.

So yes, the sea of life is rough and I’m the night watchman on the Titanic, but you can’t let the dark times get to you, not as long as you can dream, Cheshire cat grin as you stare down the iceberg. It won’t always be like this. I must travel, I’ve put it off in one form or another for a few years now, my own impulsiveness the lead suspect in that particular case, but my feet are itchy and only the horizon can scratch them, so loose plans shall be made! (Yet again..)

Life really is a roller coaster, you wait in line for what seems like an eternity only to ripped off for a ride on rails that has you laughing at the ups, screaming at the downs and by the time you reach the end there’s a good chance you’re covered in vomit…

Shit… Ruined my ending.

Fuck it.

PS: To the Architects of the Lisbon treaty, go away, shoo, fuck off, you failed.

If you work for a living, why do you kill yourself working?

Work

The Sheer horror of it.

Even the word fills me with an empty black dread, now don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of good honest labour, but let’s be frank, there is a big difference between Work and labour, the former bringing with it countless other annoying social conundrums to contend with, work relationships and the putting up with of assholes “The Boss”, rules , regulations, being on time.. Etc etc. All very annoying we can agree. I Say this because I happen to be stuck in work at the moment, slaving like an 8 year old Malaysian Adidas employee, endless reams of numbers, statements, Invoices, quotations, phone calls. This high pressure corporate world is crushing my poor Hobo Soul, turning me into a machine of profit… All I can think about now is my Job and the making of lots and lots of money so that I may buy such important things as thick Gold Chains and Jewellery to inform the world around me that I have a lot of disposable income and don’t mind flaunting it with meaningless displays of perverse affluence, maybe a flashy car that makes very loud Vroom Vroom noises and is shaped and curved like some fifties American pin up, so that I can impress members of the opposite sex in  the hopes that I might be afforded the chance to stick my penis into them……. Come on ladies, look at me, I have prospects, I have wealth, you can have some too, just let me stick my penis in you!

No…….. wait, wait. I am lying through my sun tanned teeth.

You see, in actual reality, today is “Bring your shotgun into work day” A really fun work bonding experience that involves a Shotgun, 450 rounds of ammunition, 450 Clay Pigeons, a Clay Pigeon Launcher, and one disused scrap yard filled with the hulking wrecks of looming cranes and great big diggers you used to see as a child and dream of driving through anyone and anything that stood in your way… Now just carcasses, a mix of rust and that comforting danger yellow most heavy machinery seems to be blessed with, resigned to rot until someone deems it finally profitable to smelt them down. This idea is the brain child of my father (The Boss). For his many faults, and I do mean many, he is actually one of the greatest employers you can have, (If you’re not his son, that is) as far from conventional as you can get basically. So instead of working this afternoon we all went out back to the scrap yard and set up a firing range, why work when you can blow the crap out of hunks of Clay as they hurtle through the air, I like to imagine they’re little alien saucers flying overhead, trying to spy on us, finding victims for their suitcases of Anal probes, not on my watch, not with my trusty double barrel shotgun at the ready, eat high velocity lead you bug eyed bastards!

Anyway, there was six of us in total and we each took our turns belting out the lead as the clay pigeons sailed silently through the sky at various angles, the wind catching and twisting them in unpredictable directions right at the moment you’re about the pull the trigger, needless to say just about everyone missed most of what they were shooting at(Except myself of course), but not really caring as the sheer thrill of hearing that violent burst of sound that makes your heart jump and your ears scream, the mood was jovial but edgy, which can’t be helped because no matter how much fun you have shooting inanimate objects that secret fear is always in the back of your mind, this machine is designed to Kill, I never forget that when I hold a shotgun, it was no different this time around, especially given the fact that what we were doing was not strictly legal, randomly deciding to shoot weapons in the workplace (Unless you’re a gun club) is generally frowned upon by health and safety inspectors.

But on a slightly lighter note I think I made quite an impression on the youngest of our employees here, “Little” Johnny as he’s affectionately come to be known, due to his small stature, just shy of five feet tall and at 17 probably not going to get any taller, cue little man syndrome, he’s joined a gym to beef himself up, I think his logic is that if he beefs himself up to an Adonis like condition it will somehow compensate for his lack of height (Endlessly fascinated with the expressions of little man syndrome in the vertically challenged people I meet) But he’s a nice fellow, with a good heart and a common sense you don’t expect from someone that age (I had none at that age, not much now for that matter) but all afternoon he wouldn’t stop complementing my skill with the shooting, asking me for tips, had I ever competed or would I consider it, flattery flattery flattery, no idea what to do with it once I receive it, he seems to think my rather nihilistic view of life and its problems is hilarious and easy going, I don’t have the heart to explain to him that it’s really just a cover for my own inability to find and express any type of meaning into my life at the moment, that’s too heavy a truth to place on the shoulders of  little angel faced johnny, who knows nothing of these things, let him have his delusion, at least for now, life will crush him soon enough. Anyway… Excellent times were had all round, by the time we finished it was 4.30pm and almost time to go home, I just had to reflect on the fact that I’m glad I don’t work in some normal structured environment,  I’d never last, Chaos is too close a friend for that kind of world, I’ve no idea what I am going to do with myself long term, I’ve yet to find my purpose, my “use” to make this world a somewhat better place if such a position exists for me, but for now, this will do just nicely, at least until it all comes crashing down around our heads, which it will.

Roll on “Bring Your Hammock and Honey Rum to Work Day”

Me, My Balls and I

*WARNING: FOLLOWING BLOG CONTAINS EXPLICIT DESCRIPTION OF MY BALLS*

Well….

I’ve just had two women fondle my nut sack, but not in the fashion I’d have liked. For some time now I’ve had a small lump on my Scrotum which mildly concerned me, but not enough to spur me into action. Finally in the last week this lump started to grow at an alarming rate and became painful, I was forced with a choice, delude myself into thinking nothing was wrong, or go see the doctor about whatever horrible potential thing was happening to my man bits. As appealing as the first option was, I took a dose of courage and made an appointment for this morning; the doctor was young, female and attractive…good thing I hear you say?…How wrong you are! I got a bad case of stage fright, it was bloody cold in that room, that’s my excuse, so I felt I was a little misrepresented truth be told… But anyway, she asked me to pull down my pants… Not to my ankles mind you, that would spare me a shred of dignity, no-no…  just enough to expose my bum and frontal area for her viewing pleasure. I did as was told and sort of waddled into position for her inspection… After a good long minute of squinting and head tilting she finally ventured a guess “It looks like a..” she trailed off as she began to stare again, what the fuck am I supposed to think? Don’t leave me in terrifying suspense here Doctor, a diagnosis would be appreciated… “A cyst. We’re going to have drain it” she finally admits. Grand! I thought to myself, we can arrange some day to visit a surgery and have at it, plenty of time to mentally prepare myself for the coming horror, but oh no… She of course meant right now this instant and told me so very matter of factly. Before I could come up with fantabulously creative lie to escape she was out the door and into another room to prepare… Oh joy.

“Keith!… Could you follow me down the hall please.” She shouted up about a minute later… Meanwhile, I’m still standing there with my penis hanging out, debating if I should go to the trouble of pulling my pants back up to walk a few feet down a hallway or just go as was. I don’t know why but I had a little laugh to myself at the mental image of my waddling into the other room all jiggly like… What a heroic thing to do if you think about it, shame aside of course, but anyway I’m a coward so I pulled my pants up and met my destiny. Walking into the room I was told to pull my pants back down again straight away and to lay flat on the small operating table chair thingy they had… So doing as I was told I lay myself down. There was now a nurse, a much older woman… To assist the doctor, they stood either side of me and both of them began to have a little root around down below, discussing the best way to perform the procedure… It was nice, I have to admit, It was a pleasant prelude to a horrible experience, why not enjoy it? As long as I didn’t get an erection everything would be plain sailing. They decided to numb the area around the cyst (on my nutsack) with a local,  so I was informed that this would sting quite a bit. The older nurse clutched my hand in hers, which lay flat on my chest, I took this as a bad omen… I mean when do you ever see that? The only time I’ve ever seen someone clutching another persons hand like that was when something really painful and horrible was about to transpire, you clutch the hand of a dying man to bring him some small measure of comfort as that great black descends upon him.

I felt it, boy did I feel it, the needle piercing my poor scrotum, this was a new kind of sting, a high voltage sting, it’s been many a year since I have been introduced to a new frequency of stinginess but this was just intensely awful… I squeezed that old hags hand like a motherfucker. I was glad I didn’t shave my balls for this now, let the pair of them suffer like poor old foolish me, welcome to the jungle bitches!.. An eye for an eye! The pain finally reached a lovely crescendo and then vanished… Cool numbness made its introduction and I welcomed it with open arms, the needle was replaced with a small stainless steel blade… Very fine and precise, I didn’t look… I couldn’t, what man alive could lay and there and actually look at his brain being cut on like that? Not me, not today. I fixed eyes upon the ceiling and pulled the kind of grimace normally reserved for Someone attempting to shit out a football. The Old nurse didn’t seem to mind me squeezing her hand either, she finally asked if I was ok and if I needed anymore local as I looked to be in some distress… I informed her that the face I was pulling was a purely natural one considering the circumstances ( Two women, My balls and a blade ) and that she shouldn’t be alarmed as I couldn’t feel a thing now anyway… What the doctor did down there I can only guess at… It involved cutting and draining I imagine, not a pretty image… You’re probably retching or thinking about retching right now, that’s fine, I would be too, I did warn you at the start of this blog in large capital letters did I not?

It was a somewhat deflating end… I expected some gruelling ordeal but the actual incision and removal of god knows what down there turned out to be mostly pain free, so after applying a sort of bandage type deal down below I was told it was over with and that everything was fine, awkwardly pulling my pants back up I thanked the two ladies for their fine work and slowly shuffled out… Feeling 10 inches tall, there is just no pride to be salvaged from such an experience… None at all. I did the only thing I could think of doing at a moment like that. Place a hand reassuringly close to my now traumatised Balls as I began the journey home.

It’s been about two hours since the operation and the sensation is starting to return, as well as a bloody awful pain.. I had to write this fucking blog standing up. I have my laptop out  on the pool table and all I can do is wander around, sitting is sadly out of the option for the time being… I’m forced to waddle around like some kind of moron who has a bomb in his underwear, things are that delicate.

On a semi-final note, Thank you kindly for taking this journey with me… I hope it was as special for you as it was for me, I can gladly inform you that everything is still in working order down there, I actually feel as though I’ve forged a new stronger relationship with my balls now, the kind of Bond forged in the heat of certain shared death, that’s the golden shiny positive I’m taking from all of this… Shattered dreams production this was not.

Finally, to all you men out there, some advice… Fondle your nuts on a very regular basis and don’t wait if you find anything, go to your doctor damn you, they’ll lop whatever it is right offa you there and then.. If i can do it, you can too.

The Criminal Impulse.

Well…

I’ve gone and made a grievous error in judgement. I came in to work this morning with the sincere belief that I’d be a good little busy bee and get something done.. But fate and my own impulsive nature have scattered such delusions to the wind.

It all started with a simple trip to the local Centra store to get a ham and cheese roll, I should have known the omens were bad when the woman at the deli counter gave me too much cheese, nothing good comes from too much cheese.
No matter how many times I ask, in the clearest language possible (“Just a tiny amount of cheese please, I mean a really small amount.. A trace amount.. One single piece of cheese”) She pours a mountain of grated cheese into the roll, I resist the urge to force feed it up her ass so far that every time she opens her mouth a Richard Marx level of cheese comes vomiting forth, a bit harsh and slightly out of proportion with the wrong that had been done to me, but it’s one of those mornings, I pay for it and go.

Since I am not driving I had to get a lift from one of the youngsters working for *Blankety CeNsOrEd blank* on an apprenticeship, who shall remain anonymous… 19 years of age, he insisted he had to make a quick stop on the way back to the workshop… Quite fine by me, a perfectly reasonable request. So we drove down the back roads of County Meath, those narrow slips of tarmacadam that invade the lush greenery, meandering and bumpy as the ground shifts beneath it, the hedges slowly reclaiming the road as the branches from trees form a high pitched snapping drumbeat on the windshield… Beautiful clear day, my kinda lazy day… Finally arriving at a shack of a house that wouldn’t look out of place on the set of Deliverance.

Exiting the vehicle we proceeded inside to visit a friend of Anonymous… As soon as I stepped foot inside the house a wave of something hit me.. I’m not sure now if it was trepidation or an overwhelming smell, danger smell, drug smell, there was a serious amount of Narcotics on the premises… It was probably a mix of both.
I was amazed, these boys were only out of school and already neck deep in the criminal energy of men twice their age. The house lived up to my initial impressions, it was falling apart, neglect and time were taking care of that… It was like something from 1950’s Ireland… Perfectly preserved like some famine house of old. We moved into a bedroom… A large drawer was opened, I couldn’t believe my bulging eyeballs… Drugs of every description in the kinds of quantity that ensured free accommodation in any one of Ireland’s fabulous prisons for half a lifetime. I was struck with a terrible and sudden Urge, I should beat these two men into unconsciousness and stuff every last illegal substance into a giant bin bag…  How delighted would my friends be if I showed up like some kind of deranged father Christmas at their door… Reaching into my large bag to give them the kind of present they wished their parents would get them for Christmas, those matching socks would look rather dull compared to a kilo of Amsterdam’s finest vacuum backed into a brick of pure compressed joy…but I must never listen to that voice in my head, no-no… I must put it back in its box… I must smile and stand in the corner, back to the wall Keith… It’ll all be over shortly.

And over it was… Anonymous simply reached into a large bag and grabbed a clump of something nice and green, he had a toothache and this was to be his cure. Beating a hasty retreat we stopped at an old Stone bridge… Sitting out in the sun, it was a glorious day, too glorious to be working inside a stuffy factory… I sampled the painkiller, if anonymous had any pain in that tooth beforehand, I doubt he could feel it now, let alone his entire melon head (his head does actually look like a melon, so that’s not an insult).

So finallyback in work, It’s time to reflect.

Now I don’t normally consort with the criminal element, but it struck me… Rhe Drug trade in this country is being run, at least at the Lower to Mid-Level, by boys, most of whom are still in school or of that age at least. I could see the attraction for them, there is a sharp sense of danger in this line of work, a thrilling menace you only get from doing something the law of the land forbids, they seem addicted to it, like a drug in and of itself, unable to see themselves slip deeper and deeper into the quagmire… Not really bad people, just addicted to the thrill… and I must say, having the kind of addictive personality I have, I can definitely see what is appealing about it, which is exactly why I must stay away from that Criminal Impulse.

Back to shitty work, or at least pretending to work.

Good Cop… Bad Cop.

So last night I swallowed a bottle of Sour Puss in a single go… Seemed like a bright idea at the time, it did have 15% alcohol… Which would have set me up nicely for a relaxing nights sleep, except for the fact that the other 85% was mostly made up of Sugar… A long night of agitated hyper drunk ensued the likes of which I’ve never experienced before, worse still than those childhood times when I would buy those bags of pure sugar filled fizzy powder and snort it like it was Pure Grade A Colombian Snow. So very little sleep… 2 hours at most, by the time I did… At around 6.30am.. My cat decided it was a fine time to attack me remorselessly with his razor sharp claws..an adorable little game he plays which usually ends with me bleeding profusely…So I had to wrap my blanket around me in a defensive ball to keep the little shit out (I Love You Kitty) …Finally drifting off sometime later…waking up at 10am for work… Oh Joy.. Day of number crunching  ahead.

Anyway, in work now, going over the accounts of some company that’s been ripping us off for the last few months, I’m talking fierce ass pounding here… Savage Greed, the kind that really gets under my skin, mark ups of up to 600% on some things that we have been ordering. So they sent over their general manager to try and sort things out. This Gigantic bloated man with no Neck… Obviously Fat and swollen from years of sucking people dry with criminal overcharging… By the time he left this place he was sweating like the pig fucker that he is… My Dad did all the talking, I sat behind Jabba silently and nodded at the appropriate moments, holding all of the damning Invoices as my father listed all of the overpricing from the previous months, Good Cop, Bad Cop routine.. The greedy swine was doing his best to play down the affair, trying to infuse the meeting with annoying banter to which I stonewalled, it was a lovely tense affair… He came with a statement saying we owed him money, by the time he left, the opposite was the case… We gave him the proverbial spit roasting of a lifetime, now in future such reckless freed won’t be a problem, as Hunter would say..Take no Guff from these fuckers.

On a darker note..just flicking through the Guardian newspaper… Came across a story that made me sick. Young couple who happened to be Goth’s were walking home through a park when they were set upon by a gang of teenagers aged around the 15-16 age mark, they attacked the boyfriend at first, punching him to the ground and then kicked and stamped on his head until he lost consciousness, his girlfriend was hysterical… She managed to get to him and cradle his unconscious body only to be attacked herself even more savagely…they beat her so badly that when the Police arrived they couldn’t tell if she was male or female, she spent the next two weeks in a coma before she died, her boyfriend survived but suffers from severe memory loss… His girlfriend beaten to death by what was effectively a gang of children. Each of the 5 involved all deny they were the instigator and blamed the others, as cowardly little cunts are want to do.

I’m not sure what to make of it.. What does Society do with people that young who don’t bat an eyelid at the prospect of beating two innocent people to death merely because they liked to wear a darker shade of clothing and make-up?…So fucking uneducated and neglected are these children that when in packs they turn into mindless savages, each egging each other on to commit these brutal acts… How do you rehabilitate people like that?… You could lock them up for years and throw away the key but they’d eventually be released and be just as if not more savage for their time spent in prison. How do we reverse the tide of Hate? I struggle for answers… A dark part of me thinks they should be lined up against a wall and shot, bill the parents for the bullet, Chinese style Justice… But that is hardly the answer, you’re not tackling the source… Which is neglect at home, it has to be… Parents who don’t take their job seriously, to mould the people they created and brought into this world into human beings and not animals, to respect the value of a human life, it’s a vicious cycle… These same children grow up to shower their own offspring with the same neglect, rinse the blood and repeat.. Rinse and repeat. It goes much deeper again, right to the core of what western society values, it requires more thought and understanding on my part, I’m just sick of seeing stories like this.

On a far brighter note… I have a ticket to see Neil Young at Malahide Castle in the Summer… As far as I know I’ll be there with my friend Ste, and Phil has four Tickets.. So I’m sure we’ll get more to go. Daithi is too sophisticated for us and opted for the Marque gig in Cork, which I imagine will be a classic gig also. Been a few years since I’ve seen the old man play… No idea what to expect when he plays, you never what you’re going to get.

 

Just what I like.