Trimmed for length
Late with this post. Wrote it but didn't put it up. It took place back on the 4th December.
Pretty fun Friday night there.
Got off the phone from the States (he didn't say "You guys's report" this time thankfully, so no punches required) and packed up my desk - we're moving to a new floor over the weekend. Hit the road and popped over to Parkwest to pick up herself.
Headed on up to the Navan road and through an endless series of roadworks. Sometimes I think this city is in a constant state of reconstruction. Once we made it to the sticks though, and out of the Blanchardstown metropolis, progress was swift. We arrived at Trim, County Meath at about 4pm. I'd printed out driving directions from Google, already a rapidly obsolescing feature as SatNavs' patient voices can just read this out to you, but we had a surprising amount of difficulty following it. Next time I'm just gonna get Miss Generic BBC English Woman Voice to *tell* me where to go.
The reason for making this trek? There was an event on called Trim 2025 which is a carbon-neutral night of bands in the town's magnificent GAA club. The Magic Numbers would be supported by the ubiquitous Ham Sandwich and a bunch of other local bands. I remembered the Numbers' one-hit-wonder from several years ago and the Sandwich are always entertaining, so this was an easy sell for me.
We found the B&B and that there was a fuckup with the booking, i.e. Todd the pleasant elderly gent hadn't checked his fucking email. In particular the one that said "You can go ahead and consider this a confirmed booking." He still had one room left though, as all the other rooms had been booked by a band that was coming to town. Not twigging it, me and Tee only figured out the significance later - in a town of this size, it must surely be one of the bands we were there to see. I hoped the band would be the 'Sandwich, so we were a bit disappointed when Todd remembered their name: "The Magic Somethings". In recent photos they still looked as hefty as ever, so it looked like there might be a fight over the breakfast food next morning.
Stopping on the way to the venue for a dacent countrah pint, I savoured an amazing Guinness while gales of laughter erupted periodically from a group of locals. One old man told the following story.
"Mick [his friend] was a barman, you see, and one evening a Yank came in and ordered a "Scaatch and ice". "A what?", he said. "Scaatch and ice. You know, like Scotch whiskey. And ice." So Mick says to him very even like, "We don't have Scotch here. We only have Irish whiskey. ...And we only have ice when it's in season."
We arrived at the GAA club and made our way across their shopping mall-scaled car park. I never cease to be amazed by the financial resources of our Gaelic Athletics Association. This place looked about 3 months old and was a full-scale classy operation, with a swish bar, venue for functions, indoor facilities and loads of outdoor pitches. In all small towns in Ireland, the GAA club is frequently the best funded and most powerful insitution in the area, now that the church has declined. They say that sport is a substitute for war, but in Ireland it seems to be a substitute for religion.
After an interesting drink with a middle aged bloke near us who'd been to the original Lisdoonvarna in 1978 (tickets including camping were £1!) me and Tee started drinking our way through the support acts. There were so many of them that 3+ hours later, we were pretty plastered and still Ham Sandwich hadn't shown up. It's a tribute to our communication skills that after about 7 pints, we managed to have a coherent convo on what touchstones and institutions can serve as community focal points in a rapidly-secularising society. She thought I was too hardcore with my hatred of the Catholic Church, cause in her heart she still reserves a place for it in Irish society even though obviously she strongly disapproves of the recent revelations (and most of the dogma). But I'm really serious about my position on that.
When local band The DLR were finished, the very good-looking crowd dispersed. Me and Tee were the only people brave enough to stand right at the barrier. Ham Sandwich came on and swigged from bottles of Buckfast. A few songs in, I shouted up at Podge, "Givus some Buckie!" He looked down and went, "Catch it". Thankfully, and surprisingly, I did, and it was very nice.
The band played great but they weren't getting much love from the crowd apart from me and Tee. They said they were going to choose their biggest fan from the crowd. When it was over, Tee headed off to the jacks. A girl with a pink dress and the sides of her head shaved and a long fringe came up behind me and asked, "Where's the girl that was standing here?" To my amazement, I realised it was Niamh, the singer. Just then, Tee came back, and was whisked away to hang out with the band. I mooned around near the barrier, unable to get past the bouncer, so started talking to Podge instead, who was nearby dressed as a superhero. He was dismantling a cannon that had fired papery bits at the crowd during the gig, and we ended up having a convo about how if you loaded it with cum, it would be a cumcannon for a porno.
Next, Tee was whisked off backstage to be photographed with the band. So! Jealous! I hung around outside, but there was nothing doing until they were finished. Niamh and Tee came out, and Tee introduced me to Niamh. "Hi, I'm Niamh", said Niamh. Too smugly, I said, "Yea. I know." I think I pitched it all wrong, as it didn't have the right balance of awe and collectedness I'd been aiming for. Not surprisingly, she ignored me after that. Dammit!
Back inside, the Magic Numbers came on, who I always think look like cavemen. Their set was happy and danceable, and the crowd loved it. From here on, the night became hazy, and we left before the DJ set came on, though I do remember my shock when the entire taxi fare home - in a minicab - was only a fiver.
Next morning
The next morning, we tried to do some Christmas shopping and tourist stuff. They had loudspeakers set up around the town and in a Father Ted moment, the announcer bloke said with a total deadpan: "There is free parking all over the town today. At 3pm, Santa Claus will be making his way from the North Pole to Trim and landing in the car park of Tesco's to give out presents." I loved it!
Our time in Trim finished up with an attempt at tourism in Trim Castle, but I really and truly was fucked. I was in no shape to start getting my tourist mack on, and felt like puking. About 10 minutes into the tour of the beautiful castle, I had to leg it to the jacks. I keep getting reminded that I'm several years older than a person that would be able to stomach this level of crapulence.
Pretty fun Friday night there.
Got off the phone from the States (he didn't say "You guys's report" this time thankfully, so no punches required) and packed up my desk - we're moving to a new floor over the weekend. Hit the road and popped over to Parkwest to pick up herself.
Headed on up to the Navan road and through an endless series of roadworks. Sometimes I think this city is in a constant state of reconstruction. Once we made it to the sticks though, and out of the Blanchardstown metropolis, progress was swift. We arrived at Trim, County Meath at about 4pm. I'd printed out driving directions from Google, already a rapidly obsolescing feature as SatNavs' patient voices can just read this out to you, but we had a surprising amount of difficulty following it. Next time I'm just gonna get Miss Generic BBC English Woman Voice to *tell* me where to go.
The reason for making this trek? There was an event on called Trim 2025 which is a carbon-neutral night of bands in the town's magnificent GAA club. The Magic Numbers would be supported by the ubiquitous Ham Sandwich and a bunch of other local bands. I remembered the Numbers' one-hit-wonder from several years ago and the Sandwich are always entertaining, so this was an easy sell for me.
We found the B&B and that there was a fuckup with the booking, i.e. Todd the pleasant elderly gent hadn't checked his fucking email. In particular the one that said "You can go ahead and consider this a confirmed booking." He still had one room left though, as all the other rooms had been booked by a band that was coming to town. Not twigging it, me and Tee only figured out the significance later - in a town of this size, it must surely be one of the bands we were there to see. I hoped the band would be the 'Sandwich, so we were a bit disappointed when Todd remembered their name: "The Magic Somethings". In recent photos they still looked as hefty as ever, so it looked like there might be a fight over the breakfast food next morning.
Stopping on the way to the venue for a dacent countrah pint, I savoured an amazing Guinness while gales of laughter erupted periodically from a group of locals. One old man told the following story.
"Mick [his friend] was a barman, you see, and one evening a Yank came in and ordered a "Scaatch and ice". "A what?", he said. "Scaatch and ice. You know, like Scotch whiskey. And ice." So Mick says to him very even like, "We don't have Scotch here. We only have Irish whiskey. ...And we only have ice when it's in season."
We arrived at the GAA club and made our way across their shopping mall-scaled car park. I never cease to be amazed by the financial resources of our Gaelic Athletics Association. This place looked about 3 months old and was a full-scale classy operation, with a swish bar, venue for functions, indoor facilities and loads of outdoor pitches. In all small towns in Ireland, the GAA club is frequently the best funded and most powerful insitution in the area, now that the church has declined. They say that sport is a substitute for war, but in Ireland it seems to be a substitute for religion.
After an interesting drink with a middle aged bloke near us who'd been to the original Lisdoonvarna in 1978 (tickets including camping were £1!) me and Tee started drinking our way through the support acts. There were so many of them that 3+ hours later, we were pretty plastered and still Ham Sandwich hadn't shown up. It's a tribute to our communication skills that after about 7 pints, we managed to have a coherent convo on what touchstones and institutions can serve as community focal points in a rapidly-secularising society. She thought I was too hardcore with my hatred of the Catholic Church, cause in her heart she still reserves a place for it in Irish society even though obviously she strongly disapproves of the recent revelations (and most of the dogma). But I'm really serious about my position on that.
When local band The DLR were finished, the very good-looking crowd dispersed. Me and Tee were the only people brave enough to stand right at the barrier. Ham Sandwich came on and swigged from bottles of Buckfast. A few songs in, I shouted up at Podge, "Givus some Buckie!" He looked down and went, "Catch it". Thankfully, and surprisingly, I did, and it was very nice.
The band played great but they weren't getting much love from the crowd apart from me and Tee. They said they were going to choose their biggest fan from the crowd. When it was over, Tee headed off to the jacks. A girl with a pink dress and the sides of her head shaved and a long fringe came up behind me and asked, "Where's the girl that was standing here?" To my amazement, I realised it was Niamh, the singer. Just then, Tee came back, and was whisked away to hang out with the band. I mooned around near the barrier, unable to get past the bouncer, so started talking to Podge instead, who was nearby dressed as a superhero. He was dismantling a cannon that had fired papery bits at the crowd during the gig, and we ended up having a convo about how if you loaded it with cum, it would be a cumcannon for a porno.
Next, Tee was whisked off backstage to be photographed with the band. So! Jealous! I hung around outside, but there was nothing doing until they were finished. Niamh and Tee came out, and Tee introduced me to Niamh. "Hi, I'm Niamh", said Niamh. Too smugly, I said, "Yea. I know." I think I pitched it all wrong, as it didn't have the right balance of awe and collectedness I'd been aiming for. Not surprisingly, she ignored me after that. Dammit!
Back inside, the Magic Numbers came on, who I always think look like cavemen. Their set was happy and danceable, and the crowd loved it. From here on, the night became hazy, and we left before the DJ set came on, though I do remember my shock when the entire taxi fare home - in a minicab - was only a fiver.
Next morning
The next morning, we tried to do some Christmas shopping and tourist stuff. They had loudspeakers set up around the town and in a Father Ted moment, the announcer bloke said with a total deadpan: "There is free parking all over the town today. At 3pm, Santa Claus will be making his way from the North Pole to Trim and landing in the car park of Tesco's to give out presents." I loved it!
Our time in Trim finished up with an attempt at tourism in Trim Castle, but I really and truly was fucked. I was in no shape to start getting my tourist mack on, and felt like puking. About 10 minutes into the tour of the beautiful castle, I had to leg it to the jacks. I keep getting reminded that I'm several years older than a person that would be able to stomach this level of crapulence.