THE INVISIBLE WOMAN

When the child returned from Oslo with a rucksack full of dreams and comparisons on public transport systems, he came with me to purchase a new mobile phone.  Which was great because he knew all the tech questions to ask – like ‘does it have 8 rams and 6 sheep’ or ‘can you film the Olympic games on it and sell the footage to network television’.  Well the questions actually make that much sense to me.  All I wanted was a piece of metal that I could send texts on and receive phone calls – and maybe take a picture of a sunset in Hawaii with the tag line ‘look at me I’m great’.  ‘Change to Vodaphone‘ said the child.  ‘O.K.’ I replied.  The young wan who sold us/me the phone conducted the entire negotiation without once looking in my direction – I felt like the elderly and infirm mad aunt who is allowed out of the looney bin for an afternoon.  It was a case of ‘does she take sugar’.  No I don’t – can’t you see that from my lean trim physique you chubby beach 007millennial.  And could the chubby millenial give a bravura comedy performance in the Button Factory like what I did last night?  Actually I did have a lovely night and caused the young to laugh – a lot and loudly – so not quite invisible yet.  Also caught up with the fab APB who showed me pictures of his adorable baby son on his mobile phone.  Didn’t want to say that there comes a day when pictures of children are replaced with pictures of cats.  That’s life.  Meanwhile I have to go into town now and tell the half wit who sold me a mobile phone cover for the new phone – that it does not fit and I want another one or my cash returned.  And if he gets stroppy the Sale of Goods and Supply of Services Act will be  quoted #notdeadyet.  Have a lovely Saturday mes amis.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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DEUS EX MACHINA

Well in my mobile phone’s case it’s more ‘deus in machina’.  There is certainly a ghost in this machine – the  phone keeps doing things of its own accord – like switching off the sound and threatening to delete certain files – it even phoned my son.  I have put it down to some class of terminal illness – the phone is about to die.  Although it’s really weird to watch it switch around between the apps.  No loss – I have a landline and I’m not that into phone calls anyway.  Meanwhile today I dragged the giant tree branch onto the lawn – de-leafed it – pulled of the twigs off for kindling – (no need for firelighters if the fire is correctly set) and chopped up the rest of the branch for firewood – which is nicely drying now for future use.  A log fire is a most forgotten pleasure – especially after a long bath surrounded by lavender candles listening to opera and sipping a modest glass of something fizzy.  The phone is really weird though – it’s as if an invisible finger keeps pressing it – maybe the ghost of Halloween past?  Tomorrow Isabella is doing her schtick in Sin E – 8 pm – although Chris usually puts me on late in the evening – now where did I put those DSCN0850castanets. Talking about dressing up – this is a picture of me and Arthur Smith doing some Greek tragedy. Chat soon.

Tootle

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THE END OF OCTOBER

So Winter is finally approaching us here in Eire and the tip of our noses feel the sting of cold air when we arise from our nests on chilly mornings.  The leaves pile up on the lawn and it’s time to light fires.  I’m still chopping wood from recent storms and drying it out.  A joyous task which results in hours of heat downstairs.  Unfortunately there is something askew with the radiators upstairs and when I turn on the heat they all come on and triple my gas bill – will the people in the plumbing company believe me? no.  All I get is some guff about how the house needs to be kept warm to save you from damp.  Plumbers have their own opinions and I have mine – achieving a compromise would qualify me to spearhead the Brexit negotiations.  But that’s tomorrow’s job.  Meanwhile I’m performing as my alter ego Isabella Cervantes in Jesters comedy club on Halloween i.e. Wednesday night – for those of you who are not familiar with Isabella she is a backing singer with Julio Iglesias and performs half in English and half in Spanish – and for my Enneagram chums she is a sx7w8.  Anyway I have been performing as Isabella for over a year now and she truly represents another part of me.  A woman  posted a yoke up on how to have a safe Halloween – no it was not about the dangers of throwing a can of petrol on a bonfire – it was a sermon on PC nonsense – it said you shouldn’t use cultural appropriation in your dressing up adventures – for a start I don’t take sermons from people on Social Media and secondly I doubt very much if any Spanish person would be offended by Isabella – and thirdly – she is not overly cultural – she is a woman who sings badly (como un cuervo) and loves too much.  What next – should we not speak in another language in case we offend people with our bad pronunciation.  Anyway it’s at Jesters comedy club on Wednesday at Sin E on Ormond Quay and I guarantee that you will laugh so much that you will need a Mansize tissue to wipe away the tears and then you can go into Mothercare on the way home and if you don’t like that you can talk to the Chairman and while you’re at it have a DSCN0563Brazilian bikini wax and a nice French kiss. And if you this offends you – ‘besame el trasero’. Chat soon.

Tootle

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FOOTFALL

Apparently the library business is all about ‘footfall’ these days.  The invisible ‘crumpled suits’ in the corridors of power have decided that libraries need a lot of people coming and going.  It is no longer enough to go in to borrow a book now and then – you also need to attend some of their events.  In my local library these events can be annoying – the speaking Irish group albeit a v. worthwhile exercise – camps out beside the philosophy/psychology section – making it impossible to peruse while they’re all ‘ag labairt gaelige’.  And the ‘help foreigners with their English’ – again worthwhile – camp out beside the talking book section – making it impossible to reach the middle of the section.  I suppose I could set up my own group – ‘a map to single or willing men in the area for ladies who want to do more than lunch’.  I enquired about the talking book/audio book club that was advertised – the librarian said that they had eight enquiries but only one turned up on the night.  I asked her what would be the nature of the group – like what would they discuss – she wasn’t sure but took my  name for January when she hoped to get it off the ground again.  I love the talking books when doing a spot of cleaning – and they are an ideal way of keeping one’s children out of the kitchen – it’s like garlic to a vampire in the ‘des res’.  There is now a new type of talking book that you can plug into some device in the car – I plan to make it work.  Talk to Joe (a strange Irish radio show for my American chums – think Fraser Crane but way less sophisticated) is all very well and good but I’d rather a crime thriller in my traffic – less murderous.  Meanwhile another useless bank holiday looms – they used to be so jam-packed with activity when I worked in the real world – although writing with a far away deadline is also work – a study looking out on trees with coffee brewing somehow slows down the pace.  The sky is comfortingly grey today in Eire – that constant sunshine is out of kilter with our Celtic nature.  Next week is Halloween and Isabella Cervantes takes to the boards again – photo0039 wittering away in Spanish – the woman has neck – I’ll say that for her. She sings filthy parodies of some of Julio’s beautiful songs – the cheek of her – wish I was that confident.  Chat soon

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A NEGLECTED CHILD

The young mother pushed her baby in the pram while staring transfixed at her mobile phone.  I watched her walk the entire length of the road from my observation tower.  Her movements were on automatic pilot and all the child would have seen is the small dark rectangular object between it’s mother’s face and it.  What could be so fascinating that it would take a mother away from her child.  Maybe something like the message I had today on my device.  “I didn’t like the bride’s dress” – “No, neither did I, the dropped waist did nothing for her” – “What was with the jacket? did her luggage get lost?”.  That sort of thing.  Is this what separates parents from their children these days?  Or maybe it was a picture of a cat pushing something off a kitchen top – they’re quite popular too as distractions.  Also popular is a new trend on Fuckbook whereby you put up a big picture of yourself and all the gigs you’ve got coming up in the next week and you wait for the ‘likes‘ and the comments telling you how great you are.  So here’s mine – tidy the garden before the neighbours stage an intervention – tackle the kitchen floor before there’s a health issue – and do the ironing and sort out the 003hot press – you know you will feel better afterwards.  Meanwhile the sun shines on the golden leaves and I’m going for a swim.  I do have gigs coming up – and am forever dickying up the set – it will  never feel perfect – nothing is.  But I live in comfortable discontent and occasionally I push the boat out beyond the boundaries of what one can say and what one cannot.  One can say one is wonderful and look at my success but one cannot make jokes about three blind mice because that will offend the Peta people and the disability rights people.  Queer times, queer times.  Can one even say ‘queer times’.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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RIDING AROUND ON TRAINS

“Sorry that’s my seat by the window” said the polite young man.  “Are you XX hell yeah!?” I enquired.  “Yes, but somebody else booked it for me” he said blushing.  The somebody else turned out to be his dad who apparently has a weird sense of humour and lives in Kilkenny.  The boy was going to spend the weekend with him.  He was still at school and wanted to study law when he left.  He told me that he was studying like a monk to get the points.  He seemed very bright and asked me what I thought about Donal Trump (if the CIA are reading this – please follow my blog you will learn a lot about life in Eire).  And thereupon followed a long discussion including his knowledge of all the American presidents which was fairly extensive. The boy knew a lot about everything and seemed very bright – I hope he gets to do law because  it would occupy his v. active brain.  He formally shook hands when I left the train at Kilare – so delightfully polite also.  And yet another reason for using the train pass – a sin not to.  Kildare Village is a shopping outlet mall place where middle class people go at the weekend to buy out of date designer gear that they don’t need but try to convince themselves they do – six season old Prada is never a bargain if you ask moi.  Also if you ask moi the Elektra handbag that I have my eye on will probably never surface there.  The reason?  Because it will sell naturally – there are two of them in red left in Biekendorf in Amsterdam and I doubt if they’ll ever make their way across the Irish sea to be marked down.  I had a coffee in the sunshine and resisted any urges to spend my schecks on stuff that I neither wanted nor desired. Unlike the masses going around with several large bags each and children in expensive buggies who were silenced with games on iPhones – will they grow up and be able to enjoy conversations viva voce with strangers on trains?  One doubts it v. much.  I had a long wait at Kildare station on the way back for the Dublin train – too bloody long and no one to chat with while I waited – unlike the previous trip when I met the Chinese woman whose father raises goats for cashmere in outer Mongolia – so fascinating – anyway I should have brought a woolly hat and gloves – the weather is changing – hints of winter are appearing in the deceptively sunny air.  I bought a bread roll in M&S at Heuston station for my breakfast.  There was a very drugged man stumbling around attempting to buy a bottle of Diet Coke but he couldn’t find his way to the cash register. He never did in the end.  The bus home was uneventful.  I would go to Waterford this week only I have three gigs coming up – the biggest one being T.C. Comedy Bash in the Dolmen Theatre in Cornelscourt on Thursday evening where I am the Headline Act.  Maybe next week. So no trips until then – unless you count Friday when I am reading at the Red Line book festival. A trip on the Red Line LUAS is a journey in itself – best undertaken on full alert – that train is not stranger to mind altering substances.   Meanwhile winter wood is going to be stored in the hot press to speed up the drying process – winter fires and book reading beckon – let the cosinessDSCN0563 begin.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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A PERFECT NIGHT

To push yourself a little further you should always go where it is not comfortable because to go where you will always win means that you are not pushing your limits.  There is nowhere that I always win so it’s all a journey.  Last night I returned to comedy after an absence.  I stayed away because the cats died – the mourning is almost over – though I will never forget the ‘boys’.  “Pauline is that you?” said a voice in the darkness as I neared the comedy club.  It was a man who is an alcoholic but was supposed to be ‘cured‘.  In the comedy club he talked about his relationship with the demon drink with an honesty seldom heard.  We usually hear the sanitized version – the ‘now I’m cured and I’m grand’ version – but only a comedian with a comedian’s honesty can talk about real reality without cloaks of one thing or another  – the ‘alcohol is really lovely and I love it – it provides a great social lubricant’ version – no one ever expresses that really honestly – do they.  And when they do they confer on you the honesty to be you – whoever you are and whatever your particular relationship with alcohol is.  I came on at the end – where I normally do a ‘sweep of the room‘ and bring the strands of the other comedians’ offerings together.  In an instant I knew he would be ok with including him in that – he was – the room was – I went to the edge and it worked.  He has a valueDSCN0917 – he has a great value – a value seldom recognised.  Thank you Mr Man.  Today the joy of a great night over spilled into my day – breakfast in town in a place in the Liberties where I used to buy coffee when I attended a local college in late life – the coffee is still amazing – as is life.  It will always surprise – and delightfully.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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