Thursday, March 12, 2009

Terence Bueller's days off

Wednesday, 8pm, The Gate Theatre
A date with a hot bird, that isn't roast turkey and trimmings, our first for too long as far as I'm concerned.

As we climb the steps to see Stoppard's The Real Thing (which has a little loveheart over the 'i' in thing) I proffer to her, by way of coarse yet tasteful amusement, that this is the first piece of culture we've shared that isn't bacterial. A rumour of a laugh tinkled beside me, I think.

The play, I opine loftily afterwards, was jaunty, effervescent and fizzing with sparkling humour, and wonderfully well crafted. This is just functional generosity, of course, and what I really mean is that it made me realise how I can't write half as cleverly and wittily as I'd like to think I might some day be able to. I secretly resolve to boot Tom Stoppard in the balls if I ever meet him, for being such a talented bastard. Then I decide against it, because the fecker would probably dash off an uproariously funny play about it and that'd just defeat the purpose entirely.
If he could describe a turgid and banal protest play, in which the author attacks all the usual targets such as Church, State etc, as: "It's like being run over very slowly by a travelling freak show full of your favourite simpletons," well fuck it, I might as well give up.

10.45pm, The Elephant and Castle, Temple Bar
Jesus, those chicken wings are something else. Well not literally something else in that they're still chicken wings and not, say, pieces of a donkey, but you get my drift no doubt. Typically however, there's something on the sauce that makes me sweat like Christy Moore on the Late Late* and when I slink off to the bathroom to 'freshen up' as I say suavely to my date (in italics and all, I'm fierce smooth me) I'm shocked to find I've spent the last 15 minutes all blotchy and odd-coloured like Manchester United boss Alex Ferguson.

11.43, The Porterhouse, Temple Bar
Two pints of Porterhouse Red, the second one quite illegal, served as it was at 12.15am. It was the sweeter of the two, naturally, so I drained it with a gulp, lipsmack and a sigh, and empathised with Adam and Eve for fucking everything up for the rest of us like they did.
Then I plant a big kiss on the apple of my eye and she seems to like it so I do it again.

Thursday, 11.50am The Breakfast and Supper Club, Ranelagh
Porridge, honey, raisins, coffee. It barely touched the sides.

On the way out, I pass a lone woman sitting at a table reading a book called Release Your Inner Power.
God's teeth! That book clearly works, I thought, as I gagged a little in the fresh fumes of her fart.

12.45pm, Luas
The person beside me is listening too loudly on their impersonal stereo to a tune called the 'Great Defector.' I have one of those moments where despite myself I think of how funny a typo 'Great Defecator' would be and before I can stifle things, I'm giggling to myself and mothers are watching me slitty-eyed and gathering their children unto themselves.

1.26pm, Grafton Street
I have some time to kill before wanting something else to eat so I opt for shop browsing, to sharpen my skills at the old fending off recessionarily underworked and over eager shop assistants. I resolve not to buy any more nice gym gear because I simply spend too much on it.

1.53pm, Champion Sports
Running shorts and a teeshirt, €36, paid for on the never-never, or Mastercard to the uninitiated. I'm nothing if not steadfast.

2.20pm, Ha'penny Bridge
There's a woman throwing bread to the seagulls off the Liffey boardwalk. I remember a piece I read in the Sunday Times magazine about the urbanisation of seagulls - it was a quiet Sunday - who find so much rich pickings in landfills and cities that they can't be arsed living at sea and fishing any more like they're supposed to. They're becoming so numerous they're not far from being classified as pests, and so territorial and narky they've started attacking humans.
I wonder if this Mary Poppins was ankle deep in embroiled rats in a sewer would she feel the same and feed them chocolates. Then again, who thinks of seagulls like this?

3pm, Messrs. Maguire, O'Connell Bridge
Dinner.

Roast turkey.

I'm nothing if not steadfast.

3.37, Tara Street Dart Station
I'm standing on the platform reading a book called The Shadow of the Wind. An old woman with a faraway smile glances down at it and asks me if I like Charlie Lansborough?

I'm too thrown to answer so I just nod enthusiastically and she goes off happily, trailing her bockety tartan shopping thingummy after her.

4.30pm, home
I read through my blogroll. I laugh at Leeroy, I marvel at Meadow, I do alliterative things to others also but my vocab won't stretch as far at outlining precisely how and besides, it doesn't strike the right chord to say I ROFL'd at Radge and sniggered at Susan and what not.
I sigh and wonder what Tom Stoppard would write. I pause, fingers poised, then I sit down and type.

Then I give up and write this instead because as days off go, these weren't bad ones at all you know. I'd have loved a classic Ferrari and a teacher called Ed Rooney to torment, before singing Twist and Shout atop a Saint Paddy's Day float, but listen, you can't have it all.

*Oliver, Galway. Cowzer's stag.

22 moos and woofs:

narocroc said...

As the great Ferris once said... "Life goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it".

Terence McDanger said...

When I was a kid I thought his girlfriend was hot, but now, I don't see it. Odd that.

But yes, Ferris was my hero too. I would have followed him, my captain, my king, my brother...

Meadow said...

Forget about Stoppard. Really loved this post.

What perfect days. I also love going on holiday in Dublin!

And thank you (blush).

Baino said...

Awww sounds like a nice little road trip apart from the chicken wing blotchies. There are some foods best not eaten in public . .ribs, wings, lobsters . . .Good luck with the apple!

Radge said...

Is ROFLing something to do with a floor?

Great post.

~ae said...

LOL! Wish my days off were half as amusing. :)

hope said...

:)

Susan said...

Hmm, well, I suppose a snigger is better than a simper or a snort or a big juicy sneeze, so ok.

That was me with the tartan shopping thingy, btw.

Ok, no it wasn't.

Anyhow, glad you enjoyed your day off so well--and where are you taking Apple next, what will you do?

The Man at the Pub said...

What do you do if a bird shits on your windscreen.
You never take her out again. Boom etc.

In Australia the seagulls are much hated. Flying rats. They've been known to steal wayward children. I suspect Ireland will soon succumb to this Hitchcockian nightmare.

Holemaster said...

Terence, did you get the One Hour Man in Elephant and Castle? Ev-er-y fucking time, it's "Come back in an hour". One of these days I won't.

Kath Lockett said...

Nice post, Terence.

Just don't, whatever you do, buy apple "Release Your Inner Power." Especially if you make a habit of eating those blotchy chicken wings.

Red Leeroy said...

I really hope this is a part-1 type of post, I feel like I had a day off now , and believe me, I need it.

excellent.

Red Leeroy said...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1Q4njFYbjc

Kitty Cat said...

Ah lovely postaroony, I've only been to the PorterHouse in Temple Bar once, and it was on the first date with my fella. I fell for the "are you wearing fake eyelashes line", naive yoke that I am!

Terence McDanger said...

Ye Gods! I always thought I'd have to work harder than that to make you blush Meadow! :)

Radge is On Fire Lately. Now for ya.

Thank you ae, I can't find that squiggle to write your name properly. Is that the name you wanted or is it a typo?

Susan, I can't possibly say, she might be reading.
Never had you down as a bag lady, I must say...

TMATP - that gag's probably as old as I am plus VAT but I'd never heard it before and got a right chuckle out of it.

Holemaster, I am all too familiar with that. But I was safe enough this time as it was so late in the evening. If he'd told me to come back in an hour and the place nigh on empty, I think I'd have taken off my shoe and slapped him with it.

Kath - we're still at the 'ican'tfartinfrontofher' stage. Sigh, heady times.

Cheers Leeroy, loved that clip! The "they all think he's a righteous dude" bit always gets me, every time. Ah the memories.

Terence McDanger said...

Oops missed you there KittyCat.

Postaroony? Sounds like some sort of traditional dish we flog to tourists when we run out of coddle, but thanks all the same!
You fell for the line, then you fell for him, right? That sounds about right in my book.

Adullamite said...

Who needs Stoppard when we have you?

hope said...

I sent you a special cow for St. Paddy's day and fear it landed in Spam Land. It was from "American Greetings".

The Man at the Pub said...

Bin a while. You gettin some?

~ae said...

McDanger, this ~ is the "tilde"
or, "a" tilde :), and is by no means a "typo"!

It has various complex relations with me, or I with it. If you are curious, I will share more.

Have you visited the dog blog? It was while shopping for the domain name--my dog's nickname is "Moo"--that I happened upon your delightful work here. :)

Kev Brown said...

I like reading these sort of 'a day in the life' posts. It was interesting and funny!

Red Leeroy said...

your never talking a day off again. Every day I come in hoping for a new post. Nothing.

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