Please excuse the rambling and giggling, we were all pretty exhausted.
Still, it was amazing fun.
Backstage Silliness from Conor Darrall on Vimeo.
Showing posts with label very happy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label very happy. Show all posts
Friday, December 18, 2009
Backstage Silliness
The next installment of My Video Life, this is a very short video I made with the other guys who were doing the music with me in that play I did during the summer.
Please excuse the rambling and giggling, we were all pretty exhausted.
Still, it was amazing fun.
Please excuse the rambling and giggling, we were all pretty exhausted.
Still, it was amazing fun.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Lasairfhíona, my one true love.
Okay, so I've made it abundantly clear in some of my posts that I'm a single gentleman. More than just single, I have to be honest and admit that the longest relationship I've ever been in is about 3 months. Wow, I'm clearly a successful boyfriend. Single file, ladies, single file, no pushing in the queue...
Despite that confession, I've been fairly obsessed since I was 11 and I fell in love when I was 18 and have been in a committed relationship since I was 18. Her name is Lasairfhíona, the flame of the wine. To tell her story, I have to tell the story of a man called Séamus O'Kane.
When I was nearly 12, I went to the Frankie Kennedy winter school in the Ionad Cois Locha and met Seamus O'Kane, who introduced me to one of my obsessions - the bodhrán.
A bit about Seamus: He's a tough sonamabitch (having lived through illness for years and triumphed) who revolutionised how the bodhrán was made and played in Irish traditional music. His drums are played by the most successful players in the world, and they are generally considered to be the best of the best of drums. Imagine the reputation that Stradivarius has for stringed instruments. In the smaller, more intimate and expanding world of Irish trad, a Seamus O'Kane bodhrán has that reputation. His website is here, and you can see a documentary that was made about him for Irish television. He is a humble, incredibly talented man, and his reputation is such that it is a surprise for people who meet him to learn that he is so down-to-earth. The videos on his site hardly do justive to the hypnotic, compelling nature of his playing. The word which I would use to describe him as a musician is mealltach. Being a Gaelgeoir, I've always know this word to roughly mean 'enticing', something that draws you in. The trendy kids now use this word as synonymous with 'sexy' so I'll have to abandon that. Anyway, he's the best, and as a 12 year old, to see him playing, eyes closed, as if head and hand where not connected, I was blown away.
(Actually, if you watch the youtube video on his site, the programme has him travelling to Inis Oírr for the bodhrán festival. I am very briefly in those scenes in the pub and at the summit, but it was YEARS ago, maybe 5 or 6, so I'm rather young)
I had received a bodhrán for Christmas (I usually just call it a drum) a beginner's drum that I christened Áine. When I had my first lesson with Séamus (in a 19th century cottage in the mountains at the Ionad Cois Locha) he took the drum, which was overly taut because of the the roaring fire and trudged outside. Grabbing a handful of snow, he rubbed the inside of the skin with it, and then taped the outside of the rim to reduce too much dissonance. He taught me how to play and after a week, I had it. Over the next few years, I began to play more and more, and by the time I was 17, I had bought a new drum (Clár) , had attended a few more of his Winter classes, and was playing in national competitions. Séamus and I had met many times since then at sessions, and he would always make a big deal out of seating me right in the circle, beside world-renowned players, so that I could get my confidence up and learn how to play live. His reputation is such that he can seat a skinny little git like me (when I was even underage in the pub) and the other players would oblige him by letting me play. It still happens to this day, when I get the odd chance to play, that some of those same players will let me join in, thanks to his help when I was younger.
Anyway, that summer, when I was 17, he went to the bodhrán festival (where the documentary was made) and we spent a lot of time together. Other people played his drum, and it was amazing to see how many excellent players where using his drums. I had been bugging him for years to make me a drum, or to let me buy one off him, but he always deftly avoided the question and changed the subject. There was a singer at one of the all-night sessions once, a woman called Lasairfhíona Ní Chonaola (who also went to TCD) was there. The festival, in Inis Oírr (an island so small there are no police) consists of classes, then real learning in one of three pubs. Lasairfhíona is a seán-nós singer (the 'old style') and an incredibly beautiful vocalist, she sang this song, at 4am, the lot of us drunk and exhausted, a strange magic of timelessness surrounding us:
I was 17, and I instantly fell in love with her voice.
A few months later, when it was coming up to my 18th birthday, my father told me we were going for a drive. We drove about half and hour out of Derry, into the hills, and came to a house. Séamous came out to greet us, and brought us into the workshop in the videos. He had three drums laying on a benchtop, and told me to play them. It felt like an interview with Mr Ollivander, and as I sampled the three exquisite drums, I was practically shaking. They were all excellent, but the middle drum felt right. I'm not religious or very spiritual, but it felt comfortable and welcoming to the touch, and I fell in love. When my Dad asked him how much it would cost, Séamus just shook his head, unconcerned.
You see, he hadn't thought I was ready. That's why he made me wait, and he was right. It was a gift to me, and it was priceless. When it came to naming her, I didn't really have a choice, I wanted a drum that could sing, and having found one, she became Lasairfhíona.
Since then, Lassie and I have been through the wars together. She's come with me from Ireland to Spain, France (when I was still a chinless wonder, the outfit is a bit weird, not my idea), the Czech Republic and the US. We've played with orchestras and in shacks, for presidents and for the homeless, and she's always been perfect. Sadly, at Uni, I didn't play as much as I should and sometimes I neglected her somewhat.
Now, I have started to play more, and this summer I had one of my first professional gigs. This is me and Lassie back stage rehearsing for the play that I helped do the music for. Since then I've made plans to form a band and do some touring during the summer. Last night, I played my first session in months and felt exhilirated. It was excellent fun. Walking home, the pounding rain soaking me to the skin in seconds, I laughed my head off like a lunatic, remembering how many times we'd walked home together in the wee hours, and how I was the one who was ageing and changing. I haven't felt so alive in what seems like years, and even though I had a hangover today and I went to sleep with wet hair, I can't help but smile at the thought of the thousands of times that I've tottered home, Lassie safely by my side in the darkness.
She's still as beautiful and perfect as the first day I got her, I'm incredibly lucky.
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People aside, what are your true loves?
Despite that confession, I've been fairly obsessed since I was 11 and I fell in love when I was 18 and have been in a committed relationship since I was 18. Her name is Lasairfhíona, the flame of the wine. To tell her story, I have to tell the story of a man called Séamus O'Kane.
When I was nearly 12, I went to the Frankie Kennedy winter school in the Ionad Cois Locha and met Seamus O'Kane, who introduced me to one of my obsessions - the bodhrán.
A bit about Seamus: He's a tough sonamabitch (having lived through illness for years and triumphed) who revolutionised how the bodhrán was made and played in Irish traditional music. His drums are played by the most successful players in the world, and they are generally considered to be the best of the best of drums. Imagine the reputation that Stradivarius has for stringed instruments. In the smaller, more intimate and expanding world of Irish trad, a Seamus O'Kane bodhrán has that reputation. His website is here, and you can see a documentary that was made about him for Irish television. He is a humble, incredibly talented man, and his reputation is such that it is a surprise for people who meet him to learn that he is so down-to-earth. The videos on his site hardly do justive to the hypnotic, compelling nature of his playing. The word which I would use to describe him as a musician is mealltach. Being a Gaelgeoir, I've always know this word to roughly mean 'enticing', something that draws you in. The trendy kids now use this word as synonymous with 'sexy' so I'll have to abandon that. Anyway, he's the best, and as a 12 year old, to see him playing, eyes closed, as if head and hand where not connected, I was blown away.
(Actually, if you watch the youtube video on his site, the programme has him travelling to Inis Oírr for the bodhrán festival. I am very briefly in those scenes in the pub and at the summit, but it was YEARS ago, maybe 5 or 6, so I'm rather young)
I had received a bodhrán for Christmas (I usually just call it a drum) a beginner's drum that I christened Áine. When I had my first lesson with Séamus (in a 19th century cottage in the mountains at the Ionad Cois Locha) he took the drum, which was overly taut because of the the roaring fire and trudged outside. Grabbing a handful of snow, he rubbed the inside of the skin with it, and then taped the outside of the rim to reduce too much dissonance. He taught me how to play and after a week, I had it. Over the next few years, I began to play more and more, and by the time I was 17, I had bought a new drum (Clár) , had attended a few more of his Winter classes, and was playing in national competitions. Séamus and I had met many times since then at sessions, and he would always make a big deal out of seating me right in the circle, beside world-renowned players, so that I could get my confidence up and learn how to play live. His reputation is such that he can seat a skinny little git like me (when I was even underage in the pub) and the other players would oblige him by letting me play. It still happens to this day, when I get the odd chance to play, that some of those same players will let me join in, thanks to his help when I was younger.
Anyway, that summer, when I was 17, he went to the bodhrán festival (where the documentary was made) and we spent a lot of time together. Other people played his drum, and it was amazing to see how many excellent players where using his drums. I had been bugging him for years to make me a drum, or to let me buy one off him, but he always deftly avoided the question and changed the subject. There was a singer at one of the all-night sessions once, a woman called Lasairfhíona Ní Chonaola (who also went to TCD) was there. The festival, in Inis Oírr (an island so small there are no police) consists of classes, then real learning in one of three pubs. Lasairfhíona is a seán-nós singer (the 'old style') and an incredibly beautiful vocalist, she sang this song, at 4am, the lot of us drunk and exhausted, a strange magic of timelessness surrounding us:
I was 17, and I instantly fell in love with her voice.
A few months later, when it was coming up to my 18th birthday, my father told me we were going for a drive. We drove about half and hour out of Derry, into the hills, and came to a house. Séamous came out to greet us, and brought us into the workshop in the videos. He had three drums laying on a benchtop, and told me to play them. It felt like an interview with Mr Ollivander, and as I sampled the three exquisite drums, I was practically shaking. They were all excellent, but the middle drum felt right. I'm not religious or very spiritual, but it felt comfortable and welcoming to the touch, and I fell in love. When my Dad asked him how much it would cost, Séamus just shook his head, unconcerned.
You see, he hadn't thought I was ready. That's why he made me wait, and he was right. It was a gift to me, and it was priceless. When it came to naming her, I didn't really have a choice, I wanted a drum that could sing, and having found one, she became Lasairfhíona.
Since then, Lassie and I have been through the wars together. She's come with me from Ireland to Spain, France (when I was still a chinless wonder, the outfit is a bit weird, not my idea), the Czech Republic and the US. We've played with orchestras and in shacks, for presidents and for the homeless, and she's always been perfect. Sadly, at Uni, I didn't play as much as I should and sometimes I neglected her somewhat.
Now, I have started to play more, and this summer I had one of my first professional gigs. This is me and Lassie back stage rehearsing for the play that I helped do the music for. Since then I've made plans to form a band and do some touring during the summer. Last night, I played my first session in months and felt exhilirated. It was excellent fun. Walking home, the pounding rain soaking me to the skin in seconds, I laughed my head off like a lunatic, remembering how many times we'd walked home together in the wee hours, and how I was the one who was ageing and changing. I haven't felt so alive in what seems like years, and even though I had a hangover today and I went to sleep with wet hair, I can't help but smile at the thought of the thousands of times that I've tottered home, Lassie safely by my side in the darkness.
She's still as beautiful and perfect as the first day I got her, I'm incredibly lucky.
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People aside, what are your true loves?
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Man Adventures with the Boys
So...France, aye?
I had intended to write a very detailed account of my time in the France, but to be honest, it would take faaaaaar too long. Instead, what I might do is just write down some of the notes that I took during my time of travel. Ah, the travel. Before I left, my friend Ste (whose house we were staying in) and I met at Beckett's in Derry for a pre-departure-to-the-unknown pint. Obviously that turned into four pints. Just an indicator as to how the week began...and continued. There were five of us on the trip: Stephen, Mark (Sparkle), Christy (Crystal), Eoghain (aka -OJ, Crystal's big bro) and I. These are all guys I went to school with, so I've known them since about 1998, and they're like my brothers. The main purpose of the trip was to give Ste and Eoghain a chance to get a lot of rock climbing done.
From my notebook: France Trip 2009 AUG.
Fri 7th: Leaving Derry-Pints in Beckett's with Ste before lift to Belfast-Drunk man on street while smoking - called us 'Lovely Boys' - shudder - Met OJ - drove to Claudy - picked Crystal en route - C has broken elbow "One Wing" - Drive to Belfast - party - mischief - Corona - sofa 4ft long - backache
Sat 8th: Woke up w/ hangover - Tongue like Ghandi's slipper - Hiking gear at Cotswolds - Bought book about Mongolia - fast-food breakfast.
--- --- --- ---
embarrassing story - Whilst hungover in KFC and feeling like I was still a little drunk, the lovely Asian lady behind the counter was short of change. She asked me did I have a 5. I fished in my pocket. Produced a 5 with a flourish and the phrase "I think I can make your dreams come true". She blinked politely. Felt awful, very 'colonial'. Friends looked at me like I was insane. NB: don't try to be swashbuckling with a hangover
--- --- --- ---
cont: car to airport - lots of security - difference between UK cops and NI cops = machine guns/pistols in NI - Burger King meal - hangover flight - awful turbulence - Ste hates flying - turbulence makes me giggle - won't sit together on way home I think. Toulouse - late for train - hotel for the night - area populated by drug dealers and hookers - expensive meal - wine - weird mafia bar - early night - shared a room with one wing - free porn in hotel - dancing girls on channel 8 - bizarre
Sun 9th: Early wake-up call - Breakfast (4 shot coffee) - Train to Perpignan - wait around in the sun - Ste's uncle pick us up - 5 boys, all 6'1'' and taller - Renault Clio - 4 free seats exc. driver - Clown car - 40 minute journey - one-wing in the front seat - lucky cripple - squash - arrive - cops next door to house - next door neighbour dead - balloon body - decomposed - 6 people emerge from the clown car - gun-toting gendarme looks confused - quick climbing session - return to house - 16 litres of wine - drunk - Ste shows climbing skills out window - third floor - pile-on Ste - booze - 1.30 am bed
(NB: Holy Fuck!! 16 litres of wine between 5 people. Not good.)
Mon 10th: Hangover - woke up with a fuzzy head - Ste and OJ went off climbing - Crystal/Sparkle and I stayed by the pool - Lilo wars - Sun Sun Sun - Factor 30 - no colour - C and M burn - me still pale - wasted day - built a BBQ - wood fire - felt manly - big big meal of meat (sausage and beef) - late night glow of BBQ with 10 litres of wine and a crate of beer - found Ste's brother's pellet gun - Sparkle passed out - shot Sparkle several times - sang lots of rebel songs - smell of dead neighbour still about - 3.00 am sleep on sofa
Tues 11th: Hangover - big salad for breakfast - BIG WALK - left St. Paul for Gorges De Galamus - swimming hole 3 miles from town -diving from road into a waterfall pool, 20 ft jump- lost hangover - more walking - took Hemingway-esque mountain track- formerly used by resistance Maquisards during WWII- approx. 6 miles, all uphill - 37 degrees C - scrabbling on rocks - glad of anklesafe boots - got to the Gorge - "vent violent" 100mph - road carved into mountain, gorge far below - walked another 4 miles, found route down to the river - scrambled through the rockpools and streams down the gorge - One-wing did okay for most of it - did a 25ft jump into a cold-pool - made for home - down the dirt path - detour to 'Love Making Spot' - most beautiful place ever - trees/waterfall/small bridge/ swimming - walked home - dead tired - ate grapes from the vine - collapsed into the sofa - went out for a meal "Le Soleil D'Or" - worst fucking meal of my life - boudain antillaise = dogshit in a condom - too expensive - ruined the evening - got drunk in the house - Ste and I did our usual wrestling thing - apparently got out of hand - more singing - late night
Wed 12th - BAD Hangover, Tautavel (for climbing), Crystal and I sat by the water side while OJ and Ste climbed, Sparkle and Ste's family in 2nd car - Me and C drank Heineken, drinking all day - watched OJ/Ste climb - larked about - deep convo - lots of sunbathing/jokes/chat - went hill walking - drunk - met some archeologists - excavation - tautavel = earliest human remains in Europe - caveman nonsense - still drunk. Beautiful views - very very happy with the day - spent the night drinking - last night in St. Paul - had a great time
Thurs 13th - Worst hangover ever - woke at 8 after 4 hours - got bus at 9 to Perpignan - train at 11.20 to Toulouse - Train from Toulouse to Pau - Arrived in Pau at about 3 - went on Funiculaire (olde worlde tram for going uphill) - Pau to Biarritz - arrive Biarritz @ 9.30 pm. Exhausted. Spent day playing 20 questions and trying to sleep off hangover - Annual saint's festival in Biarritz - biggest event of year - no hotel/hostel/beds/gites etc - obvi not booked ahead - sat at cafe until 2 - camped on beach - no camping gear - lit small fire - fantastic summer evening - Biarritz = most beautiful women in world - people having sex all round - bit porny- made a wagon circle with rucksacks on beach, lay in relaxed contemplation as the night fell away - gently nodded to sleep at 3am with balmy seabreeze in the company of my beloved friends
Fri 14th: woke at 5 - freezing cold - no cold weather gear- lunatic with tractor combing beach - tried to kill us - OJ and I decide to camp on a cliff = no seabreeze - sit for two hours - felt frozen - sun rise/morning/SUN - dying for bathroom - 36 degrees - walk about Biarritz for present for Ste's girlf - OJ and I give up and go to airport. Eat/Wash/Change/Bliss - give up smoking because of sketchy post-hobo sickness - look and feel like shit - feeling compounded by arrival of 2 full professional rugby teams - feel a wee bit scrawny. Others catch up - flight - all sitting together - ridiculous turbulence - giggles etc - arrive Ireland - run for bus - miss bus - get other bus to Belfast - get back to Crystal/Ste's/Sparkle's Belfast house - load up OJ's car - say bye to Sparkle - drive home - awful weather - late night driving with friends = amazing - home for midnight - been travelling for 40 hrs - bath - bed - snooze. Fucking great trip.
That's it, that's the holiday, and I think I've given you more than enough of an idea of the type of fun I had. Here's some photos to give you a wee visual:
St. Paul de Fenouillet from the mountain trail
Me sitting at a sheer 300ft drop with 100mph winds lashing me, really beautiful (if terrifying) spot at Gorges de Galamus
Tautavel, where Crystal and I srank beer in the water while the other boys climbed (the fools)
Sparkle having a rest on the floor after some wine.
l-r: me, OJ, Ste, Sparkle, Ste's Uncle, Crystal Mc One-Wing
All in all it was a fucking amazing week away, but for the next wee while, I think I'm happy to stay in Ireland for a while. At least until my liver heals.
I had intended to write a very detailed account of my time in the France, but to be honest, it would take faaaaaar too long. Instead, what I might do is just write down some of the notes that I took during my time of travel. Ah, the travel. Before I left, my friend Ste (whose house we were staying in) and I met at Beckett's in Derry for a pre-departure-to-the-unknown pint. Obviously that turned into four pints. Just an indicator as to how the week began...and continued. There were five of us on the trip: Stephen, Mark (Sparkle), Christy (Crystal), Eoghain (aka -OJ, Crystal's big bro) and I. These are all guys I went to school with, so I've known them since about 1998, and they're like my brothers. The main purpose of the trip was to give Ste and Eoghain a chance to get a lot of rock climbing done.
From my notebook: France Trip 2009 AUG.
Fri 7th: Leaving Derry-Pints in Beckett's with Ste before lift to Belfast-Drunk man on street while smoking - called us 'Lovely Boys' - shudder - Met OJ - drove to Claudy - picked Crystal en route - C has broken elbow "One Wing" - Drive to Belfast - party - mischief - Corona - sofa 4ft long - backache
Sat 8th: Woke up w/ hangover - Tongue like Ghandi's slipper - Hiking gear at Cotswolds - Bought book about Mongolia - fast-food breakfast.
--- --- --- ---
embarrassing story - Whilst hungover in KFC and feeling like I was still a little drunk, the lovely Asian lady behind the counter was short of change. She asked me did I have a 5. I fished in my pocket. Produced a 5 with a flourish and the phrase "I think I can make your dreams come true". She blinked politely. Felt awful, very 'colonial'. Friends looked at me like I was insane. NB: don't try to be swashbuckling with a hangover
--- --- --- ---
cont: car to airport - lots of security - difference between UK cops and NI cops = machine guns/pistols in NI - Burger King meal - hangover flight - awful turbulence - Ste hates flying - turbulence makes me giggle - won't sit together on way home I think. Toulouse - late for train - hotel for the night - area populated by drug dealers and hookers - expensive meal - wine - weird mafia bar - early night - shared a room with one wing - free porn in hotel - dancing girls on channel 8 - bizarre
Sun 9th: Early wake-up call - Breakfast (4 shot coffee) - Train to Perpignan - wait around in the sun - Ste's uncle pick us up - 5 boys, all 6'1'' and taller - Renault Clio - 4 free seats exc. driver - Clown car - 40 minute journey - one-wing in the front seat - lucky cripple - squash - arrive - cops next door to house - next door neighbour dead - balloon body - decomposed - 6 people emerge from the clown car - gun-toting gendarme looks confused - quick climbing session - return to house - 16 litres of wine - drunk - Ste shows climbing skills out window - third floor - pile-on Ste - booze - 1.30 am bed
(NB: Holy Fuck!! 16 litres of wine between 5 people. Not good.)
Mon 10th: Hangover - woke up with a fuzzy head - Ste and OJ went off climbing - Crystal/Sparkle and I stayed by the pool - Lilo wars - Sun Sun Sun - Factor 30 - no colour - C and M burn - me still pale - wasted day - built a BBQ - wood fire - felt manly - big big meal of meat (sausage and beef) - late night glow of BBQ with 10 litres of wine and a crate of beer - found Ste's brother's pellet gun - Sparkle passed out - shot Sparkle several times - sang lots of rebel songs - smell of dead neighbour still about - 3.00 am sleep on sofa
Tues 11th: Hangover - big salad for breakfast - BIG WALK - left St. Paul for Gorges De Galamus - swimming hole 3 miles from town -diving from road into a waterfall pool, 20 ft jump- lost hangover - more walking - took Hemingway-esque mountain track- formerly used by resistance Maquisards during WWII- approx. 6 miles, all uphill - 37 degrees C - scrabbling on rocks - glad of anklesafe boots - got to the Gorge - "vent violent" 100mph - road carved into mountain, gorge far below - walked another 4 miles, found route down to the river - scrambled through the rockpools and streams down the gorge - One-wing did okay for most of it - did a 25ft jump into a cold-pool - made for home - down the dirt path - detour to 'Love Making Spot' - most beautiful place ever - trees/waterfall/small bridge/ swimming - walked home - dead tired - ate grapes from the vine - collapsed into the sofa - went out for a meal "Le Soleil D'Or" - worst fucking meal of my life - boudain antillaise = dogshit in a condom - too expensive - ruined the evening - got drunk in the house - Ste and I did our usual wrestling thing - apparently got out of hand - more singing - late night
Wed 12th - BAD Hangover, Tautavel (for climbing), Crystal and I sat by the water side while OJ and Ste climbed, Sparkle and Ste's family in 2nd car - Me and C drank Heineken, drinking all day - watched OJ/Ste climb - larked about - deep convo - lots of sunbathing/jokes/chat - went hill walking - drunk - met some archeologists - excavation - tautavel = earliest human remains in Europe - caveman nonsense - still drunk. Beautiful views - very very happy with the day - spent the night drinking - last night in St. Paul - had a great time
Thurs 13th - Worst hangover ever - woke at 8 after 4 hours - got bus at 9 to Perpignan - train at 11.20 to Toulouse - Train from Toulouse to Pau - Arrived in Pau at about 3 - went on Funiculaire (olde worlde tram for going uphill) - Pau to Biarritz - arrive Biarritz @ 9.30 pm. Exhausted. Spent day playing 20 questions and trying to sleep off hangover - Annual saint's festival in Biarritz - biggest event of year - no hotel/hostel/beds/gites etc - obvi not booked ahead - sat at cafe until 2 - camped on beach - no camping gear - lit small fire - fantastic summer evening - Biarritz = most beautiful women in world - people having sex all round - bit porny- made a wagon circle with rucksacks on beach, lay in relaxed contemplation as the night fell away - gently nodded to sleep at 3am with balmy seabreeze in the company of my beloved friends
Fri 14th: woke at 5 - freezing cold - no cold weather gear- lunatic with tractor combing beach - tried to kill us - OJ and I decide to camp on a cliff = no seabreeze - sit for two hours - felt frozen - sun rise/morning/SUN - dying for bathroom - 36 degrees - walk about Biarritz for present for Ste's girlf - OJ and I give up and go to airport. Eat/Wash/Change/Bliss - give up smoking because of sketchy post-hobo sickness - look and feel like shit - feeling compounded by arrival of 2 full professional rugby teams - feel a wee bit scrawny. Others catch up - flight - all sitting together - ridiculous turbulence - giggles etc - arrive Ireland - run for bus - miss bus - get other bus to Belfast - get back to Crystal/Ste's/Sparkle's Belfast house - load up OJ's car - say bye to Sparkle - drive home - awful weather - late night driving with friends = amazing - home for midnight - been travelling for 40 hrs - bath - bed - snooze. Fucking great trip.
That's it, that's the holiday, and I think I've given you more than enough of an idea of the type of fun I had. Here's some photos to give you a wee visual:
St. Paul de Fenouillet from the mountain trail
Me sitting at a sheer 300ft drop with 100mph winds lashing me, really beautiful (if terrifying) spot at Gorges de Galamus
Tautavel, where Crystal and I srank beer in the water while the other boys climbed (the fools)
Sparkle having a rest on the floor after some wine.
l-r: me, OJ, Ste, Sparkle, Ste's Uncle, Crystal Mc One-Wing
All in all it was a fucking amazing week away, but for the next wee while, I think I'm happy to stay in Ireland for a while. At least until my liver heals.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Something for the Weekend.
As per some of your requests... I've decided to put up some photos of Ireland.
I spent half my time growing up on an island off the NWest coast in Donegal. My parents go there every opportunity to go there and it's beautiful.
These are some pictures of that place. One of the photos has my little sis, Cíana, in my coat, having written the words 'Conor loves Dubledore" in response to my claim (also in the sand) that 'Cíana loves Daniel Radcliffe, which she does.
Anyway, these are just a few snaps of the best place in the world for me. Hope you like them. I'll more up when I come back after the boat-adventure.
Hope you all have a fun weekend!
Con
I spent half my time growing up on an island off the NWest coast in Donegal. My parents go there every opportunity to go there and it's beautiful.
These are some pictures of that place. One of the photos has my little sis, Cíana, in my coat, having written the words 'Conor loves Dubledore" in response to my claim (also in the sand) that 'Cíana loves Daniel Radcliffe, which she does.
Anyway, these are just a few snaps of the best place in the world for me. Hope you like them. I'll more up when I come back after the boat-adventure.
Hope you all have a fun weekend!
Con
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Dealing With Boredom - Everything Is Better On A Boat
I was grumbling the other day that the relaxation of the summer has given me a rather shocking case of writer's block. Whilst this hasn't had the worst effect on my blogging, it has rather naused up the plan I had to finish a novel I'm working on before September. I sent a plea amongst my 20sb friends to give me ideas of short things to write, in the hope that it would spark the old neurons back into life and waited for the replies to, well...not FLOOD in, but, y'know, trickle lethargically.
Luckily, the folks at 20sb, and the occasional chaps who read this wee blog are good sports and I've had a few suggestions for 'homework' that I'm currently working on. I'll be putting those up on a separate blog pretty soon and I'll link it to this one, but treat it like a mistress. A little indulgent treat for me when I can find the time. The posts will probably be a bit wordy, so it's more for me, although there might one or two things that you find a tad interesting.
------------------------
Today, I had one of the best days I've had in absolutely ages. The aunt and uncle (S&D) have a boat and, being the young, cool types that they are, we spent ALL day on it. It was bliss.
We pottered about Maidstone for a while, doing a few chores and having a lovely little lunch in a cool wee café. They picked the kids up from school, and soon we were breezing along in their convertible in the most beautiful weather to Chatham marina. I got a chance to mess about with their car while we waited, which I had a LOT of fun with, mucked about with the wee cousin and after helping th'uncle get all the coverings on the boat, we set off.
(bee-tee-dubs: if you have an aversion to whiter-than-white Casper skin, then the links may have a damaging effect on your poor retina and leave your temporarily blind, there was a lot of glare from the sun bouncing off my rotten hide.)
Chatham docks are really cool. When my dad was 14 he started working there (circa 1973) and it was really cool to jet along with S&D and the little'uns and see the old dockbuildings and gun wharf where he would have worked. There are hundreds of cool little boats; old US navy land-lease cutters from about 1940, little houseboats that look like wrecks and a few hand-made yachts made of Norwegian pine (one of which I will someday own) and glistening with varnish. It was amazing.
There's a few miles of river between Chatham and Maidstone where we were going to moor the boat, but I managed to have a VERY Duran Duran few moments lolling on the stern. Any cobwebs that had acumulated in the past few days were well and truly blown out from between my ears and I had such a cheesy fucking grin on my face. As you can see here, I was clearly awash in a tsunami of joy:
D gave me a chance to drive/pilot/whatever-the-word his beautiful boat all along the sleepy little twisty greenery bits towards Maidstone; through ridiculously pretty little towns, past castles, along horribly quaint hamlets that seemed to be mostly made of tweed and high tea and crumpets. It was jolly good fun and I really enjoyed learning a completely new skill. Usually whenever I am in control of a vehicle, I either panic and start to giggle, or get a bit angry at all other vehicle users and end up calling someone a c*nt. Not this time. It was challenging, sure, but it was as fun as a bucketful of badgers playing the ukelele. I also saw a custom made pirate ship.
When we finally arrived at Maidstone, I was very very tired, very very red (Casper died in the sun) and had thoroughly enjoyed drinking lots of champagne. Just as we had finished buttoning up, the heavens opened and a terrific thunderstorm rent the sky in two, it was so cool.
As I sit here now, chilling out and watching t.v, I am very aware of several things:
1) I was in control of several vehicles today, which was a hoot.
2) I am rather sunburned, which has put me into a sense of shock
3) The thunderstorm outside is the tits.
4) QI repeats are fucking brilliant
5) I'm going to sleep well tonight. Like a Dutch nun (which I imagine is very well)
6) I had an amazing day.
Good Night to you all.
x
Luckily, the folks at 20sb, and the occasional chaps who read this wee blog are good sports and I've had a few suggestions for 'homework' that I'm currently working on. I'll be putting those up on a separate blog pretty soon and I'll link it to this one, but treat it like a mistress. A little indulgent treat for me when I can find the time. The posts will probably be a bit wordy, so it's more for me, although there might one or two things that you find a tad interesting.
------------------------
Today, I had one of the best days I've had in absolutely ages. The aunt and uncle (S&D) have a boat and, being the young, cool types that they are, we spent ALL day on it. It was bliss.
We pottered about Maidstone for a while, doing a few chores and having a lovely little lunch in a cool wee café. They picked the kids up from school, and soon we were breezing along in their convertible in the most beautiful weather to Chatham marina. I got a chance to mess about with their car while we waited, which I had a LOT of fun with, mucked about with the wee cousin and after helping th'uncle get all the coverings on the boat, we set off.
(bee-tee-dubs: if you have an aversion to whiter-than-white Casper skin, then the links may have a damaging effect on your poor retina and leave your temporarily blind, there was a lot of glare from the sun bouncing off my rotten hide.)
Chatham docks are really cool. When my dad was 14 he started working there (circa 1973) and it was really cool to jet along with S&D and the little'uns and see the old dockbuildings and gun wharf where he would have worked. There are hundreds of cool little boats; old US navy land-lease cutters from about 1940, little houseboats that look like wrecks and a few hand-made yachts made of Norwegian pine (one of which I will someday own) and glistening with varnish. It was amazing.
There's a few miles of river between Chatham and Maidstone where we were going to moor the boat, but I managed to have a VERY Duran Duran few moments lolling on the stern. Any cobwebs that had acumulated in the past few days were well and truly blown out from between my ears and I had such a cheesy fucking grin on my face. As you can see here, I was clearly awash in a tsunami of joy:
D gave me a chance to drive/pilot/whatever-the-word his beautiful boat all along the sleepy little twisty greenery bits towards Maidstone; through ridiculously pretty little towns, past castles, along horribly quaint hamlets that seemed to be mostly made of tweed and high tea and crumpets. It was jolly good fun and I really enjoyed learning a completely new skill. Usually whenever I am in control of a vehicle, I either panic and start to giggle, or get a bit angry at all other vehicle users and end up calling someone a c*nt. Not this time. It was challenging, sure, but it was as fun as a bucketful of badgers playing the ukelele. I also saw a custom made pirate ship.
When we finally arrived at Maidstone, I was very very tired, very very red (Casper died in the sun) and had thoroughly enjoyed drinking lots of champagne. Just as we had finished buttoning up, the heavens opened and a terrific thunderstorm rent the sky in two, it was so cool.
As I sit here now, chilling out and watching t.v, I am very aware of several things:
1) I was in control of several vehicles today, which was a hoot.
2) I am rather sunburned, which has put me into a sense of shock
3) The thunderstorm outside is the tits.
4) QI repeats are fucking brilliant
5) I'm going to sleep well tonight. Like a Dutch nun (which I imagine is very well)
6) I had an amazing day.
Good Night to you all.
x
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