Headed up to the Seven Sisters white cliffs a few days ago. Those rolling hills with their chalky margins are pretty iconic of this part of the world. Nice to get the cobwebs blown away a bit too, although we didn’t make it to Beachy Head. Next time!
And while we’re at it, here’s some loveliness from the soundtrack of ‘The Harder They Come’, the title track of which was the work of one Jimmy Cliff. Zing!
So, we’ve moved again. Brighton it is. The beach is stony but very comfortable, the seagulls are massive and think they’re people, and there’s plenty plenty music going on around here. Herv and Meljoann are our neighbours too, YAY!
Getting settled in here now, although it takes a bit of a while. The last few weeks have been a veritable festival-fest , with trips to Norberg and Rathlin. A tonic for the soul, there’s something really pagan or old-feeling about them; eat together, sleep together, get your rocks off together. Feeling suitably re-invigorated and inspired now, ready for the next adventure!
Some day I will read this famous book. Caught up on some classics from my native soil recently. Lotta lotta writers have sprung from that damp rock.”Borstal Boy by Brendan Behan is just brillunt, he is my new hero! His honesty and integrity shines, and that way with words. I acquired some new insults too!
I’m currently reading At Swim Two Birds by Flann O’Brien, that comic genius and true poet. Making a fool of myself, roaring laughing in public.
Here’s a video from a few years ago. Thanks to Neasa!
Ha! Every year, the same thing. “I wonder will I get over to the puffin sanctuary…” Past experience says noooooooo. Can’t let the dream die though.
I’ve got a bad case of the Christmas Eve excitements – hyper since yesterday, completely not with it in work this evening. I imagine tonight will be a winkless night of sleep.
That’s the buzz at Rathlin – “So, the tent’s blown away, the generator keeps cutting out, and half the stage has collapsed because of a hurricane… But why have you stopped playing?”
Mini trouble in paradise the other day though, and this in the comfort and safety of my own home. I plugged in my gear, post-Galway, and the Machinedrum, well, she sings no more. So I dunno, the plucky little drum machine that could is probably going to have to go to hospital in Sweden, leaving me sad, bereft, and (most importantly) mildly stuck for Sunday’s gig. No cello either, that’s been “sick” since my last trip back to Ireland.
I really need to sort out a better way of travelling with gear. In the meantime, though, this could work out even better – just a laptop, midi controller, and soundcard. Less hassle, less worry, less things that could go missing/be smashed to bits/be abducted by aliens, the usual crack.
Just had a lovely few days out west. And back in Ireland. Ah yes, killing the planet, one Ryanair flight at a time. But yeah, it was a lovely trip out to Connemara and Galway city. I was recording a few songs for Ceol ar an Imeall, a weekly music programme on TG4. On Friday night, I was lucky enough to play in the Bierhaus in Galway. It was a Community Skratch gig that I kind of muscled in on. The music sandwich had a glorious landscape filling – we drove off out into the wilds, climbed The Diamond in Letterfrack (well, I’m a bit starved for slopes in The Netherlands), and went around Lough Mask and Lough Corrib. Great fun altogether.
Not so much fun, however, the 2 a.m. bus from Galway to Dublin airport for a 7 a.m. flight. I swore I’d never say “I’m getting old” but it fairly knocked the stuffing out of me. Getting ready for more of the same this weekend though.
As we say On The Continent. So I’ve been getting my internet on, researching labels all over the world. All over the world, says she!
My cunning plan is to get the album released in as many countries as I can, or even just get talking to people who may be in a position to have us over for an aul gig. An aul gig, says she!
The UK, the Americas, Africa, Yerp, Australasia, Asia, I’m only limited by my reserves of patience. Philips’ School Atlas on my lap, and away we go. Virtually speaking….
I’ve been fascinated by the island of Saint Helena since I read about it. On one side, the wind never blows, and on the other, it never stops. The only way to get there is on a Royal Mail boat, and it takes two weeks to get there (did somebody say “Hen Party”!!??). Maybe I’ll leave Saint Helena for the time being, but I’ll get there eventually.