Wednesday 17 December 2014

Morrissey in Dublin 2014


HE is great. HE is a genius. HE has been part of my life for thirty years. I’ve seen HIM just five times but each time HE has left an indelible imprint on my psyche. HE has made me the woman I am today. HE is with me wherever I go. In the car, in the kitchen, beside me, quietly guiding me through life with HIS wisdom. My children have been indoctrinated too; they have had no choice because HE is Morrissey.

Behind this pretty ordinary housewifey exterior lies an obsessed super fan. In the eighties, whilst my friends were dressing like Princess Diana and throwing themselves at Duran Duran, I was in my bedroom stroking a Smiths poster. Whilst my friends were listening to Girls on Film, I was listening to Girlfriend in a Coma. There is nothing like the humour and irony of a Smiths song, most of them were written by my idol Morrissey. So when HE comes to Dublin, up the N7 go I.

The only other Smiths fan I’ve discovered in Kildare happens to live down the road in Athgarvan. Out of the pair of us, Monica is the less hysterical one but neither she nor I are as fanatical, bordering on psychotically obsessed as her sister, Majella. She is the mega fan. “You know she kissed Morrissey in 1995?” Monica told me as we cruised up the motorway in the drizzle. “In Grafton Street HMV. At a signing”.  That’s not all.

“She’s got an eighth of a sweaty towel from a gig in the nineties too”. “An eighth?” “Yeah, eight fans caught it when Morrissey threw the towel from the stage at the end. They all started fighting over it so in the end they cut it up and split it eight ways”. I know a nun who carries a bit of St Brigid’s cloak around but a framed slice of a towel with Morrissey sweat on it? That takes relics to a new level.

Majella stood outside the 3Arena with her friend June. Morrissey fans all look kind of the same. None of us wear bright colours and most fabric is man made. Everyone wears sensible shoes and looks a bit pale. Morrissey is a passionate vegan and Meat Is Murder is one of his most famous songs. We stood beside the burger stall outside the 3Arena and decided not to buy one. He once refused to play a gig because the venue smelt of meat and stormed off the stage in Poland last month. The very last thing we wanted to do was cancel this much-anticipated gig upset thousands of Morrissey worshippers.

He came onto the stage and the crowd went wild. Men in their fifties threw themselves against the safety barrier. It is a fact that for some reason, his fan base is largely male. The men outnumber female fans ten to one. Majella was instantly concerned when she saw him. “He looks tired”. The news of Morrissey’s cancer came like a bolt from the blue this year. Details have been scarce. “If I die, I die. So what?” was his reaction.

‘The Queen in Dead’ set the crowd alight before he launched into a string of songs from the new album. He had just a few words for the fans between songs, “Ireland, I am grateful and that is that” and “Has anyone stopped you in the street and asked you if you are crazy? Look at ME”.  Two thirds in, Majella and June went to the bar. They went at the right time.

“It’s a cruel, nasty and vicious world. If you think otherwise, think again” he said before walking off stage to change his sweaty shirt. He left us with a short film. A ten-minute movie that brought silence to the packed 3Arena, images that would sicken anyone with a pulse came onto the big screen. Lambs and calves being slaughtered, tiny yellow chicks in a machine, having their beaks shaved off. Half dead pigs being kicked and beaten.  Already pale fans went a shade paler.

Monica looked at me for help. I shrugged my shoulders. What could I do? A teenage girl in front of us began crying uncontrollably, consoled by her parents either side of her. This was hard-core animal rights campaigning. After twenty-five years of worship, we’re all used to it. It’s what he does. We all sat in silence willing him to hurry up and get a clean shirt on, which he finally did.


Songs that HE didn’t sing included “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”, “Unhappy Birthday”, “Last Night I dreamt That Somebody Loved Me” and “First Of The Gang To Die”, although he did delight every Smiths fan in Ireland when he closed the show with “Every Day Is Like Sunday”. Majella came back from the bar singing along like a lunatic, fist pumping and cheering whilst Monica whistled loudly beside me. The teenager in front was still sobbing, happy or sad tears I’m still not sure, as the pasty men all around us looked on emotionlessly. It’s an unusual adoration.

Before he left the stage after two hours Morrissey asked us all to graffiti the city with ‘MEAT IS MURDER’ stencils that were for sale at the merchandise stall outside. I didn’t see anyone buy one or spray the walls on the way out and despite the passionate pro-vegetarian movie; the food stalls outside the 3Arena had completely sold out of beefburgers.

Morrissey you are a legend and get well soon but I love a bit of bacon and that is that.













Monday 8 December 2014

My roof box and a bridge too far




Sixteen years ago I wrote a book “Help! I’ve Got A Baby’. Fast-forward seventeen years and I should be writing ‘Help! I’ve Got A Teenager’.  In it I would list the top one hundred things that make life with teenagers less stressful. Once your children become teenagers, everything you do is embarrassing. It’s the knowing what not to do that it the real sanity saver.

The top one hundred things to avoid includes speaking loudly or drawing attention to yourself outside the house, dressing like Dolly Parton and hugging or showing any signs of physical affection in public. The number one thing to avoid, as I have just discovered, is never to drive around your local town with a roof-box on top of the car.

The roof-box is there because we drove across the Irish Sea a few weeks ago to see the grandparents. They are all sick and these visits are becoming more frequent. Hence, we shall be heading back across the pond again in a few weeks time. The roof-box, bought ten years ago to make travel with four children much less squashed, is a practical, large grey plastic box shaped like a squashed torpedo.

“Don’t come NEAR my school with that THING on the roof” Diva Teen said last month. She is disgusted by it and now meets me half way home from school, on a small side road with no lights. That is not all. She crawls into the back seat and lays flat with her school bag on her head. Then we begin the long moan home.

“This is the most embarrassing car in Kildare”, then “Nobody else in the world drives around with an ugly roof-box”, then a muffled “You need to get privacy windows like the Kardashians. At least no-one could see me”. The muffled complaints come thick and fast from the back seat. “It’s like driving around with a boat on the roof”.

To save her from being seen, I have suggested that she gets in the roof-box for the school run. I even offered to put a pillow, sleeping bag, DVD player and mini fridge inside. I could probably get Wi-Fi up there and with a little help from a YouTube tutorial I might put in a little window too.

“It would be like your very own small tour bus. Just like Rhianna’s” I tried. She refused to crack a smile, not even a tiny one. “NOT funny”. “What about if I put in a flask of hot chocolate and an electric blanket?” Silence. That would be another piece of advice in my sanity saving manual; don’t try and be funny. 

I am usually the one who has to put the heavy, awkward roof box on and take it off each time we go away. Our son is ten and has just been trained up to help. He is the perfect assistant, the ideal size to actually sit inside it and do up the screws with his little fingers. We both hate doing it and after the last trip, when I went out with him to take it off, he suggested we leave it on. I thought it was a good idea.

“I will never drive with you in daylight again” Diva Teen announced over breakfast last weekend. This roof-box rage has been going on for two weeks, much to the amusement of the rest of the family. I switched off to her protests because having a roof-box does have one big advantage. I can spot the car in less than two seconds in an open-air car park. If only I had stuck to open air car parks. Unfortunately, that day I didn’t.

We headed into Newbridge around 4pm when it was almost dark. As usual, I drove humming along to the radio and talking to myself. The passenger seat was empty. In the rear view mirror I could see Diva Teen lying across the back seats, with a blanket covering her whole body.

At the pedestrian crossing, people looked in with prying eyes. I find it a miracle that I was not reported for human trafficking, kidnapping or on suspicion of murder. “Are you alright there?” I asked her. “DRIVE” she replied. One word answers are the norm.  If you have toddlers or small children, hold them tight and cherish them. All this, and more, is heading your way.

In Newbridge I drove optimistically towards the Courtyard multi story car park, planning to drive up the ramp and whirl up to the top floor for a parking spot. But as I got onto the ramp, a crashing, deafening thunder-like noise stopped me right in my tracks. I screamed. Diva Teen remained silent in the back.

I leapt out of the car to discover that I had smashed into the multi story car park ceiling, completely ignoring the ‘Maximum height 1.95m’ sign on the way in.  I’d forgotton all about the extra height I was carrying on top of the car. Oops. Wedged, like a doorstop, in the car park. “WHAT have you done now?” Diva Teen poked her nose out from her hiding place.

I wanted to join her under the blanket but being the only grown up in a sticky situation, I carefully reversed out instead. A crowd of onlookers watched, accompanied by loud scraping noises from the roof-box and we slowly drove off. “This is the most embarrassing day of my life” Diva whispered. I think it might have been mine too. Until today.

Driving through Kildare, I came across a massive army truck at a standstill. It was wedged solidly under the low railway bridge, a mile out of town on the Rathangan road. A few red-faced soldiers stood around it scratching their heads.

Just as I was about to take a ‘selfie’ with them to prove everyone that I am not the only person who ignores warning signs I stopped myself.  A selfie with a bunch of soldiers? Diva Teen would lock me in the roof-box forever.