I’m feeling mental…Senti-mental

sixfeet

Last Christmas. Good times

As we await the end of the world, at least there’s still this. When I’m sitting in my dinner on Chrimblas Day, ready to stab a sibling with a wishbone and carefully keeping an eye on the volume of alco-liquid that will get me to bedtime, I will be humming ‘Fairytale of New York’ in my head. Best watched/listened to alone as adding one other person makes it feel like some kind of formal Irlanda ‘salute the flag’ event. If heard in a pub, it provokes a selfish reaction as you scowl at some pissed-up tit in a Chrimblas jumper, wanting to tell him, “I remember when this came out you little prick. You probably think the Killers are legends. Go to Arnotts for your Chrimblas music you dick.”

Anyways, It’s about the only thing worth looking forward to at Christmas. Everything else disappoints, except functional alcoholism. In this awkward time when people are worried about ‘other’ people saying Happy Holidays, taking the Christmas out of Christmas, worrying about a war on Christmas, just remember one thing: nobody is actually doing that. If someone says Happy Holidays to you, you can say Happy Christmas to them. They don’t care. Nobody cares. Muslims don’t care. Buddists don’t care. Evangelical Ewoks don’t care. Scientologists don’t care because they want your Pass Card. I don’t care.

There is no God. No evidence of its existence. No evidence that it doesn’t exist. No one knows. Nobody actually knows. So, if someone says Happy Christmas to you, you’ll probably go Happy Christmas back, despite you both dropping your religious education aged 12 and only go to a church for a wedding or a funeral. You say ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes. That embarrassed person usually mutters ‘thanks’ through soaking hands. They don’t actually think that your ‘bless you’ means that you are an ordained priest or are a dark wizard with healing powers. Fuck that and fuck you. Giving me a cold I don’t fucking want.

I once heard Ronan Keating singing this song. He won’t be doing that again.stretch-macgibbonxmas

That auld shite

Was watching the useless Ladder 49 and it got me all Irish-American and made me feel all Irlandish an shit (like all those movies make me), so I thought I must post this piece of beauty, which when I play it does not sound as good, hence my obscurity.

Who turned the leccie on?

Stretchtival

Oh NO, after a self-imposed exile of all events that are supposedly cool, Stretch here has had some kind of brain bubble develop in my inner ear, causing me to slam my head sideways off the keyboard, which accidentally triggered the evil t****tmaster, causing me to buy a ticket for the Electric Blanket festival in some godawful field in Laois at the beginning of September.

The one thing I love about festivals, is that within minutes of entering the campsite, some person with nothing better to do except moan, will tell you that last year’s jamboree was better. But we’ve only been here five minutes. Yeah, but those five minutes were a lot cooler and I’m telling you, a lot less corporate last year. Punnnnch.

Bonobo: Irlanda performance with attitude

As Ol’ Mama Stretch would say to me,

“Stretch mo ghrá, people who are bored are boring people. Now shag off, you’re irritating me and brush your teeth. You look like Shane McGowan.”

So anyway, I shall be heading to The Blanket with Dr Ballantine Baines and others to discover how many adults actually get nappy rash at these things.

Also, there do be some good reasons to attend:

1. The Fall. Always the Fall.

2. Bonobo’s first Irish appearance (bullshit, he’s DJ’d here before and besides what’s wrong with Irlanda cuz)

3. Laurent Garnier a la campagne! Formidable

4. The chance to hassle Steve Earle about Bubbles.

5. Steve Mason, Beta Man.

6. The chance to stand behind Frames fans and whisper, “You know you are slobbering over a paedophile?”

7. Also, I will stand in front of The National, point at Tom Berenger (or whatever) holding a poster of Peter Steele and scream, “J”ACCUSE!”

8. P.I.L. are there; Leftfield are there. What are the chances? What comes next?

9. and all the little bands who fill out these events making them a lot longer than they need to be.

10. Surrendering yourself to corporate consumerism under the guise of being a weekend hippie.

Coming back on the Monday, showering til Tuesday and swearing that it wasn’t as good as the last time. The chance to sleep in a tent is always exciting too, for the first night, then its straight to a hotel with power shower and spa treatment. Fuck me, it’s not about getting old. Comfort is NOT about getting old. Ha!

charity song fuelled by rawk andalittul rawl

Screaming Jay Hawkins cover good choice for charity song shocker!

This actually works very nicely twicely, apart from Johnny Depp appearing randomly throughout, staring into space. Also, Bobby Gilliespie losing the sing-off with amazing ease, hilarious. Magical Nick Cave magics people next to him every few seconds, it’s great. He is magic. Still, good stuff.