There was big talk about this pole. Everyone kept on about the pole. The pole. The pole. I was driving down the road and the phone rang and this foreign lad said: 'We need to talk about the pole?' 'The pole?' 'The pole.' 'What pole?' 'You hit the pole.' 'What pole are you talking about?'… Continue reading The Pole.
The initial diagnosis was: 'You might be lucky.' It was enough to hang on to, maybe not buy a new car, maybe they'd take out the extra oil and sure it'd all be sound. Days passed, no word. Had a great time getting buses around Athlone. Standing at the bus stop and people on… Continue reading Scrapping the Insignia, buying the Vectra.
The advice was - don't let her go low on oil, whatever you do. Keep plenty of oil in her. Then later. There was an almighty bang and a plume of smoke. I couldn't see out any of the windows for about twenty seconds. When the cloud cleared, it was like the aftermath of a… Continue reading The end of the Insignia…
The danger of reading Orwell is that you think you have done enough. You know now that an information dictatorship is a real and present danger. And if you know, so does everyone else, right? The problem is covered, no need to worry. There is a world famous book that points out the insanity of… Continue reading Notes on the dangers of reading Orwell.
The odd thing about reviews is they're not reviews anymore. They tend to be banal descriptions of the story that begin with what happens at the beginning, give away all the plot points and then spell out the end. There is no opinions, no critical analysis, no understanding of where the title being reviewed fits… Continue reading Notes on Reviews….
He works in a small town and decides he's got a voice and wants to be an artist. Things the kid wants to do, things the kid wants to say. Most nights he drinks to stop him thinking and hopes to sleep but can never quite get there. Some voice, some emotional turmoil, something wrong… Continue reading Notes on the real artist.
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Cloony The Clown I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown Who worked in a circus that came through town. His shoes were too big and his hat was too small, But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all. He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes, He had a green dog… Continue reading Cloony The Clown.
We got there around nine. Tullamore Hotel.There was a band starting in a while, Rualie Buaile they were called. "Supposed to be mighty." Few people in. There was stools in the corner. Took them. Another couple landed. Him with tattoos and an orange T-shirt and a pint of lager. Her with a red wine, black… Continue reading Ruaile Buaile in Tullamore