Memories of Empire

It was 30 years ago. I was eleven years old. My Mother took me to the Ambassador cinema in the old Rotunda hospital building at the bottom of Parnell Square and we lined up to see Empire Strikes Back. I don't recall much about what went before. I do remember two young chancers sidling up to the middle of the queue of people and trying to casually weasel their way into the line, counting on their fellow Dubliners to demonstrate their traditional conflict aversion and look the other way, so they could cut to the front. No such luck, my Mom confronted them, let them know that she could see very well what they were up to the young pups and sent them packing, much to my utter mortification.

The Empire Strikes Back left an indelible mark on me (Safe to say it was a different experience than when I tried to see Star Wars (Ep IV) on my eighth birthday and ended up seeing The Deep starring Jacqueline Bisset instead, which left a different kind of mark, but that's another story). I recall thinking, as the final act started to unfold and tragedy piled upon tragedy;  "wow, things are bad, Han is captured and frozen in carbonite, Luke is mutilated and defeated and just found out his most bitter enemy is his Dad.. How the hell are they going to sort all this out before the end"....."hold on a second, they're not seriously going to end it here, that wouldn't be..they couldn't..holy shit they did".. 

I still remember how heavily the ending weighed on me, I felt cheated and thrilled, depressed and exhilarated, sad and deliriously happy all at the same time. Still the no-contest best moviegoing experience of my life and I believe it always will be. Thanks Mom.    

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Race Report

Its the morning after the Wicklow Adventure Race. I am here minding the 3 kids as my good wife is away and I am a tired boy. I think I could probably sleep inside a cement mixer today.

What a magnificent sunny day yesterday was. The scenery around the wicklow hills was as good as you would see anywhere in the world.

There were 800 entries to this race. I got down there around 7 and it was pretty cold with ground frost in the car park. My wave was starting at 8:15 so I got the bike racked and thawed out for a while till we started. I had little idea what to expect for this race. I had an idea it would be hilly and I was very correct about that. Immediately we had to run up "The Spink" mountain and around the upper lake in Glendalough. You probably have been up here before, its got sleepers all the way up and across. I would have loved to get some pics up here but I would have been in the way. By the timeI got to the top of this the sweat was pouring off me and I had some slight concerns about how tired I was with so much left to do! 8K later and we were back to the bikes. Beautiful views of the lake in hazy morning sunshine.

The next section was a cycle to Lough Dan so we could kayak around the lake. It became really obvious that i am very slow on my bike. I would be fairly fit but people were streaming by me on the bikes and especially on uphill sections. Is it the bike I have or is it me? I wonder. There were times I was in the easiest gear and still struggling up some of those hills. My legs were burning. At the Kayak section I actually got paired up with a guy who knew how to kayak and steer the boat so we motored along nicely here passing many others. Again it was very scenic on the lake and I didn't care that I was getting soaked.

Back to the bikes for another cycle to the next mountain run section on the Djouce Mountain. Bloody hell it was all uphill. There were hills here where I had no hope of cycling up so I had to walk up. My legs, my feckin legs! Took me ages to evetually get up to the next run stage. It was the guts of an hour running and hiking here. Again, not a cloud in the sky with amazing views of the valleys and lakes an.d we were on forest tracks with nice bits of shade every now and then. Fair play to the lads that can run up this mountain. I hiked up and my right leg started to cramp. Something you notice at this stage is the really fit women out there. This girl literally skipped past me. Kudos to her. What an amazing view she left behind too. Up on top of this, its got sleepers again so I was able to trot along them for the most part.

And so the final stage. The last cycle over the sally gap back to Glendalough. 28k. I was too sore to enjoy the views at this stage. there were some massive downhill sections here that had me bricking it. I had no shades on so the bike was hopping on the road surface and my eyes were watering from the wind so I was afraid of hitting a patch of gravel or a pothole and killing myself. Other lads were pegging it past me. By the time I got to the finish line my legs, shoulders, back and arse were in tatters.

So there you have it. A very cool race indeed. Next big one is GaelForce west in August.

I love Ireland

I am having a great week. Its been sunny and warm all week so far and there are times when I think there is no better place than Ireland on a sunny day, provided of course you are in the right location.

Today I visited my home county. The wonderful county of Mayo. I love Mayo. All Mayo people love Mayo and I have a strong feeling I got my last job because I was from Mayo (So was the interviewer). You city folk would not get the appeal of the place really until you visit for a weekend session. With the Sun shining and time to kill I made a break for Louisburg for a surfing lesson. (Same place as the first time there Marc). The waves were a little smaller this time but the water wasn't as cold as I expected April Atlantic to be.

The drive out to Louisburg from Westport is fantastic on a sunny day. Passing by Croagh Patrick I always get the urge to park the car and head on up there if I can see the church on the top. (Last time I went up there, it was clear blue skies with fantastic views over clew bay. Then a German wanker hikes up and tried to be my friend AND a crusty hippie fella took out a tin whistle and aurally assulted everyone up there, thats another story).

So I got out to Carrowniski beach and took my 3rd lesson and despite getting a belt of the surfboard across the knackers almost immediately I had a ball. I was using a 10ft board so it was handy enough to stand up on it after a while. I'm still crap and a little nervous about currents and tides and such and such. CJ Parker was nowhere around to rescue me if I got into trouble but at this beach you only need to wade out to chest level and then wait for a decent wave to brew. The hardest part is turning the board around to point toward the shore and jump up on it in the right spot before the feckin wave knocks you off. The salt water was stinging my eyeballs after a while too.

So thats it. A Long drive home and a late dinner. I think I'll have no problem sleeping tonight!

A Waking Fear

I awoke suddenly. My body remained stationary, I didn't want to break the residual sleep spell. My eyes remained closed for the same reason.

But my mind was fully alert.

A feeling of total and utter fear remained with me from my dream. My skin prickled as the sweat cooled against it.

I lay there, immobile, eyes shut, making sense of what I was feeling. It was not from a dream. Something was in the room. In the corner. Watching me. A darkness. I could not see but could sense the malice. Had this invaded my dream or was my dream still dictating my feelings now.

I did not move. To move was to validate its existence. To move was to confront it. My breathing slowed, my ears searching for anything to calm or inflame my fears.

Concentration was hard to find, but if I could just get back to sleep then the threat, the fear, the evil would be gone, banished maybe back to a dream but gone from reality.

It lingered. I wanted to speak. The wind in the eaves outside the window whistled gently, unaware of the lurker in my room. In my head.

Nothing moved except my chest as it rose and fell in time with my breathing. Slowly sleep began to re-assert its dominance. But it was still there, in the dark corner of the room and as I drifted back off it crept back towards me, ready to re infest my sleep.


I fucking hate dreams about the quare fella.

This Means WAR!

Hello Ladies!,

check it out, the Wicklow Adventure Race will be attempted by my good self next saturday. I predict searing pain in my legs, lung busting runs and agonising bike rides.

Here's the route:

1. Spink Mountain run. 8.6 KM 575m climb

2. cycle glendalough to Lough Dan 15km, 165m climb

3. Kayak Lough Dan 2 Km

4. cycle to Djouce 8Km, 284 m climb

5. Run Djouce Mountain 9.5km, 450m climb

6. cycle back to Glendalough, 29Km, 114m climb, 438m decent.

Some thoughts:

I think I will find this very tough. It is starting to dawn on me that there is a lot of climbing yo! I can handle the runs and the walking and hacking coughs during such but the cycling is hard going. I am russibh in the bike and I am also trialing my 3rd saddle. 15K into any cycle I get a sore back and my wang starts to go numb. The bleedin pain of it! As with most things I ignore it and hope it goes away. To make matters more miserable you must carry stuff in a back pack, like food, drink, water proof stuff, first aid kit and Survival bag and a whistle. Party On!

I might even bring my iphone and take a few pics along the way. Wish me luck.

Your hero

Paul

Reporting the Facts.

I don't wish to make light of a serious matter - and in fact, what I'm writing about has nothing to do with it - but while reading about the murder of that poor young guy in Tyrellstown at the weekend, I saw this description of the accused -

The older brother wore a green T-shirt and his left arm was in a sling. Michael Barry wore a cream-coloured hooded top.

What in the name of Jaysus has this got to do with anything? Are we supposed to infer something from they were wearing? Are we to think that as they weren't wearing suits, they're n'er do wells or something? Unfortunately, I don't think that there's even anything like such an agenda in play here - its just lazy, unprofessional, sub-standard journalism. Can we expect reports like this from now on?

Justice Phuqnob wore a smart red judicial gown, while chief prosecution counsel, Farquhar McCock sported a natty two-piece wig and gown combo.

This isn't the first time I've seen this sort of shite in the Irish Times lately - I have a feeling I may have read something about it on another blog recently as well. I've also noticed an insidious, tabloid trend creeping in too - crap puns in headlines, celebrity gossip shite and the like - and if it continues, I'm moving to The Examiner. Loike.

A Beer For Our Times.

There's not much to talk about these days that isn't rage-inducing or crashingly depressing so how about some light That's Life-esque relief?

I came across this article today - a German brewery has won the right from the European Trademarks Office to register a new beer under the name "Fucking Hell".

Apparently, "hell" is the German for a "light beer" and Fucking is a little village near Salzburg. The Trademarks Office originally rejected their application on the grounds that it “used sexuality in order to express contempt and violent anger” but the Appeals Board overturned the decision as although

"Hell is in Christian terms, the place of highest torment . . . can it be considered as reprehensible to use existing place names in a targeted manner (as a reference to the place), merely because this may have an ambiguous meaning in other languages.

“The word combination contains no semantic indication that could refer to a certain person or group of persons... [ ] Nor does it incite a particular act. It cannot even be understood as an instruction that the reader should go to hell. The meaning assumed by the examiner is, overall, an interjection used to express a deprecation, but it does not indicate against whom the deprecation is directed.”

 Whatever of our tax that's left over from paying for the Anglo-Irish actually goes to fund shite like this...

Anyway, the residents of Fucking are going (fucking?) mental as tour buses full of fools - who really must have fuck all to do on their holidays - already plague them all summer long and they feel that this beer nonsense is only going to bring more unwanted visitors. Also

So many signs have been stolen over the years that the village held a vote in 2004 on whether to change its ancient name. But the residents voted against the motion. "Twelve or 13 town signs have been stolen. We've taken to fixing them with concrete, welding and rivets," said the mayor of Fucking, Franz Meindl.

And now over to Doc Cox who's going to show you some bollock-shaped vegetables....