unironedman

IN WHICH WE TAKE A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE. NO, I MEAN AN ACTUAL LANE. AND THERE A LOT OF MEMORIES. SO YES, IT’S AN ACTUAL TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE…

The magnolia is out next door. It’s a sure-fire sign of Spring, though full disclosure: I don’t really like magnolia trees. Not sure why; they are rather magnificent. But I might just be a tree snob who only really warms to natives, and even then, I don’t appreciate our Irish conifers as much as I should. Though there are only three to consider: Yew, Juniper and Scot’s Pine, and now that I think about it, I do love an old Scot’s Pine. And if you can find a Yew out in the wild, they are worth seeing too…

It may be that years of painting houses with magnolia has turned me off the name so much so that I have transferred over my distaste of anything vaguely associated with it. Which in this case is misplaced, because my parents’ magnolia tree is a delicate pink colour, and not some ghastly cream. I wonder if anyone has ever calculated how many square miles of wall are covered in magnolia paint, the world over?

Many other more agreeable plants are also flowering now. I have just returned from a walk in one of my favourite places around the town, and can report that Primroses are doing their thing, alongside a small riot of Dog Violets. Interestingly – to this amateur botanist anyway – a south-facing grassy bank along a lane leading up to the lake has an impressive display of Greater Stitchwort. I would expect something similar in the local park, but clearly these have stolen a march, despite both having identical aspects.

I’m none the wiser. Only this morning, Saoirse spotted a pair of fledgling Robins bobbing about in the garden. The initial excitement turned quickly to alarm as she then spied our son’s cat from three doors down, stalking what would have been easy prey. The cat was quickly shooed out of the garden. Only then did it dawn on me that these birds were quite early in the general scheme of things. This would normally be the month for breeding, and not hatching. So they are ahead of the posse here. Another sign of global warming? Possibly.

As I passed into the Leixlip Castle demesne on my walk today, I was reminded once again of the famous Boomtown Rats concert that took place here in 1980, on the 2nd of March. I was 12. It was a pleasant day, as I recall. My brother Robert and I were perched on top of our old workshop roof, helping Dad strip the sheeting off the old single-pitched roof to make way for a new A-roof with proper tiles. (Many moons later, this workshop would be levelled to make way for the house in which I now sit, typing).

All day we could hear bands sound-checking from the venue (which was really just a grassy field in front of the castle. There had been intense speculation and interest about this concert, as the original venue (Leopardstown Racecourse) had fallen through due to licensing issues. Front man Bob Geldof (who seemed to be perpetually angry) was very vocal about this problem, and reckoned there was more than just licensing problems at play. It was, in his opinion, all part of the establishment and the system. Or something. I am paraphrasing. But Ireland by the end of the 1970s certainly had a lot of issues, and Bob seemed to be particularly good at pointing them out. He did, of course, go on to put together Live Aid with Midge Ure, and his notorious gobbiness and unwillingness to take no for an answer certainly helped. Even a cursory peek under the hood of what made Live Aid happen in the first place, and kept it ticking, will show Geldof’s mitts were everywhere. It earned him a knighthood, to the amusement of those back home in Ireland. Though he can’t really be called Sir as he is not part of the Commonwealth. Not that this stopped most Irish folk from calling him Sir Bob, of course…

In many ways, he was very much blazing a trail for Sinead O’Connor. He perhaps didn’t quite have the feminine charm of Sinead, nor the talent. On his family background, Geldof said “I was a quarter Catholic, a quarter Protestant, a quarter Jewish and a quarter nothing – the nothing won.” Which is classic Bob. But he famously called Russell Brand ‘a cunt’ on air, and for that, all his other faults can be forgiven 😉

And so, at some point in the afternoon, I asked my Dad if I could go to the gig. He asked how much tickets were. Three quid, I replied. He fished the money out of his pocket, and I set off up the road on my own. I suspect Dad didn’t really fully understand what a ‘Rats gig entailed, and to that end, neither did I. The only viable entrance to the castle was thronged with denim-clad, long-haired blokes. The place was literally heaving. I paid my money, was frisked at the gates, and wandered no more than about fifty yards up the cobbled drive and found a spot on the metal railings where I plonked my arse and watched the bands. I didn’t have the nerve to enter the fray. I passed this very same railing today.

There are plenty of references online to this concert, and lots of images. Here is one extract from a review:

“But given the public concern about security preceding the gig there was another irony here, as the band had to stop in the middle of their most emotional and compelling statement to have a spectator removed from the lighting rig. “We don’t mind you dancing but we don’t want you killing yourselves”, Geldof commented.”

(From Niall Stokes, editor of Hot Press, Ireland’s leading music magazine)

I was there. He may have said that indeed, but what really stood out from that incident was that he called the bloke who climbed up the scaffolding a ‘snotty-nosed bastard’. Like I say, gobby. There’s a clip here of Geldof from the RTÉ archives. And some great pics here. I have robbed one from that site:

The man who made it happen was The Hon. Desmond Guinness, a direct descendant of the one and only Arthur Guinness. A great-great-great-great grandson, no less. If we can claim that Geldof laid the foundations for Sinead O’Connor, it would be also fair to say that Desmond Guinness may have inspired the Slane Castle concerts to go ahead the following year, under the guidance of Lord Mountcharles. These have achieved legendary status, with acts like Dylan, Bowie and Queen performing along the banks of the Boyne. Leixlip has the Liffey, and the castle demesne would host another concert later that year in July, featuring a very fresh-faced group of lads from Dublin called U2, with The Police as headliners. Here’s some footage.

But unlike the Slane Castle experience, the possibility of Leixlip Castle as a concert venue withered on the vine. Not sure why, and I had ample opportunity to ask Desmond, as he was our landlord for many years when we lived on the property. But it never came up. I suspect he didn’t particularly like the fuss or the exposure. Though of course that didn’t stop the castle becoming a regular haunt of the rich and famous. Did I ever mention the time I met Mick Jagger in the kitchen one morning? Or how Saoirse irked Bryan Ferry’s wife when she almost convinced him to get in the pool with her. As you do. I suppose it’ll have to wait for my autobiography.

And speaking of famous rock ‘n’ roll musicians, Cool Hand Luke had their first rehearsal this week. It was good to be back playing again, though the wrist is still a little stiff and sore. On the table beside my laptop is a little tub of therapy putty which I am under orders to squeeze at regular intervals. It is, I can report, reasonably therapeutic, and does seem to be helping with mobility. I also had my first gym session. It was fairly tame. I just repeated my physio programme, plus a half hour on the bike and some step-ups. But the sheer act of doing something ‘normal’ like going to the gym is good for the soul.

As The Omil touched on in his blog the other day, The Barkley Marathons gave us the most memorable finish. Last year was pretty good, and you can find lots of YouTube documentaries on various years. Karel Sabbe’s effort from last year is superb. But the story we all got hooked on was Jasmin Paris this week. You can listen to her here after her achievement which truly deserves to be called epic. It’s probably not a spoiler at this point to reveal she made the 60 hour cut-off with 99 seconds to spare. The entire ultra-running community were furiously refreshing Twitter every minute to see if she could make it.

As you can see, I am still living vicariously through social media for my running fix. Hell, I even got excited when Gary told me was thinking of buying a new Garmin. Further spoiler: he did.

And ‘so to conclude and to finish disputes’ (to quote from the classic Arthur McBride by Paul Brady), I might just recommend a series we watched recently called The Way. It’s the creation of the wonderful Welsh actor, Michael Sheen. It has some flaws, but we loved it. My main criticism is that it could have been several episodes longer. But there are three, an hour each, and it’s very engaging.