Come.

And what you might have been my son
And what you might have seen
And love indeed you would receive
And loved you would have been
And if your lovely face could see
And if our eyes had seen....

My Old Man (or Da 2) :¬)

I don't know why he is so much more in my thoughts this week, and things keep popping up, pictures, people, places, smells.

I happened upon this video by accident tonight, and though I know the song from The Furey Brothers, I had never heard this version, or even heard of this wonderful singer, and it is too beautiful not to share. I don't think I could ever manage to sing this song, not the whole way through anyway.

Barfly (s)

I love my bar.

Contrary to what many of you may think, it's not an old traditional typical 'Oirish' bar.
It's fairly new, about 15 years old, and built in the middle of a 'new village'!

But it is a community bar, as such, and everybody knows each other, and so, I suppose we have started our own 'traditional bar'!

It's a small pub, owned by the sister of a famous Irish rugby player, and is as such mostly a sports bar. That is not to say it is just a sports bar, meaning, though most sports bars are 'traditionaly' the mainstay of men, 'CLAWS' (as our bar is known) has many the female sports fan!

And we have music most Saturday nights, often supplied by mesel!Though most of my favourite neets are when the wee Jonathan do be playin', and he gets me up to sing a few, these are the times when I can be 'one of the crowd' and not the main act. Have fun, and not worry about makin' a show of meself!

Just home now, no music of a Sunday eve, just lots of friends chilling, men on the bar stools, couples at tables, barstaff chillin' on a sunday, a big beer filled family, getting ready for a new Monday!

I love my bar! :¬)

xxx

Da.

I have written about him before. He is often on my mind, even 25 years after his death. I cannot put on my shoes in the morn without hearing him say "do ye want me to polish them properly for ya?"

Everytime I look at my face in the shaving mirror, I see him shaving his face, though having inherited Ma's family's features I look nothing like him.

It was he, and not the Ma, who taught me how to iron a shirt properly, how to press a suit, and how to get the pleats in my kilt just right! (It takes a long time to iron a kilt, stitch all the pleats together, and only take out the stitching just before a competition!)

He taught me how to knot a tie, how to wear a tie, when to wear a tie, when it was acceptable not to wear a tie. (I have a VAST collection of ties, still collect them.)

And yet, we were never that close. He was, as some people might say, very English! Very 'stiff upper lip', though you couldn't get a more patriotic Irish man! He was never one for hugging, kissing or cuddling. Never one for a slap on the back. But we knew he loved us. And though Ma was never affeared of givin' us a good slap, Da never once raised his hand in anger to us. And Ma would use this to her advantage. "Do ye want me to tell yer father how bold ye've been, do ye want him to slap ye?" (He never did!)

Da would have a pint every night on the way home from work, in Mr. Halpin's bar.
Mr. Halpin would give working men ONLY one pint each working night. He would then send them home to their families.

But on a Friday he would give them one pint, tell them go home with their wages, and come back for a few more if their wives would let them! There are not many Mr. Halpins around these days!

Da always stopped off at Monica's shop of a Friday, for the 'Bag Of Sweets'!
The bag was different every Friday, but one of us always had to answer a question to get the prize 'CRUNCHIE' each week! It didn't really matter 'cos all the 'sweets' were a treat for us!

I often wonder what memories my girls will have of me. I know I spend a lot of time with them, more time, I know, than my own Da was privileged to have with me. And I am priviliged to be in a position, because of my job, to spend so much time with them.

My Da was a 'worker' in the old fashioned sense. He got up early each day, worked a labouring slog, and was proud to do so to provide for his family. I know my lifestyle is so different from Da's, but I like to think I am carrying on his tradition.

I love you Dada, and I miss you every day.

301 - Crucán Na bPáiste

300

Yep! 300.
And what's I got?
Fuck all!

Come back tomorrow.

:¬)

17th March.

Ladies & Men, the day is upon us.
The day that St. Patrick decreed (on his deathbed!) that every man, woman, child (and larger breeds of dog) should go forth, to their nearest pub, and drink their weight in a black liquid, henceforth to be known as Guinness (Gaelic for 'Blood of St. Patrick!)

I may be back tomorrow.
I may not.
You know the drill, don't let HIM down!

********************************************************************************

Replicas of St. Patrick's shoes.
(Laced for work, slip-on for leisure.)
A church he built on a mad weekend in NYC!
A mountain he made. (Out of a molehill!)

Artist's impression of Mrs. St. Patrick.

Recently found fossilised remains of 'Yer Man'!

Lovely shot of Mick & Mary, (Patrick's Da and Stepmother.)
Himself watchin' a snake orgy, alas no more in Ireland!
Typical gay St. Patrick's Day party.
Last known urine sample of St. Patrick.

Sets & Drums & Rotten Rolls!

So, 'twas a great gig!
The guitarist suffered through, like a trouper.
We had to medicate him every 30 mins, in between sets, much to the amusement of the crowd.
But he played to the last note!
And we got him back to the ward before Matron noticed.
Looks like he gonna be there for the rest of the week though, at least!

Meself and the drummer stopped at a truck-stop for food on the way home.
Hot dogs? Me arse!
Let's just say, bad tummies the next day!

Meanwhile, I had a gig tonight with the duo (me & the unwell one!) so KateNap filled in for him.
Her first full gig with the Da!
And they loved her, sure why wouldn't they!
(And she was payed, cash, in the hand!)

It's been a stressful weekend, musically.
But an adventure.
It's what keeps a baldy ouldfella on his toes!

I'm off tomorrow night.

Off to the pub!

Sláinte!

Jailbreak

Our guitarist is in hospital.
We have a gig tonight.
We could get a replacement.
But it's always been the four of us since the start.

We break him out at 20:50.
We break him back in at 01:10.

Oooh Matron!

Too Much?

Rob was supposed to do another tattoo for me before he went to Oz, we had finalised the design and placement, but I was ill at the time ('twasn't the hoor drink!) so I'm gonna wait 'til he takes a trip back home, maybe in about a year.

I think this lad has taken it a bit too far though, d'ya agree? As Bock said to me, 'he's gonna feel a right twat if he makes it to his seventies!'

Nice jacket and trews though.

And belt.

Maybe he has a lovely smile.

STILL can't get enough! (Celtic 1-0 Rangers, 2nd March 2011) (Jimmy's in there, and Paul the Plumber!)

Just Can't Get Enough

I got a feeling a Bastardised version of this is gonna be sung many many times today in a certain part of Glesga!