Green Spot Irish Whiskey

The whiskey remarks on this site get more comments than any other. So here’s another Irish whiskey of note – Green Spot.

It’s a whiskey I had seen but never tasted until one night in Dublin recently when we asked for our usual Redbreast as a ‘deoch a dorais’. The owner said he was clean out but recommended the Green Spot as a superior drink. We were surprised at this as we held Redbreast to be the king of the Irish.

Well, we tasted it. And suffice to say there might just be a new King in town.

Green Spot is actually produced in the same place as Redbreast – the Jameson distillery in Midleton, Co Cork. It’s a blend of seven and eight year old, and is produced exclusively in Cork for Mitchell and Sons Wine Merchants in Dublin.

Try it if you can find it. It actually does hit the Spot.

Been away

It’s been quite a while. My excuse? I discovered Stumble Upon. Try it yourself and see how long it takes you to get back to the real world.

I want to look like Samuel L Jackson. But end up looking like Fr Flanagan.

Today, it was very cool in Belfast – temperature-wise if not culturally-wise. So, being someone who has no hair on top, I decided to have a quick look around the shops for, well, a cap. Or as they say in these parts – a duncher.

Why a cap, you ask? Well, baseball caps don’t cut it when you’re in your work gear. And those ski hats make me look all big nose. As for hats, I imagine they would make me look like an even stouter Van Morrison. Not that I’ve ever seriously considered a hat, though.

But I’ve never worn a flat cap before and, while I’m not particualrly fussy about my look, there are two things of importance:

• I must not look too much like an old geezer, eg my father
• And I must not look like I’m desparate to look cool.

But, unfortunately, it took just the trying on of three caps to realise that the one and only sure thing a cap will do for me is make me look like – a priest. A small stout priest out for a brisk walk. By the seaside.

Looks like it might be a long, cold winter up ahead.

Baseball caps don’t cut it at work

Van the Man: ‘Does my head look big in this?’

If only I could look like this.

Great Lyrics Series, No 4: Aird Ui Chumhain

My last post mentioned hurling in Cushendall. Being the old romantic that I am, it reminded me of the song Aird Ui Chumain in which an Irish farm labourer working in Scotland sees the coast of Ireland across the sea and pines for the Sunday mornings he formerly spent hurling with his friends on the beach in Cushendun. Here are the lyrics in the original Irish, followed by a translation. Back in the day, a friend used to sing this. Happy memories.

Dá mbeinn féin in Aird Uí Chumhain
In aice an tsléibhe ud ‘tá i bhfad uaim
Ba annamh liom gan dul ar cuairt
Go gleann na gcuach dé Domhnaigh

Curfá:
Agus och och Eire lig is ó
Eire líonndubh agus ó
‘Sé mo chroí tá trom agus bronach

Is iomai Nollag a bhí mé féin
I mBun Abhainn Doine is mé gan chéill
Ag iomainn ar a trá bán
‘S mo chaman bán ins mo dhorn liom

Curfá

Dá mbeadh agam coite ’s rámh
D’iomairfinn liom ar dhroim a’ tsnáimh
‘S mé ‘dúil as Dia go sroichfinn slán
‘S go bhfaighinn bás in éirinn

Curfá

Translation:
(like most translations of Irish lyrics/poetry into English, this comes nowhere near matching the simple yet elegant mood of the original)

Kerry beat Cork to win All-Ireland. Ireland flop against Georgia. Villa lose to City. But…

As you can see, sport dominated my weekend.

Time was, All-Ireland Football Final Day would have been one of the biggest days of my year. But my move to “hurling fan” has seen an erosion of the football final’s importance. Add in the fact that this year’s final was an all-Munster affair – with relatively little enthusiasm for it in other parts of the country – and the big occasion proved a sort of big anti-climax really.

The other big Irish sporting occasion of the weekend was the Rugby World Cup clash of Ireland and Georgia. This didn’t affect me very much as I personally think that rugby is a game for toffs and oafs. Oh yes – and idiots too. Why else would you have a referee constantly shouting the rules out to players? Imagine if that happened in other sports. Can you imagine it in tennis? “Hit it. Hit it back. Hit it again. Hit it back again.” Or in hurdling: “Run, run, run, run – jump. Run, run, run, run – jump.”

My beloved Villa didn’t do too good today losing out to Manchester City, one of the few teams I actually loathe. But…

The really, really, really big sporting occasion of my weekend, however, was seeing my son’s hurling team reach the finals of their P7 championship. Played in Cushendall on a bright sunny morning, with views of Ailsa Craig and Scotland in the background, the setting was pretty much perfect. Unfortunately, they lost the final but they managed to capture a couple of big scalps along the way. And my boy scored two goals. So he was happy.

We celebrated by going to the shop and buying the kids ice cream before we hit the road. Then, in the car, Dusty Springfield’s Son of a Preacherman popped up on the radio on the way home. For some reason, one of the kids knew all the words. So the rest all joined in with him as best they could and then they sang it over and over and over again as we drove back to Belfast.

Stuff like that you just can’t plan.

A cry for decency about Madeleine

I read this piece by Jonathan Freedland in the Guardian today. Thankfully, his is a voice of kindness and sanity that still does not shy away from the things we have all been secretly thinking. It’s a piece that everyone should read as we’re in serious danger of crucifying the parents without knowing the facts. I’ve now lost count of the times I’ve overheard people in cafes or bars quoting the new mantra: “I always knew there was something fishy about them” or words to that effect. Thank you to Jonathan for the following words of wisdom:

Madeleine: a grimly compelling story that will end badly for us all

We’re divided and now confused by the McCann investigation – and in real danger of losing our common decency

Jonathan Freedland
Wednesday September 12, 2007
The Guardian

Visit the Sky News website and you’ll see in the menu of topics the single word Madeleine, sandwiched between UK News and World News. The story is now so big that it commands its own category, on a par with Politics or Business. There is, of course, no need to supply a last name or any other details: Madeleine refers to what is surely becoming the biggest human interest story of the decade. It’s not just the hour-by-hour updates on television news or the you-the-jury phone-ins on the radio. A more reliable indicator is the chatter heard in offices, at bus stops or in queues at the shops. Thanks to the astonishing twist of recent days, the British collective conversation is not focused on the war in Iraq or the efficiency of the NHS, even if it should be. Instead, its great preoccupation is the disappearance of Madeleine McCann, a story that gets ever more strange.

Even before last week, the case had gripped. The apparently random abduction and murder of children always does, whether it’s Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, Sarah Payne or the victims of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley. We fear these crimes like no other; they touch fears with deep roots in the cultural soil. The child snatcher is a creature from myth, whether the oldest Gaelic folktales or Little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel. Modern storytelling is hardly immune: my own generation once cowered in terror from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’s Child Catcher. So when the news first broke in May that a sleeping child had vanished from her bed in a Portuguese holiday resort, all the familiar fears were stirred.

Just listened to new Springsteen album – full version this time

This is true.

A very nice man dropped by my office yesterday, asked for me and handed me a CD in a clear plastic sleeve. On it, it said ‘Bruce Springsteen – Magic’. He nodded at me in a knowing way, winked and left.

I didn’t ask any questions about where he got it. But as soon as he was out the door, I had the thing on our CD player.

The big surprise was that it wasn’t as bad as I had been led to believe. And another big surprise was that the ‘young uns’ around me seemed to like it as well. This is the generation that are listening to The Klaxons, by the way.

So that was promising at least. And some of the songs are good. Not sure that the album has any cohesive production or theme. But that darned saxophone of Clarence’s – it really hacks me off big time.

Still, it will stay on the office playlist for a while. Will reserve full judgement for a while longer.

Why Bruce used to matter to me and my mates

Continuing the Springsteen theme, and just to prove that Bruce meant a lot to me a long, long time ago, I attach “The River.” See below.

When this came out it was a bit of a revelation. For some Americans, it was the start of a realisation that there were tough things happening in the land of Apple Pie. For many Irish, it was a real-good feeling because somewhere in Springsteen’s Dutch and Italian heritage he had proudly resurrected a Catholic Irish background that he referred to often. And we Irish certainly made the most of the fact that Bruce was almost one of our own, someone who could tell a story in a really engaging lyric – big time.

Me, I was at University at the time this came out, reading people like Flannery O’Connor  and soaking up much of the vibe about Springsteen as a short-story writer – one who, in the guise of a rock and roller, could almost beat the big American short-story giants at their own game. Better than that, it was like he was Flannery O’Connor, Ansell Adams, Georgia O’Keefe all rolled into one. Writer, artist, image-maker – he could paint vivid scenes or break your heart with just a couple of words.

Back then too, I was also friendly with a beautiful native of Philly – blonde, witty, intelligent, musical (she could play guitar better than Chrissie Hynde, we thought) – who told us great stories of nights travelling the turnpikes, skipping from one bar to the next – chrome wheeled, fuel injected, steppin’ out over the line. The trip from Enniskillen to dances in Bundoran was never quite the same after that.

That’s why this Video is the best – and because it was the first video we ever saw on a great big video juke box. So while we should have been doing lots of other things – like essays and tutorials and the sort – we stood in the Edgewater Hotel in Portstewart and pumped coin after coin into the slot and watched one helluva short story unfold… time after time after time after time…

Mercury Music Prize

Gutted that Amy Winehouse didn’t win.

iPod: worrying trend appears

Hang on. What’s happening here?

While driving yesterday I spotted five “old people” wearing iPods. When I say old, I probably mean late middle-aged, a category that I’ll soon be joining. But at least I have the deceny to wear it discreetly, and seldom in very public places.

And what exactly are they listening to? They certainly didn’t look the type to be listening to Biffy Clyro. More than likely it’s Bryan Adams, Tina Turner’s Greatest Hits, Chris Rea or Tom Jones.

And they do it so self-consciously. Like holding the thing at arm’s length in one hand, while adjusting their specs to read the type with the other.

Goddammit, it just isn’t right.

Bruce and Miami Steve at The Stone Pony

Seeing as we’re talking about Springsteen, here’s a little rock and roll gem. Bruce gets up on stage to help out Steve van Zandt work his way through Steve’s song Native American – obviously a new song because Bruce has to rely on a lyrics sheet. And it happens at the famous Stone Pony club in Asbury Park – where Southside Johnny was the house band, where Springsteen played all-nighters with Steel Mill, where he first met Patti and where he was cheered on by a young Jon Bon Jovi among others. But never mind all that, this is pure atmosphere…

Just listened to the new Springsteen album

Ok, so it’s not out yet, but I just listened to 30-second snippets from all the tracks on the new Bruce release Magic. This was courtesy of a link sent by Kyle Mayne in reply to my earlier blog about the Boss in Belfast. I know it’s impossible to judge anything in this way but I think it’s safe to say that Bruce doesn’t break any new ground here. Check it for yourself:

http://kylemayne.com/2007/09/02/listen-to-magic-now/

Thanks Kyle. Hope you enjoy the show.

The honeymoon’s over

According to The Belfast Telegraph on Saturday, the honeymoon between Paisley and McGuinness is over. Apparently, the sight of the love-ins and laugh-ins that the two men shared were just too much for everyone – diehard provies and stalwart DUP members in particular. Not to mention the rest of us gullible sods who have had to put up with the sight of nearly 40 years being laughed off overnight. So the word is out to the First Minister and Deputy First Minister from their own grassrooters – get a grip of yersel’s.

Mac vs PC

I’m possibly the most untechnical person you could find, but I am now happily the proud owner of a gleaming new MacBook. Without doubt, it’s a beautiful thing, and it makes me feel that I can do the impossible.

As someone who has always been PC, the changeover to Mac caused a little upset for a few days but it has been worth it. Big time. Life’s just easier with a Mac. Drag and drop, drag and drop, drag and drop – how good is that? And as someone who:

writes scripts;

draws storyboards;

needs to make animatics from time to time…

…I can do them all infinitely faster and better on a Mac. Plus the fact that it’s obviously an object of intense desire. Why oh why did I not make the change years ago? I could have been in Hollywood by now. Or Madison Ave at least.

Bruce Springsteen in Belfast

I was excited last week to hear that Bruce is to play Belfast later this year. I believe he included Belfast in his schedule as a last minute tribute to local promoter Jim Aiken who passed on recently.

As the weekend progressed, though, I’m less excited at the news. And this comes from someone who has long worshipped the ground the Boss has walked on and has seen him in his prime.

Why? Well I heard the new single the other day and I thought it was a dull, blustery big stadium type of thing with Bruce doing his ‘new voice’ – a ‘new voice’ that has grown a bit irritating over the last few albums. The thing is, it’s not his voice. He’s borrowed it from somewhere and forgotten to give it back. At least when Dylan recorded Nashville Skyline in a strange voice – Lay Lady Lay in particular – he had the decency to revert to type pretty pronto. Bruce was better when he had his own voice and and told his own stories and wasn’t concerned with being Woody Guthrie. Only Uncle Bob is allowed to do that.

And the appeal of the E Streeters has waned a lot too. Miami Steve is now just that crap actor from The Sopranos. And Clarence – well, rock and roll saxophone doesn’t do it for me any more.

When the Stones played Slane a few weeks back I thought, these guys need to spend more time sorting out their tax and leave the stage to younger bands. Maybe the E Streeters need to do the same.

Bottom line, much as I fit the Dad Rock demographic, I prefer going out to see a younger band. Apart from Uncle Bob. Because if Dylan plays anywhere remotely close, I’ll be there.

Oh, and if James Murphy of LCD Sound System is out there reading this, it’s great to see you’re playing Dublin. But please organise a visit to Belfast on your next tour. I’ll be the old bald guy in the corner at the back.

Andy Kershaw

I notice quite a few hits today on a previous blog of mine about Andy Kershaw. Noticed in the Observer earlier that he was arrested in the Isle of Man recently in connection with breaking a domestic barring order of some sort. Hope he gets back on the radio soon as he epitomises some of the things I love – great music, loads of travel, and quite fearless and independent reporting.

As my son would say – “sweet”

A debut goal from Zat Knight and a late Gabriel Agbonlahor strike saw Aston Villa beat Chelsea 2-0 and end Chelsea’s 18-match unbeaten streak in the league.

We listened to the end of the game in the kitchen as I prepared a very fine pasta, pepper and chicken dish for the family. Indeed, the end of the game was much more exciting than the all-Ireland hurling final we watched earlier which Kilkenny won at a canter.

I must sometime explain that the love of Villa is a sort of family inheritance. And I do like the fact that we have inherited a team that we follow through thick and thin – not like all those other Johnny-come-latelies, or bandwagon-jumpers, who follow a top three team, knowing that they will always be winning something or other.

So on an evening like this, it gives me even more pleasure in saying Up the Villa.

You can tell it’s September – who knows what will happen at Villa Park?

A very important season for Martin O’Neill lies ahead. When he came in last year, he essentially played with Dreary O’Leary’s team. The expectation was that he would organise them and deliver a top 8 finish. It didn’t quite work out like that, though. But now that he has flexed his muscle in the transfer market, it is very much his team now. So any blame for non-performance in the months ahead will fall squarely on his shoulders. They’ve started evenly – won one, drew one, lost one. And today they face Chelsea in a 4 o’clock kick off. So, once the hurling’s over, we’ll be turning our attention to Villa Park. So don’t even think of calling between 3.30 and 6.00.

Toga international Moustapha Salifou: the final piece in the Villa tranfer puzzle?

You can tell it’s September – I haven’t got a ticket for the all-Ireland hurling final

Today the men of Kilkenny take on underdogs Limerick in the all-Ireland final. For the past two weeks, I’ve been pleading with people and dropping hints in an effort to find a couple of tickets. It almost paid off on Friday night when I got an offer of one ticket. But I really want to take my son, so I had to decline. So at 3.30 today you’ll find me in front of the TV for the climax of what has been an utterly fantastic year of hurling. The only shame is that Waterford didn’t make it through.

It would have been nice to see Dan ‘The Man’ Shanahan and his mates line up for a final after their heroic efforts all year.

You can tell it’s September – I’m thinking of a night class

This whole September attitude is starting to do my head in.

Currently, I sort of think I really should do a night class of some sort. My friend does a different one each year – bricklaying, car maintenance, watercolours, animal husbandry or some such. It’s why he’s such a well-rounded person.

Me, I’m tempted to learn Arabic or do accounting for business. But I know I probably won’t.