HOMESICK

What is it about Irish people? There has just been an election at home and as usual the corrupt party got elected and the right wing got decimated,(Hmmm is it possible to get decimated?).

The political landscape has been a strange one to grow up in. It is only now that I am no longer there, that I can define in a new way what it means to be Irish for me. It has little to do with Church or State even though I have been profoundly effected by both. I grew up in a poor, mostly homogenous, country, where usually the foreigners were tourists.

The Nigerians who came to eat with us, who worked in the same hospital as my mother, and the Arab guys who lived a few doors down, were exceptions. That I had contact with them at all was a priveledge and it is only now as I write I realise I was the only one in a neighbour hood of many children, who spoke and ate with these kind and gentle engineers from another country.

There are now more jobs than workers in Ireland, and it is a thriving multinational island on the west of Europe, and yet at it's heart too. Racism is still rife.

So what am I homesick for? My parents are selling the house they have lived in for over 50 years of marriage. My home will be sold. My home. Me?
My friends have either sold up and moved away, or lost contact with me and I with them. It rains a lot. I have never felt I belong there, neither to the religous conservatives, nor the sporting leftwing or the rich and nazi like right. I could string a few words of gaelic together, I knew where to get 'good' music, a decent pint, what places to avoid, and in a second, I could tell if there was going to be trouble. I could size a guy up by his walk and the look in his eyes, I could meet him on his own level because I have an uncanny ability to imitate, and a great visual memory for movement and body shape.

Maybe it is this. This knowing and understanding that I miss. I am like a man scuba diving without a tank. I speak and it is all bubbles, I hear and it is all muffled. I speak English, every phrase has to repeated. I speak French, every phrase has to be corrected. I don't know the faces, the kids look like adults. The adults act like children. I am completely thrown for six in fact. I am a man who is now swimming more often than in the whole of my life to this point, and yet I am a fish out of water.

I live in paradise. I am no longer in Tir na Og, (land of the young),Ireland.
How strange! I am reminded of the instutionalised who cannot function once set free in society. I am more than capable at home, here I struggle. This is the longing for home, the longing to walk into a bar, look accross the room see a complete stranger, smile, and know that in 20 minutes you will be engrossed in a damn good conversation over a decent pint and there is always fish and chips to eat on the way home. But can you ever really go back once you leave? A friend told me one time, the intelligent leave and grow, and do well, the stupid stay. How frustrating for the intelligent when they see they have arrived in Stupid land. Ignorance is not at all bliss, it is a terrible affliction, and yet I am homesick for my cold and damp ignorant island that is Ireland, that is Home.

The Right Has It

The Result of the Presidential Election is that Sarko goes past the post with 53% of the vote. Now we will see if there is a New France or more of the same from the ruling party that is the right. Sego is already giving her speech. Voting closed at 8pm and the outpolls, always accurate give us the result. It's quick clean and simple.
But what now?
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What does it mean when the President elect mentions the opposition and all his supporters boo and holler? What does it mean when the President elect says 'No, we must respect Madame Royale because half of France has voted for her, and it is the job of the President of France to respect all of the people of France?" Does it mean that only because he is president he will give lip service to you? Or does it mean that political views are now as zero, and he will actually respect everyone regardless of race, colour, creed?. Mon Oeil. I could write so much more about what I have seen tonight but why? A country gets the leader they deserve. If 20% of the population couldn't have been bothered to vote or to make a choice they will indeed reap what they sow.
Sarkozy has called on people to support the US. France is a friend of the US. I wonder what this means for both Bush and his war on terror? Or is it Sarkozy's anti Magrebian, anti Arab, anti Berbour, anti anyone from the middle east or a former French colony policy that will change forever the face of modern Europe? It is definitely a strange time to be here. Yes the Right have it, but it doesn't mean they are correct.

Where is Home?

The Election is on today. France will have a new President soon. Those who are voting blank are voting for Sarkozy. They will moan and bitch afterward without realising their refusal to vote against him is a vote for him. He may be the tonic France needs. He worries me. He looks too eager. Strange that his father came from Hungary. I wonder what this country holds for my boys future?

My son is here with us. I am extremely tired. I think I may have had a flu and although now I have come through it I am completely knackered.
My Parents are selling the family home in Ireland. It is causing me some problems. I knew I was attached to my place, my space. Since I have left Ireland I have had to redefine my identity. I had never before had to explain what an Irishman is until I came here. I knew then it was only my explanation, not any other Irishman's or Irishwoman's.
I have watched people make assumptions and crack jokes and completely misinterpret what goes for normal back home. The notion the French have of Irish people is a little like that of those who think French men ride bicycles with strings off onions around their necks, while their wives smoke long cigarettes and wear suspenders under knee length pencil skirts.
Now there is another straw being pulled away. Another thread opened and unraveled. When I go home next, where will home be?
It is certainly not here, not yet. I haven't been able to seep my spirit into the soil and find a connection.
I wonder if there is a reason for that?

The Final the Election and Europe

I missed the televised debate. I have no idea what happened. Why ? Well sick as I am I decided to go and watch Manchester United be humbled and thrashed by AC Milian. No, it was not the plan. But I did meet a cool guy, well I had met him a few times, tonight was the first time we talked. An Italian Guy, a father, divorced, devoted to his son. This could be a good step.

I say this however, if you are thinking of not voting, please vote no matter where you are. At the least it may give you the right to bitch for the next 4 years.

Alexander Newski

I am just back from the Grimaldi Forum. The Monaco Philharmonic played Prokofiev along to the film by Eisenstein. It was quite fun in fact to see such a presentation. The film was made as a message to Nazi Germany not to Invade the borders of Russia. The message fell on deaf ears but the outcome historically was the same.

I wondered how Russians and Germans in the audience or even Orchestra might have perceived the film today. It was a lesson in propaganda no doubt. But as a story on it's own it was quite a fun experience.

I asked what was spirituality. One reader noted I am on a journey. It is one I have been on for a while now. Lately however I am noticing energy in my body in strange ways. Physically for a while I have a rash over my heart chakra. I have sebhoric dermatitis which is extremely irritating. However now my chakra seems to have opened up and energy seems to be pouring out of me splashing on whoever is near. The rash has for the moment disappeared.

I am lacking a guide, a spiritual advisor in some way, a shaman. It's a huge part of my life I have neglected till now and at present, it is screaming and roaring for attention. I don't know where it will lead. I am nervous about it.

So at the beach this morning I was conscious of more looks than usual from women on the beach. I felt like I was standing out for some reason. Was there fire coming from head and feet perhaps?
Those of you that know me will think the warrior has gone nuts. The rest of you probably know what I am talking about. I couldn't help but catch the eyes of people. As I returned from my swim I saw a few of the women around 40-50 years old trying to come into the sea, they all tried to engage me in conversation about the water. This doesn't happen here. To make even friendly contact is quite unusual, so with my energies flying around the place I as usual noticed it and filed it away for further examination.

It has been a busy weekend Lots of people around us. Lots of positive feedback from those around us. I notice the network of English speakers fluctuating as always. Groups that used to number in the 20s and 30s for a night out, now number less that 10.

It is normal here. There is such a transient community. People come for the weather, the adventure, to escape something, perhaps. They get bogged down in red tape, they don't bring the right information with them, they can't understand the unspoken rules and don't know why the waiters can be so rude. They understand less the strikes, the lack of French friends, the need to speak French. They think they are dynamic and positive people but with 15 to 20 percent unemployed in the region and they not speaking the language, is it no wonder the last a few weeks, or months or a best maybe a year or two before they give up.

You see it's all been tried before, the market is flooded and people who are will protect the territory they have.

I guess it's a little like the story of the film, there seems to be a desire to repeal the invader here. The invader here are those that don't 'get it'. But I don't have an answer as to why people come. There seems to be a lot of women run away to here. The guys come to work the girls come to hide. I wonder how much truth is in that.

What is Spiritual?

You know as I sit here and write I have a plethora of things going through my mind as to what I should be writing about. I have met someone whom I think is a signpost. Recently they have pointed me near a Zen Monastery.
For me this was a real wow moment. I had not imagined there was one so accessible, so close. I am very excited about it.
In the turmoil of leaving home and friends, of being thrown in at the deep end, of breaking up with my ex, of fighting with myself to stay, of choosing to enter another relationship so soon, of just plain living, something somewhere has gotten misplaced.

I seem to have a spiritual hunger.

I seem to cathect a lot lately. To misplace energy into spaces that are not built for feeding the spirit.

I wonder how in this modern age, the spirit can be fed. How do we let go the trauma of birth, of learning to walk, to talk, to learn, to grow, to belong, to let go? Surely we must all to some extent or another suffer from Battle fatigue or post traumatic stress without actually realising it?
Surely the negative energy many people give off, sticks to us like sound to magnetic tape, and we need some space and time to brush this off?
To rebirth ourselves in consciousness and awareness, to feel deeper and more profoundly those ceremonies of life and their true meaning. What does it truly mean to marry? To get a job? To be unemployed? To be divorced? What are these labels we bandy around the place that make us rejoice or cry? Why? What does it really mean when we say, "We are at War" ?
I wonder if either of the potential presidents of France have an inner spiritual life that they are aware of. How do they apply it to their search for power? What is this power they seek? Are they so void of depth as to seek meaning in position and in fact therefore remain completely powerless?
How do you define yourself and your inner self? What are the secrets you carry that no one sees, that define you?
How does one give birth to ones true self?

The Follow Up

As I haven't been here for such a long time I doubt anyone is reading. However yesterday I spoke about him and now I will speak about her.
She is Sego. Not Sarko but Sego. Sego has just finished her spot on TV. I found what I was looking for to some degree near the end. The guy asking the questions, in fact there were two of them, asked her about her strengths and how she would prepare to face Sarko on Wednesday. Her response was completely natural, completely right and she smiled amused at such a silly question. Her responses were basically to do with asking the interviewer what he thought she had been doing for the campaign? What he thought she had done here tonight in front of him and his co-host and in front of Millions. Why in Gods Name would she be practicing in front of someone who was pretending to be Sarko? I mean Really.

Ségolène wants change and lots of it. She wants the women who work at the check out to get a pay rise every year and that the equivalent of Wall Mart doesn't get richer while paying the same wages for years.
She wants investment in youth that will in time cut the cost of unemployment.
She wants responsible Unions and Responsible Owners. Dialog before striking rather than striking to get dialog.
She wants people it seems to grow up and stop taking hand outs for nothing. She wants business to be not given huge amounts of grants when they are already rich.
She wants banks to stop charging ridiculous sums of money for the slightest infractions. ( that would get my vote if I had one. )

When pressed about Taxes she said she wouldn't raise them but Sarko said he was raising VAT. The interviewer quickly interrupted and stated that it was to be an experimental tax. Quick as a flash she turned on him without taking a breath, 'when have you ever paid an experimental tax ? It's either a tax or it's not'. I thought she was going to put him over her knee and spank him.

Maybe I am looking at her too much. she is an attractive person when she is relaxed. The few glimpses of her natural self that we have been permitted to see, shows she is a far more interesting person that the Stepford wife I described yesterday.
Stepford was not around today. Her clothing (and this is where women win hands down over men in politics, if they get it right) was amazing. She wore a white dress and black jacket and heels. I doubt French culture would let her away with trousers. But the bodice of the dress was reminiscent of a corset. It had sort of ribbing or outlining and while the dress was not at all tight it was definitely borrowing from the corset style. I was wondering if it was an intentional message to many men of France that your powerful to be leader can also be sexy. It was very subtle and perhaps not intended but certainly did no harm. I wonder how many French men and women dream of being dominated by a sexy powerful woman. It always seemed to be some sort of fetish the English Conservatives had but I didn't figure on the French having it too. [NO she who on my blog will remain nameless was not even close to feminine, never mind anything else].

I think Ségolène painted a new way. I think she communicated responsible socialism. She is bringing a new set of rules to change 'Rip OFF' France. I am intrigued as to how many votes she has gained tonight as I don't think she lost any, that's for sure. How she is going to impose her rules I cannot imagine.

Last night Sarko refused to answer what he thought her strong and weak points were. Tonight she answered the same questions about him. His strong point? He Knows Everything. And his weak point? He knows everything. He always has an answer for everything'

I don't comment on his style as he wore a suit and tie and as usual looks like a guy at a bar looking for a game of poker. How he managed to learn to ride a white horse for this election is beyond me.

I don't know who will win this election. I feel it's the most important in France for decades. I know I am more attracted to Ségolène's way working. I doubt it would be given a chance. I think a lot of what she said is already in vogue in other EU countries. This is France. They don't like change. They don't mind short men with power complexes. If she does win, it will be by a percent or two. If Sarkozy wins I think he will do it outright. I will keep you posted.

A Sort of Explanation.

Okay so you don't know so here goes. France is a founding member of the European Community.
I come from Ireland one of the countries that has benefited most from the EU.
France has an awkward history which it still refuses to deal with in relation to two key areas. The first being the WW2 and the second it's colonial past. Let me just say now, of course I have to generalise how else do you explain the reaction of a nation of over 50 million people. Both of these histories have left indelible marks on the French psyche. In particular in relation to the type of politics practised and of course identity.

The election last week was the first round of a two part race. Two people are elected to the second round and then 2 weeks later it is a straight run off.

There were 4 principal candidates in the first round. Jean-Marie Le Pen who is the Leader of the National Front ( so far Politically right it's unbalanced in my view). Francois Bayrou and politically ex right wing and now centrist leader. Segolene Royale from the Socialists and Nicolas Sarkozy from the center right UMP.

Sarkozy and Royale won the first round. It was expected Bayrou, who came third with 18% or 7 million people, would tell his followers to vote one way or another because of the result. Bayerou has instead challenged the finalists to a debate and refused to say how he will vote in the next round as they are both bad for France.

Royale immediately said ' Yes next Friday in front of the press' and Sarko has just said on TV basically 'What is the point?'
His view is, he in the final, and the third placed team can go home.( this is a mix of his word and my phrasing). What is the point of debating with someone who has lost?

The problems the French are facing are enormous.
Unemployment is extremely high. Immigration from former colonies is very high and many people are here illegally. The paradox is they come to work. The truth is they get it as they will do jobs the white French don't dare.

Youth unemployment in France is among the worst in western Europe, at around 20 per cent but hovering around 40 per cent on some housing projects. These are the people Sarkozy referred to as scum as they burned their neighbourhoods and their neighbours property in protest early last year. Not I might add, Rabble, no indeed the word used was Scum.

Social welfare is among the highest in Europe. Since I have been here paying taxes I have had my teeth done, and have had various visits to the doctor and got new spectacles. I am estimating I paid about 30% of the overall cost.

There are a huge number of civil servants and as to what they do I don't know. I have often been asked by those dealing with me if Ireland was a member of the EU. I even had one sympathise with me as I was a refugee from the war...............? (that's another story).


I have seen people here go sick from work for strange maladies. They are depressed, go to the doctor get free happy pills and can't work anymore. They stay on full salary until such time as the company decide to fire them. This can take years. If they get fired they get full salary for nearly a year and sometimes the cost of firing them can be prohibitive.
There are more pharmacies in Nice than Bars in Dublin but their produce unlike the bars of Dublin is heavily subsidised. It is in my opinion a hypochrondriac society.

I have seen many people in the work place who do the bare minimum, and then gripe about the boss. Ingenuity and spontaneity are not welcomed rather they are frowned on as they correct piece of paper has not been circulated. Some people spend the first half hour of they day logging what they had done the previous day. that's a half a day a week, writing up what you did for the week rather than actually doing it.

The French are ingenious no doubt, but get them together and they get bogged down in the rules and regulations and these become far more important than anything else.

When Sarkozy talks I see a man who is extremely polite yet opinionated. Intelligent and power hungry. It's not a good mix for me. He has come out with some bushisms if you will but of a very serious nature. Google him and read more than one view if you want. Basically he believes in genetic determinism and that is a thought that in my mind should be left back in WW2.


Royale wants to increase the minimum wage. It costs an American company about 3 times as much to employ a French person as it is does an American if I remember my figures from an article about Wall Mart in Newsweek or some such magazine. The problem is the French employee earns about half of what the U.S employee earns.

Are you following me yet. Sarkozy is a Blairite/Thatcherite who will impose an FFI minister. French Identity and Immigration. To teach the immigrants who and what the French are and how France works? Is this fascist or just sensible?

This is the man many will say can get the job done, can pull the number 5 World Power out of it's decades of malaise and basically give it the kick up the backside it needs.

Both of these candidates have talked about National Identity. One talks about working for France leading France and how great France is. The other talks about putting France to work, the people,the unemployed.

I see the logic of giving up all the social stuff, France cannot pay the pensions of the people in it's care. In 20 years time there may well be a geriatric revolution with zimmer frames. But in Truth this Son of an Immigrant Sarkozy scares me while the rest of France frustrates me.

I am afraid my politics is more left than right. More social than capitalist but I damn well understand commerce, and the fact that the world we live in eats, breaths, pisses, and shits profit and loss. That is the reality.

As I have already mentioned Madame Royale may be formidable politically, face to face with someone, but in front of a crowd or camera or a microphone she dissappears into a stilting stone face stepford wife. Sarkozy is like Rumplestillskin in the corner rubbing his hands. He knows only two well she cannot spin all that straw into gold. While he will most likely sell the straw, kill the farm animals, knock down the house and build a supermarket, if you allow the analogy to go so far.
What will the future bring?

The French Elections

I am back. I cannot help it. Firstly apologies to those who posted comments and they were never displayed. I missed the whole thing about the new blogger being away for so long. Yes the elections happened today. If anyone is reading and anyone cares, I gaurantee that the next president of the Republic of France will be Mr Sarkozy. This is the man who said that sex abusers are what they are because of a genetic inheritance. This is the man who wants to establish and committee to define what it means to be French. So if you are Magrebian or non French you can forget ever getting to make a great life here. The new France will in no uncertain terms let you know your faults and be sure that you remember that you are not from here, while you are still paying your taxes.
Royale the left wing opposition, is an elegant woman who cannot speak in public. She cannot smile that she has been elected to the second round. The manner in which she halting delivered her speech of joy tonight was frightening. It was ineptitude on a major scale.
We still do not know what she wants to do as President. It took her about 3 pauses in one phrase to tell us how delighted she was, that France had changed it's political habits with the greatest voter turn out in decades. She should have been jumping for joy but she was calm, staid, silent even for the first 20 seconds. In air time 20 seconds is a long time. The lights went out and she wasn't perturbed neither could she think of something witty to say. What is it with these people who advise her. The speech was slow and stilting and did more to convince people she is incapable on a world stage that anything else. I am sure somewhere she has some good notions, but she doesn't portray it. In the end the French goverment policy of the future will come down to who gets their message across first and who does it best. Madame Royale, you were second tonight and will be for the forseeable future. For which now, I fear greatly.

What's Happening?

On a personal level I continue to be an Irish guy plagued by English people who should know better. At 'The Lord of the Dance', Show on Saturday night, a woman with an English accent kept commenting through the performance. When the female soprano was on Stage singing, the woman somewhere behind me starting making jokes about the words in the song. I had (as usual) had enough. I turned when the song was over. Without thinking I spoke to her in her own accent, 'Are you going to talk all night? ' , 'I beg yer pardin?'She replied. 'Would you please Shut up?' I replied.
I turned away sufficiently pissed off till I heard a male voice over my other shoulder. 'Merci'. I was truly glad. Sometimes I wonder why I let it get to me. Sometimes I wonder why I always have to be the one to say what everyone else is thinking.
The show was great fun, but lacked an easy to follow thread in the first half. Either tell a story or don't. Don't half do it.
At 10 euro for a program and 30 euro for a CD, I was embarrassed to be Irish, and Mr. Flattley? No wonder you are ill charging those prices, shame on you.
On a more serious matter, some of you know I comment on International affairs from time to time. Here is the following for an Irish News site.....Lebanese Minister assassinated. I don't suppose the implied warning would be from the Syrians, to the U.S. who have 'asked' them not to get involved in Lebanon's affairs? Mr. H and Mr. Z, I hope your families are safe and well.

Gaza town stunned by shelling

what justification is there for this.

I told you so

See? It must have been the full moon. I knew something was going on. Donald Rumsfeld, a man whom I thought the Devil Incarnate is gone. Now that is something to be really excited about.
To all those Americans who told all of us Europeans to go and jump, and stop interfering, and to mind our own business, well, see I told you so. Thank you all for kicking them out and hopefully some sanity can come back into the world now. Actually I doubt the Democrats are much better to be honest but I guess it's the best of a bad lot. When are you guys going to get a real democracy?

Turning

Well October and September were at best strange months. My brother in law passed away. It is a story with much beauty in it, that for my dear sister has obviously resulted in much pain, and perhaps it is not right to say the story has finished. Perhaps it is.
It has been a time where much of my doubts and fears had been cast aside. Doubts that had been ingrained due to the end of my relationship with my son's mother. Friends who mean the world to me, took the risk, the time, the effort, and gave the love, and came and visited. When I arrived here three years ago, there were a few people who had come to see me. Now the wheels have turned the very same few people are visiting again, and this time it is even better. You my friend who inspired Galina in my play, ( I promise only the person who understands this will know what I am talking about, anyone else will know I am weird) it was so great to see you and your friend. To hear you laugh, to watch you, to remember what it is like to be in your company, to see you enjoy yourself. How great that you came for a weekend and shared with us. How great that you feel good to come back again when you like. I sincerely hope you do. I still don't know what your parents look like.
My filmmaker friends were here too, Tom and Ann. I mention them because they are already famous on this blog and will be famous soon when you all click on the rascal film link or the James Connolly one in the side bar. (I can't remember which one, and I don't have it open just yet.) it was too short, they will be back. A sister in law, ( what do you call a sister in law who is your brothers ex? She is not sister ex in law is she?) who badly needed a holiday came to visit. I think it did her the world of good. It is difficult to get out of the mind set that it is not going to rain tomorrow. It is strange for us Irish here at the beginning. We read the sky and think, it will be a good day tomorrow. Tomorrow stretches into days, stretches into weeks, stretches into months and there is no rain. Then one day, there is a smell, something familiar, one looks at the sky and predicts rain within the hour. Fifty Five minutes later the heavens open and the locals look at you weirdly. It is what happens when you grow up in Ireland, but it only happens in the South of France.
I was on my back for almost a week after doing some more damage to my muscles by lifting an empty plastic bowl. Yes I can hear the howls of laughter but it is true.
I am more relaxed in myself but somehow my body is telling me things are wrong. My skin is falling off. I look like I have been beaten up sometimes or at best slapped hard. I have a bad skin, simply put. I am taking the steps necessary to sort myself out.
It has got colder. I haven't been swimming and I miss it. Tomorrow I will be at the beach near the Stadium in Monaco, I will be in the water, I will swim.
I met Hadia a few days ago, I had hardly been in touch with her since she left. There was friction between her and us at the start and she is so very proud. Then she rang and asked me to go gaurantor for a flat. I couldn't. How the shoe is on the other foot now. I had so many difficulties during my time alone here, finding a garantor was impossible. See for the moment the bills mount but who knows what lies around the corner? At this present time I am not in the position for her to miss a months rent. I can just about meet my own needs. I too continue to cut the corners for a little while longer. But there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Then Ken, who know the guy, who first went to Nice, then Croatia, then Denmark and then Back to the U.S. rang out of the blue. So howdy buddy. Get your ass back here. I didn't speak long, we were in the airport in Nice, I have just realised he was in the airport too, but in Virginia. See the point is I have a feeling of the wheel turning now. It's a feeling I haven't had for a while, movement in the right direction. Closure to many things but not all. There it is again, that line from the Elvis Presley song.......'and the world turns'. Cycles and full moons, and it is a full moon as I write. The value of Friendship cannot be estimated, but it has nothing to do with money.

In memory

I have to be careful in what I write. I don't want to hurt anyone. So this, what I write is for me.
I remember you full of vitality. I remember you saving my ass in a manner of speaking when I was unjustly accused. I remember that sly secret smile you used to have around our family. The one that was truly diplomatic, where you thought one thing and knew better than to say it out loud and yet that thought made you smile, and I understood it. I felt your inner conflict. It frustrated me that the invisible wall of history was thrown up between us and we admired each other from opposite sides. Not condemning at all the other but neither capable to make the bridge over the political gap. I remember you as shorter and rounder than me. I remember you as sometimes very very deep, too deep, as someone aware, knowing perhaps more than people around you thought you knew.... I remember your voice, it would have been jazzy were you a singer, perhaps dare I say it, they type of voice white folk call black, raspy, like Louis Armstrong's voice. I remember you capable of taking a joke, of recounting a joke, of letting a guy know he was okay. I remember you being afraid. I remember the hassle when I went home to see you and everyone got upset that I was making a fuss. They told me you might only have six months, then you might not survive the operation, so for myself, for my purely selfish reasons, I left my dying marriage and found you frightened. I have no idea if anything I said made any difference. When I was home later, after your operation, to bury an old aunt, and you limped into the church yard looking depressed, it made me say to you 'hey how are you? Last time I saw you, you thought this would be you.'But you had perhaps rightly forgotten your previous fear as you struggled with your new incapacitating reality.
3 years later after the first discovery I saw you again. You looked the same as last time. Still afraid, still struggling and frustrated, understandable.
Now 4 months later, you need never worry again. My sister will be good. There are those who will take care of her. I am not her favourite and that is all I understand. I am glad you have let go, but I am deeply sad I wasn't there. I can't be there, I won't be there. I will visit where you lie whenever I get home, perhaps next year, who knows?
This is my small curse of never being home anymore, I cannot be there. I cannot mourn in real. I have to let go in absence. It is not too easy. It is difficult. It is the way of the emmigrant. I have to continue as if nothing has happened. I told my son, he is six, I don't think he even remembers you but he was sensitive to something being wrong. 'Papa why did Maman say OH no'? I am not good at keeping things from children, it doesn't help them grow to keep them too innocent. So I told him you had died. He was quiet. I asked him was he okay, and he said yes. I told him to tell his Mam he knew. She will flip out. Maybe that's just part of why she is my ex. You would hear me say that and smile.
I see that smile again now, like you understand but know something I don't. I know it is nothing compared to that which you have gone through. Your arm on my shoulder, that brotherly pat on the back. For we were brothers at one stage before we were in-laws.
I don't know why you went through it, nor why she went through it, nor anyone for that matter. My sanity and philosophy tell me it is just so.
So I excuse myself, I cannot be there. I cannot sing by your side as you lie at home, I cannot toast your memory, I cannot wake you, I cannot shed tears at your graveside. Thank you for not holding on too long, sorry I can't be there now.

Rip Off France

Ripped Off AGAIN
Okay, I have been away longer than I thought. See I had an accident a while back. My scooter was written off. It's only a 50cc and I was only doing 15km an hour but I still managed to hit the guy who pulled out in front of me.
Now I could have been killed. I could have been crippled, incapacitated, truly fucked up and unable to work but I was lucky. I was in shock for a weekend. The front wheel was slightly bent and the forks unaligned. It was enough. No more independence. No more getting to the beach easily. Still have the insurance to pay even though I know the bike is useless.
Finally things get sorted out and I am told by my insurance guy to bring the scooter to the workshop. He will go down and assess with their experts.
I ring a tow truck company, they want 120 euros to call to my house, put the bike on a trailer and bring it a mile down the road. HOLY F@*K.
A friend offers to drive 20 miles/30km with a trailer attached to a small car, wait for the day, drive me home, pick up the bike and bring it to the workshop. It is done. The scooter is deposited outside, and the next morning I have to hurry down to ensure it is okay, drop off the keys and now it will be taken care of, right? WRONG.
I get a call two days later telling me it won't be repaired. The assurance company will buy it off me the workshop tell me. They order me to come and get it. Two days later they ring me again. They ask me when I am coming to get it. I have organised my friend again to make his 60km round trip to help me. We go to pick up the scooter and the main headlight is conspicuously absent. .... I ask the lady behind the counter, and she goes to look for it. She comes back telling me she can't find it. She will ring me when it is found. I know this sounds ridiculous but it's what happened. Remember the conversation is happening in French. Remember I am not too confident in French. Remember the guy with me is 6ft 6 inches tall, or nearly 2 meters, oh and is French. :-).
We load the bike and he is willing to drive off. I am perturbed. I go back into the shop and ask how it is possible to loose a headlight (which is set into plastic about 3ft, 1 meter wide and about 1.5 ft, or half a meter high) which was attached. She walks off and comes back with an explanation that the mechanic took it off and now he is not here. I go outside and explain to my friend. He comes in looks disdainfully at the girl. He questions her about what is going on. She explains the assurance company will buy the scooter off me for a sum of money, he explains it should therefore be in one piece non? She agrees and disappears again. A young man in his twenties comes out and immediately I know I am being ripped off. He refuses to look me in the eye. I flounder for the words that would come so readily back home. I am drowning as I am being violated barefaced and dishonestly. I can see it happening. They are stealing from me and they don't care.
He agrees to deliver the piece when it is found. He takes my number on a scrap of paper. I am getting more and more angry. I leave knowing there is nothing I can do at that point in time. I ring the next day I can't get through. I spend the weekend making myself ill at the thought of how I can burn the place down, break all the scooters parked outside, injure lightly the people working there, get the place closed down, force them to pay me for the piece........... I don't like being abused, I spent my life living in a country abused by it's neighbour, since I have been in France people have taken advantage of my inability to communicate and ripped me off and now well, to quote the newsman in the movie, I am mad as hell I won't take it anymore.
I rang 4 times yesterday no answer. Finally today I get through. I am in luck. The guy who answers the phone is the one who took my number, he tells me the mechanic has not come back yet. I tell him in French it's nearly a week what's the story? He says it's not a week it was last Thursday, today is Tuesday. Yes I tell him, NEARLY/ PRESQUE une semaine.... I inform him if the piece is not found I will have to begin a procedure of justice to get it back. He agrees. I will let you know what happens, but I have a question. If anyone reads this here is the question, Do I let it go, Do I get the piece back or thirdly do I wait till the assurance buy the scooter back and then let them deal with it. What would you do ?

Happy Birthday To Me

Well today is my birthday. There you go I am not old yet. Am I wiser than I was this time last year? Dunno!
I am a year older so what? I am a hell of a lot fitter. I have been training by swimming every day and doing some other sports from time to time. I am apparently 180cm and 81kg, which is okay by me. If you can't figure that out do a search online for weight conversions.
What's changed really for me in the last year?
Lot's of people have left the area with whom I was friendly. Some people back home are having a rough time. In fact it is a year ago to the day that I was made permanent in my job. That was a huge relief. I live in a different place. I have a good fun healthy relationship that is improving all the time.
I can finally see a way I might start writing again. I am more secure in myself around my son.
Physically this part of the world is beautiful.
Regardless of the type of year it has been, I always get a) nostalgic for old friends, b) concerned about the future and c) excited about the prospect of a celebration of the day I was born.
I celebrate because I don't believe in Bad experiences and perhaps not even good ones, only experiences. I learn, I grow, I live, I am alive, I have so much that is positive, and I celebrate it.
I celebrate because I am able to love people easily and those I have chosen to have as friends I do so because I can love them. (Yes even those of you not here) .
I celebrate for them and with them and because of them.
Today I bought flowers for everyone in the job. It cost not too much and it was nice to see the smiles on people’s faces in the street as I walked passed with 40 red roses. ;-) . It was nice to see the people I work with moved a little and now there are flowers in all the offices.
I know I am a softie. But today is this fighter’s birthday so I can do it if I want. :))

The Wind That Shakes the Barely.

I went to see this film about a forthnight ago. When it finished and the four of us, An Italian, A french couple and myself, were seated on the red velvet seats of the old fashioned cinema. Nobody moved. 'Oh well' I said, thinking that if I didn't move no one would. My companions were slow to rise up. Outside, I proposed going for a beer to talk about the film, the French lady said , 'What else is there to say?' They seemed deeply effected ( or is that affected?) by what they had seen. Even though it was a very familiar story, an no where near as violent as many films today, I was in a turmoil. It stayed with me and is still present. I am Irish because of my wonderful culture, my outlook, my history and the place I was born. But it does raise the question of identity that I have perhaps touched on in many of my posts. I am not like most Irish people I know. The story portrayed is an international one, not just an Irish one. My own civil war continues in my soul as I struggle with my nations history, dreams, and reality, and therefore too, my own.
I cannot do any justice to this film save showing you here an email I wrote to the company of the director of the film........

Hi Alistair,
I hope this email finds you keeping well. I wanted to write to Mr. Loach to tell him how I feel about his recent film. Le vent se leve, or The Wind That Shakes the Barley. I am a man from Ireland who now lives somewhat unwillingly, but not always, in the South of France.
I was born in 1967 and I remember well in the 1970's passing across the ' border ' to visit relatives in Dungannon or Coalisland, and the 7 of us(my mother and six children of whom I was the youngest) being made stand by the side of the road in the rain, as soldiers pulled our small Fiat 850 apart in search of bombs.
I was hoping to write a reveiw of the film on my blog but I haven't managed to as yet.
You see I have carried for a long time what many would call a chip on my shoulder. I hate the notion of a 700 year old chip, mine is or was the same age as myself and created by the society in which I grew up, and was incultured in. I am not even sure if it is right to call it a 'chip' as there was a good reason for it to be there.
I have spent my years trying to first of all explain to Irish people why they should be angry, and then to the many wonderful English people I have met, why I myself was so angry, perturbed, annoyed and angry again.
Many times my heart was broken by paramilitaries as I struggled with the wonderful notions of Connolly for an Ireland united and free, and witnessed, the struggle, the war, the fight, the hate, the loss and the general humanity and senselessness of it all.
Many times I have been involved in discussion groups, political groups, liturgical groups, psychological groups, all geared towards finding a solution no matter how futile it seemed. I never lost and always had tons of hope and vision. This alone prevented me from ever becomming bitter. Thank the Gods I never got bitter.
What I am trying to communicate is this. The film has now allowed me to let go in many ways that were just plain unthinkable before. I don't have to defend or explain or carry the chip anymore. I can just tell people who ask, go and see that film by Ken Loach, The Wind That Shakes the Barely.

I cannot with all the years of film studies I have done, all the attempts at scripts, after the 1000's of films I have watched in my life actually reveiw the film. As a friend said when we finally walked outside, 'what else is there to say?'. The film says it all. Anything else is a verbal superflousity that would be inaccurate and wasted and not do justice to the work.

I would like to thank Ken for his time and his effort. I heard him say the other day he would like people to share the burden of the criticism or some such sentiment. I would say to him take it all and bathe in it. It is a true sign of having touched a truth that for many years even in modern times is all too well hidden.
Thank you for not dramatising hollywood style the violence. If I ever get to write my own film I hope it's half as good as this one. Not only should you have got the palme d'or but the Golden Lion and that small bauble the Hollywood set measure the value of their life work too.

I am not the one to heap plaudits on Mr Loach for his film or on his team, and having been both an actor and runner, and even a Loader in the past I do understand what it takes.
I just wanted to say thanks. I wanted to shake his hand give him a hug and maybe have the opportunity to chat sometime if our paths cross over a nice bottle of Muscat, or Rose or beer or Chianti or whatever his favourite tipple is.

Please please forward this to Mr Loach.

Respectfully yours,
Warrior
PS even this email cannot touch the profound effect this film has had on me.

At Swim Two Birds..........................NOT

God what a day. I have a maximum 2 hour lunch at work and I normally swim in the sea.
Everyday since the beginning of May I have made my way down to the beach at lunchtime. I swam 20 meters the first day, and almost drowned. These days I can get 300 to 400 meters if I am patient with myself. Actually I promised myself I would do an Iron Man one day and that's where it started.
Today it was raining. Hmmm there is a pool next to the office. Hmm need a swimming hat and a swimming suit that sticks. This might be embarassing. hmm
Right then, I had forgotten to reserve my lunch via email. So, I ran into the pool for information. The lady tells me 2 euros 30 cent to swim, last person in an hour before pool closes, need a 'bonnet'and a mollet maillot....swimsuit that sticks. (Corrrect my french please).
Hmm well I don't have any of that and hats are selling at the pool for 9euros. Pool closes at 2:30pm and it's 12.55pm now. That gives me 35 minutes to get my ass back here. I am starving.
I run off to buy my lunch. I have to queue.
I get what I want, run to the sports shop, can't find what I want, see a cheap swimsuit, my size, I pick it up. I can't find the bloody hats. Ah 4 euros a hat, great, no green? any colour but green? What you got something against the Irish have you?? (joking).
Anyway I queue up to pay, and hand over my fidelity card. It doesn't work. The ensuing process takes more than a few minutes as the Oh so friendly girl at the counter tries to render service to the idiot who didn't activate his card correctly and who seems a little perturbed that his card hasn't been registered.....(Yes almost dear, I am on lunch, in time frame, I understand how Oh so nice you are.....)...pardon? what? Oh right, another pause as I get confused with the difference in pronounciation of i and e in French and of course J and G, and ah yes, finally. Thank you. Off I run with a plethora of bags, feeling like a John Cleese sketch at this stage. I arrive again at the swiming complex. Hand over my money and run where? Oh down the stairs, thank you. Crusty but Benign Old guy at the bottom of the stairs greets me, 'Vous avez un peice d'un Euro?'why is he asking me for money. He explains, go back up stairs and get a 1 euro piece. You will need it for the locker. Right so. As I go back up the stairs, I hear more words uttered about money. I come down again take off my shoes, put them in a plastic bag and hand them over the counter. He ties the knot in the bag for me as it is my first day. I am given a plastic piece with the number 81 on it. I realise when he asks me if I have the bonnet, that the comment as I was going back up the stairs was about the bonnet and not the monnet.(bad joke I know, but there is more).
Go through the Orange door to the 'Vestiare'. I find the door and go through. There are many cubicles, some the doors don't close, and others have no locks. hmmm? I realise finally there is an ingenious method used. The seat folds back and you close the door, fold the seat forward again and the door is now locked. Great. I strip and pull on the swimming costume, it gets stuck just below my ass around my thighs.....OH SHIT. Not MY size, a size too small at least. I open the tie thread and pull, stuffing myself inside it. I now look like bread dough rising out of a tight plastic covering. I slip the silicon hat onto my head and instantly remind myself of a condom. I am sure I now know what my dick feels like personally when he is dressed in a condom.
Anyway out to the locker, in with the bag for my lunch, the bag with my purchases and of course the bag with my beach gear and clothes in it. It doesn't all fit. I put one bag into another and push hard and it fits....but the lock doesn't work. I change lockers and realise I still have the plastic 81 in my hand. I put it in the locker and take out the key. I strap it around my wrist eventually and ask the stunned guy next to me the way to the pool. He glances in a direction and mumbles something so I follow his gaze. I find the showers. Amazingly a guy I know is there, I tell him I swim in the sea and he says its too cold. I laugh and Lie that I will be in the sea all through winter. I get to the pool and realise I have no goggles. SHIT. Back through the showers, open the strap, open the locker, pull the bag I forgot to close, and everything flies everywhere, including my lunch. I am now so nervous I am shaking. That's a nice image isn't it, Wobbling bread dough in a condom?
I tidy up and finally get back to the pool where I promptly slip on my ass. I pick myself up as no one else bothers to do so. I ask the gaurd how deep the water is, as if it would make a difference. Finally I get in. The experience is unpleasant after the sea that I am used to, and after 100 meters I stop, I look outside the window and I think, things are so much easier in Nature.

Tribute To Croc Hunter

A man called Steve Irwin died recently while shooting an underwater wildlife documentary. A certain well known news site has asked if it's public would watch the video of his death.
I responded as follows.
"How little we have progressed. I will make my argument on a purely human level I hope. Leaving aside the religious argument even the sacred or privacy arguments. I am shocked that neither person who wrote, deemed it worthwhile to mention a simple moral obligation. What have we become if all we want to do now is get turned on the pornography of death? Why would anybody find it appealing? Why would anyone risk bringing down the barriers of this taboo to a society that is perhaps not ready to deal with it in a healthy way. It is not enough to say ' Don't watch it if you don't want to'. Many of us have morbid curiosities and have no idea of the effects of witnessing something until we witness it. What happens soldiers who come back from battle after seeing people die? Dont get me wrong. My first job at the age of 18 was watching old men die, cleaning down their bodies and sending them off to the morgue. I have seen death. But I find it uneducated that we would even tease ourselves with this question. There are millions of peole dying in Iraq/Afganistan/Africa/Aisa, if you really want to watch someone die, give up the day job, go visit and try help them do it peacefully perhaps. But the reason for watching a guy die because he was famous, is no reason whatsoever. Do we want to see Elvis, Marlyn Monroe, Michael Hutchins (apologies if I have the name wrong) die? What ever happened to real news? Showing dead bodies blown apart or a guy dying slowly, doesn't change anything neither does it inform. It takes a moments reflection of what it means to die, to understand. Perhaps it is better if you ask what does it mean to live. Instead of showing his death, show his life's work. There are plenty of lessons there for us. I find this discussion somewhat depressing and adolescent.
sincerely.
[to the editor- I often reply to posts I see here, just this once I would like if possible that this one is published. Thank you.]"
So to the family of Steve Irwin. The Croc Hunter taught me a lot, I hope you are all bearing up under this current strain. ...................

I promise I will write the review of the Ken Loach film 'The Wind That Shakes the Barely Soon.' Cheers

The Boy and I

So the boy was here all weekend. It was hilarious. Sometimes we struggle with each other because of the time span. Sometimes we knock the crack out of each other so much we are sick laughing. The weekend was moreso the second.
Much of our laughter comes from things where you have to be there to understand the funniness (is that a word?) of the situation.
All three of us spent the weekend traveling 300km round trip to get even more bits and pieces for the appartment. Yes, I know, nine months and we still haven't got it together. So shoot me. I have bills to pay, so does Aqua and we will get there when we get there. Anyway Sunday morning was spent assembling various bits and pieces, refixing the fan to the ceiling, that still hadn't fallen on our legs, despite my not fixing it to the ceiling right the first time.
I had an image of us both 'getting jiggy with it' and a spining fan falling out of the ceiling and slicing bacon of my ass before it hit the floor with a thud. But Aqua's encouragement and boys eagerness to anything Bricoler centred (DIY), drove me on to get back up the ladder and battle the vertigo. To be honest vertigo would be more preferable to bacon slicing. In the morning I gave him his ceral in the kitchen and he decided to look behind himself, at me, as he left the room. A sharp shout of 'DOOR' managed to prevent him smacking against the open door and a quick grab managed to save the bowl of ceral (and floor) as he turned quickly, stopped dead, his nose one centimeter from the edge of the door, and started to convulse in laughter.
Then at the beach later when all was assembled and we had met up with friends, had lunch, I had swam my one kilometer, which was probably only 300 meters but it felt like a good mile, and boy was insisting I throw him in the air and let go,.... he surfaced from a large wave coughing and spluttering, 'J'ai avalé un poison' ( I swallowed a fish), he said wiping his mouth and grinning, at which we both fell under the next wave in fits of laughter. Later I was treated like a climbing frame as his lithe musclar frame, kicked, pushed,punished and punched me into having a bagarre with him. (fight). It is difficult to resist but I tell myself it's good for my overall figure :) .
Finally home, and I did one of those things that intelligent stupid people do all the time. You will know what I mean when I explain. We were telling our friends about the line of palm trees on top of the mountain. I explained it was the water treatment plant for the area. Because of it, we had great water pressure, so strong in fact that sometimes the tap fixing explodes if I turn on the tap full blast. They doubted, but 10 seconds and 5 soaked people later, plus a broken tap fixing, convinced them I was telling the truth. Boy nearly choked himself laughing.
Then it was back to his mam for an early night. The first day in big school is arriving. Now there will be home work and soon there will be classes in English where he will wipe the floor with the other kids. ( he is competitive already). I miss many of these firsts and sometimes I don't laugh about it.
I wonder how he will turn out as a Man, my Boy. Will he look to his father for advice? Will we still be able to knock the crack out of each other when he is 30 and I am 64? Yes, the song asks the questions that are true not just for lovers, but for parents too. Will he stop at the age of 16 decide his father is an idiot, like a lot of men, and then not get past that, like a lot of men? Or will he know how hard it was for me to stay? Will he know how glad I am that I did?

Don't say I should have, say I did it

God I am so proud, I didn't do anything but God I am proud. My brother and his wife are one of the most amazing couples I know. As I write this they have just completed a 3 week sailing race across the Atlantic Ocean, in the Challenge Transit 2006.
They know little of sailing but their motto is ' Don't say I should have, say I did'. The link is in the side bar for those of you interested.
Here are some extracts from the last log posted.

"The conditions we've experienced have been extreme, from 40 knots to nothing. We've surfed down waves in total darkness at over 20 knots, swam across the foredeck doing sail changes and also sat going backwards in the current with absolutely no wind."
"Sometimes we've spent whole watches working solidly through the sail wardrobe, no one has complained, hesitated or even questioned what may have seemed on occasions dubious decisions."

Yes people who do this sort of thing are nuts that's right. But I would rather be crazy and active, than sane. Imagine being able to look back over your life and not be able to say, 'damn it to hell, I did something'.

I understand not everyone has this urge to leave some mark, some statement. Those of you who don't, I would ask why?
Is it really that you feel that this sort of thing is too unimportant? Is it that perhaps you feel your place is to pay the bills, raise the kids, get the retirement, play golf, and then die? Or is the real truth you are scared shitless to stand outside what you know and feel the thrill of the drop as you hurtle over the parapet of a new experience?

Whatever about the Merits of voting, about the merits of not staying quiet and speaking out against injustice, there is one thing I beg you all not to do.
Don't accept what you have and believe that it is all you are entitled to. Accept it, yes, be proud of who you are, yes, but don't stagnate. Grow. Explore yourself and your limits. Why? why the hell not? Because you don't want to be old, with no friends, no memories and regrets. Just be old whatever way it comes but for sure, for absolute certain, don't be old with regrets, with the I should have done, I could have done, but it got away from me.

So Team Pindar the boat my Brother and Sister in Law were on have crossed the Line first and I am very very proud.

A Hungry Feeling

There is a song that I attribute to the great Irish writer and even greater drinker known as Brendan Behan. It's called 'The old triangle'. The first bars are sung 'A hungry feeling came over me stealing'. That feeling is with me now. My partner is away. My ex is celebrating her birthday so again my boy is not with me when he should be. I am too nice really. My Water Woman has migrated for the weekend back to the land of the Azzuri, in an attempt to reconnect with long lost acquaintances of childhood as a school reunion is planned. I find myself strangely unmotivated to do anything.
Friends who were conscious of me being alone dropped by, J noticed some Irish music and we got to talking about 'The North', the countryside, the music, the welcome. So the Hungry feeling comes over me stealing and I wish I back home. But the sea is wide and I cannot cross over, even if I am listening to the tune of Carrick Fergus ringing out from the CD player. It's a slow somber tune and in typical Irish fashion will be followed by a nonsense song that makes us laugh.
This weekend I am alone and it is good. I drink scotch whisky, only because there is no Irish Whiskey left. No I have not made a typo there, the Irish spell it different to the Scottish.
I have a cut on my foot which is hindering my movement. Yesterday I sliced my hand. It seems life is telling me to be sedentary this weekend. However A and J have offered Via Ferrata tomorrow. Seeing as I have nothing better to do, and, I have never done it before, I am up for it. It involves basically hanging of ropes and cords over chasms while you walk for miles. Sounds like fun no? Especially if like me you have vertigo. I am tired and need to go to bed. I will figure out when they ring me if I am going or not. Depends on how sleepy I am. It's great to see them. Weird the song that followed the serious one was about a gay chicken. See us Irish have a funny way of doing things. We love to be sad, but not for long.

Yes I changed. I am no longer who I was. Before you ask, Warrior is the spiritual fighter, the one who struggles with himself, who fights, who wins, who returns to base to train again and reflect on what has been learned from his latest battle.

Moving Forward

Well my boy is back and my stress levels drop 50%. The smile on my face is almost permanent. I give little laughs to myself and I am sure people think I have completely lost the plot, and that whatever loose screw there was, has finally
fallen out and rolled away.

Five to six weeks is a long time to go without seeing my child. It is difficult being a father with no transport. I rely on my partner to get me there or at least get him back. His mother while I am sure is content doing her thing, unsurprisingly she still doesn't often lift a finger to help us out in that respect. He will be
devlivered when it suits her and only if it suits her. But you know what? I don't want to be wasting my energy with that.

My relationship with my son is probably a little unusal. If he hadn't been born and been around at the beginning of my new life, I would have gone straight home when my marriage broke up.
I try not to get involved in wasting time on regrets or anger. I have often recounted how I felt like I was treated like shit, but I can forgive because it wasn't intentional. Maybe it was intentional but I don't think I could cope with that. Just yesterday someone who knows a little of what happened was uncharacteristically charitable. She said that my in laws were not bad with me they just undermined me unintentionally and disregarded me actively. (whew).


Now things are better, Aqua my partner is a constant support and defends me from myself when I get silly. Now I stay also for myself. My french is improving all the time but it is never easy. There is a stress level that is ever present. This stress level is non existent when I am at home in Ireland. It is to do with unfamiliarity. When you live in one place for thirty plus years, you know it well. When you live in a foreign country for just over three years, you cannot possilby understand, the flow of traffic, the nuance of phrases, hand gestures, a look, even the drift of cloud. I am beginning to understand the vastly different sky. I am now able to communicate that I don't understand the banter.

Besides my focus is my relationship with my boy. I think too many parents are not conscious of the things they do that cause problems for kids later in life. Mind you being conscious of it doesn't mean you automatically solve it, or mean you don't at least create other problems. However I can but try. So we do the obvious things as much as possible. Talk positively for a start, for example,.. 'we'...cannot be 'alone',...we are together, or.. You don't do things 'wrong'...but, you could do that another way. I pay attention to make sure he knows that our place is his place. He is a lucky boy to have two homes. I try to create the space for my partner to feel she is included, she has rights, she has love and is loved by him. He sees her romantically as cinderella sometimes.
It's difficult when a child is entrenched in the notion of the nuclear family. It is odd in this day and age that thinking like this for a child is possible. There are not too many unseparated couples that I know. I am sure over 50% of the parents of children in his class, have been divorced. It just seems that this is how to live here. It isn't that romantic really.

Anyway The dinner on Friday night was a resounding success. We ate pasta with mushrooms, we ate grilled beef, vegetables, and a spicy sauce made from Herbs, lemon, honey, garlic and, well, spice of course.
The weather has picked up again and the jelly fish are back. It puts a hold on my swimming.

I am toying now with the idea of changing my profile, inventing a pseudonom and then feeling a bit more freedom to write whats in my heart and mind.

Summer is in the last throes and hopefully I can swim today. I am toying with the idea of doing one crazy thing in my life. I decided on an Iron Man. Given that I smoked like a trooper for the greater part of my adult life, this is perhaps
not the wisest choice. When have I ever made the wisest choice? So I have been swiming since May. I am what the French call 'null' in the water, completely crap, but hey, a guy has to start somewhere. :-)

A Middle East Truth

This is a comment posted on one of my earlier postings. It deserves publicity and to be read by any who pass. Thank you Mr Z for this posting, for the time it took for you to write it, and for you generous spirit and openess. Here is what Mr Z said in full and unedited.

As Tom said, it is indeed very difficult to refute Galloway's statements on a rational basis. It is true that the Middle East conflict is essentially fueled by the Palestinian problem. As a matter of fact, Lebanon has paid and is still paying an enormous price because of this conflict, while most other Arab countries (except Syria and Iran - which is not Arab) are either in peace with Israel or totally unengaged from the conflict; they do, however, send huge amounts of money whenever a disaster happens. It helps to comfort their conscience.

As a Lebanese, I wonder if we still have to sacrifice the well-being of my country for a cause that no other Arab (except Palestinians) is fighting for, honestly. Throughout Lebanese history, Christians have once allied with Israelis to crush on Muslims. Also, Muslims have allied with Syrians to crush on Christians. None of all this helped in creating a stable country. You can’t get peace and stability when a part of the country feels frustrated. That is what Israelis don’t seem to have understood in their conflict with Palestinians; I am actually not convinced that they really want peace. Although I neither agree with Hezbollah’s thought nor with Iranian ideology, Hezbollah represents a large number of Lebanese that just can’t be ignored if we truly want a unified Lebanon. Its demands have become Lebanese demands (accepted by the most prominent Lebanese leaders). Although the Lebanese right in the Shebaa farms is unclear, our right in returning our prisoners in Israel is righteous IMHO. In that sense, kidnapping Israeli soldiers and proposing an exchange is also righteous, IMHO. During this last crisis, and for the first time, Lebanese leaders stood by Hezbollah or at the least refrained from criticizing it. This has worked as, in my opinion, Lebanon has won this last war (because of the unity of Lebanese and regardless of the international political alliances of the several parties), judging by the declared objectives of each party. Israel can destroy our country but it can get neither its soldiers back nor peace and stability this way. If it truly wants peace, then it should now sit and talk to us on an EQUAL to EQUAL basis. Whenever we get our demands, then we will righteously ask Hezbollah to disarm and I think that it will be smart enough to disarm. If Israel doesn’t want peace, then it is condemned to loose on the long run, judging simply by demography.By Z friend of H

To any who get this far, say hello, drop a line, tell me what you think.

And now the end is Near

So summer is over. The fireworks are mostly finished along the Cote D'Azur. The weekend was crazy in a good sort of way. My son's 3 week holiday has turned into a 6 week holiday. He hasn't spoken English in all that time except the odd phone call. Obviously I am upset but there is little I can do. He is on an island in the Med and will finally be back on Saturday night. At the age of 6 it must be strange that you can't go on holiday with both parents and both families and that when you are with one, you have such a good time, you don't really care about being with the other, even if you do miss them.

The weekend we ate out a lot, and ate with friends a lot as is now usual for us. We have 8 people (counting ourselves ) coming tomorrow and as usual the food will be good. We will have fun.

My Lebanese friend arrived out of nowhere the other night. I shall call him Mr H cause it sounds cool and his buddy Mr Z(I am not joking here). It was late, we gave up the firework show in Cannes to see him but were treated to the view of one in Nice as we drove back along the motorway.
I enjoyed talking to both of these guys. Obviously me the political animal I am, I couldn't let go of the questions. Both of these two are Christians. They went to school together. They showed me different views of what should be happening, is happening and has happened. Each ones view equally worthy and interesting. Mr H wanted people to talk. Now the ceasefire is in effect nothing has changed, the status quo is the same. I agree. They could have just sat around a table talked it out, done the business and got on with it. It would have saved lives, infrastructure, and millions of currency units.
Mr Z told me how Lebanese are being held in Israeli jails for years, how Hezbollah are not supported by everyone, how Israel's action just provided more soldiers for Hezbollah and how many Lebanese now support them as they know the Israeli action was wrong. How the Lebanese fought off everyone before. How they must learn as a people to agree on a minimum. He taught me about the Government, the different factions, and he showed me his pride and his passion. I felt similar feelings in relation to Ireland before and during the ceasefires. I agree with and can see both views of Mr H and Mr Z. I hope I can stay in touch with these guys.

I asked them to read my post 'A view of what's really happening' and to leave a comment. They haven't done so yet but thanks to those who did. I am interested in how the world sees this. I am surprised that of the 70 or so visitors I had only 2 bothered to respond. I wonder why?

Well the dinner is ready, my wine glass is empty, my heart a little low after talking to a boy who was more interested in where he was than in speaking to his daddaí­. No worries, I understand. I just have to be myself and let him be his.
I swam today. I am off the cigarettes one whole year and 3 weeks. I have been swimming since the end of May and those that haven't seen me in a while tell me I must have been weight lifting, nope, just swimming. Summer is at an end, it is raining hard, the ceasefire will hold, my son will come back. I will realise somewhere in it all how blessed I am and how my worries are hardly worth a thought.

Sensual Nights in Monte Carlo

For those who know me this will seem weird, but I have to confess, I have done it, and done it again. This time it was amazing. I am afraid I have to confess that secretly, without many people knowing, I have been involved in something not a lot of people ever do. If they knew about it in my home town I would have to hang my head in shame, or so I thought till last night.
You see I come from a place where the so called higher arts are for the snobs, and us plebs, who are happy to tread the boards, gig, street perform, sing along, even mime, know nothing and care less, for men in tights.
I can assure what I have been doing lately has everything to do with men in nylons and of course (the phrase demands it) nothing.
In the last year I have been privledged to witness, and victimised to endure, some of the best and not so best, of the world of Ballet. Now, what I know about Ballet you could write on a stamp. So for any indignant readers, just hold on to your tutus for a minute.
What I know about entertaining, engaging the audience, recounting a tale, spectacularising the mudane..... well a post office full of stamps wouldn't be enough that's for sure.
So I have watched sometimes with intense interest, and sometimes with acute boredom(in the same hour), as dancers strectched, contorted and convorted accross stages that were often too fussy, too busy,and too unfocused to make it simple to follow what in hell was going on. Note I said sometimes.
That was until last night on the Terrace in Monaco. Ha! I can hear them, the ghosts of my past are roaring laughing, as they imagine the grand heights I have risen to, Monaco and Ballet,,,,, Monaco and Ballet Ha! and encore Ha!
Stuff them.
Last night I saw the most amazing mixture of Manga, Religious worship, Hentai art, Tarantinoesque tale, Kill Bill scenario, Romantic story telling, I am ever likely to witness in the ever more unusual world of plain ordinary dance, sorry,...sorry,,,, of high art Ballet.
I give you in Memoriam by Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui (SHERKOWEEE), performed exquisitely by dancers of the Ballets de Monte-Carlo.
words are perhaps a waste in describing what can only be described and spirtually uplifting. I never imagined to see Men in Skirts, Samauri style,(never mind tights) battling with women, in a scene during a ballet, as if it were 'The Last Samuari' itself on show.

It was a choreography to make the most accomplished cinematographer proud, the most adept story teller envious.
I was taken away on the wisp of wind by the interpretation of Gioia Masala. As she flowed accross my vision the lighting flashed over the distant mountains, the cool sea breeze brushed our skins, and Gioia flew.
I was riveted to her connection to the singers from Corsican, and their apparent reverence of her and her partner. Their voices were the ladders by which Gioia and her companion managed to brush the stars.
Now I can truly say, that (apart from Bejart's Bolero,) this is what I have been seeking in the world of Ballet.
The spectacle, the story, the passion and intrigue of life, that is not lost behind an elevated language of the body that few plebs like I understand. Rather an honest heartfelt exploration of what it means to be alive, to love, to live, to be human and perhaps, to remember what it is to be human. Madmoselle Masala, Madmoselle Koike, and Sir Cherkaoui, I thank you from the creative font of my soul.
Thanks to my honey to for bringing me in the first place. ;)

A view of what is Really Happening.

I was going to write about Nanotechnology today, and then I was going to tell you about how I feel about my Lebonese friend back home in Ireland. But then another friend of mine sent me this today. I was amazed when 12 hours later it was still online. I hope it is still on line when whoever clicks on this link does so. I hope you all have the patience to get to the end of it. It's 9mins long. Just 9 mins that might change your life. Then of course it might just make you never come here again
I urge you to see it through whatever view you have. I will not say it is right. I will not say it is wrong. I will let you decide that for yourself. As someone more literate that I once said, I don't believe in conspiracy theories, I know conspiracies exist.

I don't know what is going on in the world but I don't believe it is what they are telling us. I find it very very odd that every time now that there is bad news happening in the world, news that might make people stand up and protest against what is happening, suddenly there is a security alert, a large scary security alert. Please leave a comment about what you think you see and understand. No need to be rude, but honesty and some intelligence will of course be welcome. Post anonymously if you have to but please leave me a comment on this. Teach me something.

Lastly if the Afganis and Iraqis are the one waging the war against the free world oh and now the Lebonese, how come all the terrorists are either Saudi or Pakistani? It's a bit like invading Mexico for something the Canadians did. Isn't anyone really listening?

Did it

Well I said I had an exam, I was really nervous. I was sure my french would let me down. I was allowed to make 5 errors on 40, no more than that.
We left Monaco in a car with an 18 year old girl first time behind the wheel. Given that driving in Monaco is difficult the best of times, and at one stage she let go the wheel and laughed nervously, instead of breaking gently, well you can understand why I was a nervous wreck by the time I got to Menton. The trip took about half an hour or 40 minutes and the distance was about 15km ( I think). The instructor ran through the questions before hand. I managed to get all of them wrong. Boy was I confident? NO! We waited around for an hour, went in and I worried when the tester examined my passport. Maybe this was another French civil servant who didn't know European law. The exam started and it was okay. Then I forgot to validate a question with the button and I panicked. There were lots of different types of questions. I didn't do well. One or two I didn't understand at all but I took a stab at the answer.
We handed in our zappers (look like remote controls) at the end and the results were printed off, given to the instructor, and he took us outside. He turned to each one of us, he shook his head, 'Sept Fauts'7 faults 'non', '6 fauts, non', My God and some of these people, well it was the 3rd or 4th time they had tried, and it was my first, he looked at me, .........ca va, and continued. One of the younger students I didn't know jumped up and whacked me on the back. I was speechless. I had passed. I was so proud of myself. 3 years struggling in French being told I am no good, being corrected all the time, and my faults being pointed out as faults and errors that only I posess, and being scolded, for not speaking perfectly when no one around me communicates perfectly, anyway 3 years and I managed something a lot of french people don't manage in the first go. ..............well lets just say I was on air and I still am.

On another note, I am cracking up laughing realising my last post was 69, it must have been fruedian or something. I do wonder what he meant when he spoke about the Irish. I wonder was it an amazing complement, out and out racism or an admission that his science wasn't exactly perfect?

Life changes at every signal.

You know I haven't really taken the time to blog a lot. I surf and lurk about, and I have found the most popular blogs are those dealing with how you like to fuck someone whom you don't know, whom you never met, who lives on the other side of the world and you have no idea what they look like. But they write great foreplay. It would involve being unfaithful, cause terrible guilt, end in divorce, but by christ the orgasm would be worth it. ......? Hello blog world? Yes I have good sex, not enough, but I am not going to tell you all about it here, not in this guise anyway. Yes I have posted information regulary here, but apparently it's not blogging unless it's deeply personal and definitely sexual.....hmmmn.( Why don't I have a pseudo?)
It does however seem appropriate to tell you two things, and neither of them are related to sex, unless a) you fuck in your car, and b) after 40 your sex life took on a whole new meaning.
See I woke up this year sometime around Paddy's day, and realised I am no longer a kid. This year I am 39 years old. Virgo/Libra cusp... so how the fuck am I only getting around to doing my driving theory test this week?
It's a question I ask myself a lot. I have spent my life doing what? Apart from trying to pursue dreams and then plans at various different stages, I have actually been pretty practical. My adult life was basically working in an expensive but bascially small captial city, so I was priced out of a car/insurance and didn't really have the need either. I occupied myself making friends, none of whom I am in contact with now, I had some religous experiences to follow up on and I now I am lapsed. Then I was blocked into university exams, then I was trying to make a career,then I was having a kid, getting married, then I was moving to France, then I was learning French and getting separated, and now I have learned french, and I look back and think how fucked up and badly planned has all of that been? How did I get this lucky?...Well I don't know, but I have my theory exam next Thursday morning, I think I am allowed to get 4 questions out of 40 wrong. Don't get me wrong I got 40/40 in Ireland, but that doesn't count. I drove for a year in Ireland on a provisional licence, but this is France, it doesn't count. The questions can be very tricky even for those who speak the langauge, however I am plunging in and still it might not count. So Hopefully for my 39th birthday this year I am giving myself a driving licence. It doesn't matter a damn if I can drive or not, just as long as I past the test. Most people here think indicators are Christmas decorations, and overtaking on the inside is a national sport. So too, is parking in a space half the size of your car. Lots of dents in cars here by the way. So it's the driving licence for me and learing the signals.
The other signals are that I am nearly 40, what does that mean? I still miss people I knew when I was 18, and probably still think of myself that way too. I wonder how they have all changed? Being 40 probably means nothing if you are 60 but I am not. What does been 40 mean? Well I guess I should get to 39 first and feel that one out for a while. Just like my partner who has a licence but has me beside her giving advice on how to drive ( the brazen cheek of me) , I should probably not mention 40 again until it's here. Like I shouldn't tell her how to drive till I pass my test and even then I should be very careful. You see life changes and the signals are there, I am just trying to read them early and to get the head start that never happened for one who was born 7th.

Neneh Cherry - 7 seconds and a Million voices in Nice.

The Nice Jazz Festival is anything but Jazz.
Tonight we witnessed, experienced, and tasted the talents of Joe Jackson, Beat Assilant(sorry I don't know who they are), CIRKUS featuring Neneh Cherry, wow.....let me pause for a moment Neneh Cheery.........wow. Oh and Randy Newman. If my kid was there he would have asked for Monsters Inc.
Now it has been a strange but wonderful weekend and to inform you of all I have done would take too much time so lets concentrate on the music. A friend met her man inside who was one of the riggers, and the first words out of his mouth were JJ was shit, so the company didn't really want to hang around, I was dissappointed but delighted with the bits I heard which although unkown were damn good. I think the 'Is she really going out with him?' is about the only song everyone knows, check him out here, it was a good gig and although people seemed to be sparse on the ground everyone was having a good time of sitting on the grass, looking at olive trees and easy listening,....I know it sounds weird, but take my word for it, you had to be there.
Afer some reasonably priced beer 25cl on tap or 33 in a can both for 3 euros (??? ) we waltzed into the arena. The french are very particular about their music. If there is a seat they will sit. Sit they did. Some of the most body popping, hip hopping, soul dropping, politically aware riffs and beats swam over the crowd from the CIRKUS and the only one digging the jive apart from the greats on stage seemed to be yours truly, In fact the audience was so dead it turned into a night long rap between me and the band.... I exaggerate, but only mildly. Neneh made the point it was a shame they couldn't communicate in french, I offered to translate, and she thought about it for a second, or maybe a half a second, or maybe I flatter myself. Basically a lot of new music, great great great stuff. The rapport between the band members, the children of the musicans, and the audience was typically french. Those on stage had a blast, while I had a lady behind me tell me sit down, its a seated concerted. I told her to stand up as it was music debout, stood up music,. She glared Neneh smiled and I had a blast. Sorry to Nenehs man, you were great with your dedication of the song 'Asshole'to George bush. I wondered later if it's why Randy Newman tried his new song, informing us they weren't all that bad. Also a dedication to those in Beruit and rightly so I thought.
Newman was fun, he was on late, but half way through he got maudlin and with work crying in the morning, I wondered about his political correctness, singing about short people, 'niggers' and rednecks and it got just a wee bit tiring. He also sang the song about the apparent, hipocrasy of freedom and what rednecks think. I was shocked as I usually am when I hear that N word, and at the end of the night I was left wondering was he serious or tounge in cheek?
It was a great set of gigs, no matter what your politics, a shame there wasn't any jazz, great to hear some political music again and hopefully CIRKUS and Ms Cherry and co will continue. So if you are around next summer and wondering where you could possible hand out on warm summer nights, don't worry there is no jazz, no shakespear, but plenty of good gigging.

Northern thoughts in the Summery South.

You know often I think some people visit blogs out of a morbid fascination about how other people live their lives. The people who write probably like me have nothing better to do that is taking their time, or perhaps like me feel they have something to share, or perhaps like me, like to show off a bit, or even like me, just do it for the hell of it. Many people write about GOD. Some people write about their own lives in a foreign country and how they are fitting in. The ones that get the most comments are I have found, the ones that have pics of naked people, erect cocks, naked boobs, and the subject is porn, sex, and all the variations therein. These blogs are not necessarily dedicated to the joys of the body but certainly lean heavily that way. And why the hell shouldn't they write or post this stuff, God knows, just like me, the human is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Some of it seems to be hotter than earthly flame but what the heck, you want traffic in this world, apparently a bit of skin is the way to go. ....
I sit here in a darkened room a light (too light) breeze blowing in the window, it's about 30C inside and tomorrow will be about 42 outside in the Sun. There is a lot of sun and sun worshippers. Even in this heat, on the beaches, young horny men eye up the often topless not necessarily horny, women, (the old horny men do to). That's just during lunch break Monday to Friday.
We all try to dress as coolly as possible and I don't mean style here either. Few clothes, see through clothes, strong smells, glistening skin and fumes scent the hot summer air. People appear lazy but in truth they don't operate well in these extremes. Night time the towns are alive and throbbing because it's bearable, the beaches again crowded with a different group of people, the jelly fish move away from the coast. They hide waiting for the water to heat up again at first light and sting painfully, any foolish enough to cross the path of their invisible scorching tenticles.
These are the thoughts of a Man from the North living in the Summery South. :

So what is so phoney about war?

I read today a Mid page liner on the bbc news website.
It says 'The phoney war' written in that exact way. It reports how Syrians feel about Israeli/Lebonese war.
The story is written by Marting Asser and is in fact called 'All quiet on the Syrian front'.
Here's the link Now will someone please tell me who the idiot is who decides to link to this story by calling the war phoney.
A phoney anything is something that isn't what it is pretending to be. May all the gods help all the people to come out of this? Can you Israelis just stop for a moment and see what you are doing? You are the stronger ones so it's your responsibility to stop. Can the phoney who made this headline resign and go and do something he or she is good at?
Perhaps you are just a victim of the times that people don't give a shit anymore.

NO to racism and anti semitism

'Israel is demanding Hezbollah free two Israeli soldiers. More than 60 Lebanese have been killed in the offensive.'
This is taken from the BBC news website today the 14th July. It's Bastille day in France. 60 people have lost their lives because 2 have been held hostage.
I am not racist, having learned at hands of those who are what that is like. Neither am I anti semite which I understand is to be against jews and their religion.
I am simply human and this action is beyond unjust. How can a nation of people so unjustly persecuted even today, happily follow a policy of wanton unjustified destruction of its neighbours? Stop it now. You have no excuses. I mean NO excuses. Where are the men and women who are able to stand up and with the wisdom of solomon strive to make peace with the men and women who live next door. We will all finish blind toothless and cripled following this policy. Please I beg you. Stop it now.

Bob Dylan ( You have gone your way, I'll go mine)

I was wondering what to call this small piece.
I had some ideas, like 'The Night Woodstock proved it was dead'but that was just too long. Then I thought of 'There must be some way out of here.........said the joker to the thief but he kept playing for a moment and then shuffled off. Then of thought of 'The times they aren't just a changing, they went a got a full body and brain transplant and are living near St Tropez somewhere'.
What am I talking about? You see we just came back from a Bob Dylan Concert in a closed arena in Le Cannet. Yes I got to see the Legend on stage, albeit from a side view only. I was in front of the stage but the maestro seemed to think the front of stage was off left behind the drummer.
The show wasn't really a show per say, It was Bob Dylan with a bunch of musicians who played music from 8pm sharp till just before 10pm. Now let me explain, on the Cote D'Azur traffic is so bad, nothing ever starts on time, and for 45 euro a ticket there is usally a support band. Seems old Bob got punctual along the way somewhere.
MY lady was feeling bad as they forbid us to bring in the 2 litres of water we had brought with us, telling us it was the artists desire that it be so. They said drink it on the spot or it goes in the bin. My hard earned money wasn't going in bin. It went back to the car. I looked at my girl who was no hot and thirsty, so I told her to Lay, Lay across the big dirty floor, but instead she went and searched out water at the bar for which she paid 4 euros for Litre. Geeze Bob I hope you got a cut from that price hike. We have now spent 100 euros to see the Master who doesn't look at his audience, or even acknowledge them, or speak to them till the end of the show. He tells us who the musicians are. He doesn't even say the word thanks, or Merci, or even fuck you. It's 30 degrees Centigrade in the room, the only air conditioning is the open door about 200 meters away. Mr Dylan sings in a style which can only be described and mumbling jumbo, and if you didn't know the song you wouldn't know where he was. Even some of those I did know I figured he was changing the lines but still couldn't follow. Hey a title, 'Bob sings chinese dialect on the Cóte'? naw I couldn't tell it was chinese either.
In between each song the lights came on. At the start of each song they went out. Now I should have been better prepared. I wasn't going to see a legend. The 20 somethings all reacted when I said I was going to see Dylan, 'Is he still alive'they said. Okay they are french kids of 21 st century really so I could sort of understand....actually I couldn't.
I couldn't understand either how Dylan in his old age seems to have sold out lock stock and smoking barrels, guns, rockets, and space ships. It appears he has wound 'up on cripple creek' really. Maybe he had stage fright but I don't think so. I understand personalities, but hey Bob you are a very rich man.
It takes me a full days work and then some to earn the money we spent to see you tonight in an overheated, sparsely crowed (yes there was a lot of space) auditorium with bad sound.You probably earned more in 2 hours than I do in 2 years or even 6 years.
I expected more from what I have heard from Legend. Sadly I was dissappointed. I text my buddy in Ireland on the way home along the 'endless highway'. I was awed but dissappointed at the same time. I told him Woodstock was dead. He replied that maybe Dylan was Dead, Woodstock will live for ever.
Oh Well Bob nice hat, send it to me if you ever read this piece and show me I am wrong. I would wear it with pride. But then the music machine perhaps won't allow you to know just how far down the road you drifted away from your original self. I hate the music industry. There is a way out of here, and you may be a joker but I certainly aint the thief. But I will think twice Bob cause it aint all right.

The hero shows he is a man.

I am outraged and disgusted. I am so dissappointed.
Yes I am still on football. It's over, the Italians won, well done, the city is quiet in my quarter. I am gutted. I have watched him for years. He graced our screens and world stages with an intelligence unmatched in the sport, and not just for the sport.
Tonight he turned around and dropped some guy with a headbut to the chest. Why?
Zizou how can I tell my son you are an example to be followed? Now every young non white French guy and a lot of white french guys will take this as permissable behaviour.

The English web press are reporting the end of the career of Zinedine Zidane in disgrace. The are talking about a needless, unforgiveable, unexcuseable headbut. As usual they are talking bollocks.

I saw it, and yes I agree to a point, it was disgraceful. But I can dream and imagine into what I saw. If I was the greatest player in the world who had come out of retirement, and succeeded almost single handedly in getting my team and my country to qualify for the world cup, then played crap in one match, got subsituted in the next, was banned for two yellow cards in the third, as the world spoke about me falling out with my trainer and that in short this was a world cup to far and I was finished,.........then I play to knock out rounds as perfectly and sublime as you will. I make goals, I score goals, I make the other good players look ordinary. The world once again calls me great, recognises my talent that has formed and grown against the odds, recognises that I am a great player for my nation, while some 'great political minds'talk about how their are too many of my kind in the national team....what the f*@'K? I qualify for the final and some dickhead calls me a low down ignoramous sheep shagging drunken alcholic irish man, ? I wouldn't just deck him with my head, I would pull out a gun a shoot him..........probably. So Zizou well played. Good goal, Good headbut too, and Matzerati? Great fall, but you know what? He demeans himself who pulls down the truly great man through whatever reason. He who walks away remains and enhances his own status as hero. So now I would give the offender my gun and say here, try again, it still hasn't worked, you man child without a penis that likes sucking shit. Then I would have let him hit me with his head and get sent off. Not too bright on the heat of the moment Zizou.
Here's the rub though. In Ireland our hero Roy keane did things like that and was pilloried and hated for it. I have to admire a nation that in the final of the world cup, the hero shows his humanity and the local press, say...........ít's okay, we love you. thank you for all you have given us. We played well, we will miss you now you are gone. Zizou only you could have had this response.
He stayed in the dressing room. He didn't come out to see his team mates cry. He didn't come out for his medal. I wonder if he had just had too much racism thrown at him in his career and this Algerian man finally cracked in his last ever match? In twenty years you will read this and not know the names or quality of men lIke Muller, Pele, Mardonna, Ruminegahr(can't spell) Plantini, Zico, Socrates, Cruff, Zoff, Ricardo and of Course Zinedine Zidane. ZZ twice the man Zoro was apparently. I would like to meet you some day because I think what makes you tick is close to my ticker too. ;-) So I await the Euro qualifiers Ireland has a great new set up and maybe they can allow me to bring some pride their way. Zizou? how about a match together some time ?

Celebrations of the Mediterranean.

Last night was Italian night. I had ate with 5 Italians around football match. We ate different courses of the meal before the match, during half time, just after full time and during the extra time. Of course I was shouting for the Italians due to Irene and Our friends being Italian. I couldn't understand much of what they spoke about but I am sure I was in agreement. I went to pee Italy scored in the 119 minute. I came back and the scored again. in 120 minute and the game finished they are in the World cup Final. The players were delighted the Italians were delighted. The one German guy who works with us was Gutted this morning.

Tonight French night. France held out to win 1:0 at the end of normal time. I don't think I have ever seen two teams so exhausted at the end of 90 minutes of football. The French were out on their feet,but it didn't matter as the Portugese were exhausted but kept going for it. Zidane was a pale shadow of himself this time and lost the ball a lot, Thuram played a blinder but was wrecked at the End.He was almost emotionally distraught. There are less people blowing horns and going crazy than when they beat Brazil. They have just qualified for the world cup final and people are seem to be more calm, quiet and reflective.
At work the only one to wear his French Jersey was the black guy. I wonder does the multi ethnic national team of the french hold some hope for the ordinary joes who are not white french? They prefer their rugby but then, in France it's not a class based sport like in Ireland.

No one believed at the start of the tournament this would happen. Even commentators rubbished the idea of France playing in the Final, the last 16 was the best anyone could hope for. This was realistic. They hardly qualified at all coming just top in a mediocre group. The team had mainly retired and had to be coaxed back in to play when Ireland drew with them in Paris. It is this old team that might now win the world cup.
I have no idea what it is like to win the world cup but I am very in touch with my emotions so I can well imagine the joy that must run through a nation to be proved the best in the world for the next 4 years.

I wonder about the muted French Celebrations.....why are they so reserved? Their next door neighbours the Italians are crazy like the Irish. The way I think people should be, get in touch with your feelings and let go of yourself. It's an amazing freedom. It's like flying.
I know at home I would have been in a bar and dancing on the streets if Ireland were playing but life is going on as normal, some people are passing by the appartment blowing horns or it may be just the same guy driving around :).
Either way Sunday the Italians will be back here, there will be good food, hopefully a good match and hopefully someone somewhere will really Celebrate like a Mediterranean should.