Crush

I almost started this blog with one of those cutesy “While I was chatting to ‘her’ I thought about ‘x’” openings that really grind my gears. Firstly, no one cares that you have a loved one unless the blog is about them. And if it’s about them you shouldn’t refer to them as a pronoun. Her, she, him, themselves, it and yolky bobby are not terms of endearment.

If your girlfriend doesn’t want to be mentioned in your blog, but is an important part the content, then find some other way to bring it in. You’re a writer, use your imagination.

So myself and Jack Nicholson were playing basketball against Burt and Ryan Reynolds (no relation) when Burt started talking smack to Jack. Saying how his momma was an astronaut and what not. Jack Nicholson was having none of it and things got a bit heated when he mentioned how The Bandit had let the love of his life, Sally Field, slip out of his grasp.

While Ryan Reynolds was busy separating the two Hollywood veterans I couldn’t help dwelling on the image of Sally Field. When I was younger I used to have such a crush on her. I’m not sure I even knew what a crush was. I certainly didn’t know what the funny feeling I was having in my tummy every time I saw the star of Smokey and the Bandit and Mrs Doubtfire on screen. I just knew there was something special about her.

Of course she isn’t the only celebrity fancy I had when I was a young boy developing a curiosity for the fairer sex. Like every straight (and probably some gay) man my age Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia definitely stirred something in my pre pubescent self. Gold Bikinis and hair in funny buns will forever be fetish wear for men of a certain generation.

Of course these are both no brainers, Sally Field and Carrie Fisher were both beautiful women who radiate a cuteness while at the same time being can’t-quite-put-your-finger-on-it sexy. They tended to play sassy women who were more than capable of standing up to any moronic man. Had all my young attractions were so obvious I probably wouldn’t be writing this.

I need to point out that I was very young at the time. Not really sure what I was looking for in a girlfriend; I didn’t even know I was looking for a girlfriend. So I ask that you don’t judge ten year old me so harshly because he had a crush on the following women:

Carol Decker, the lead singer of T’pau who sang Heart and Soul and China in your Hand. She had curly red hair and could belt out a power ballad. Maybe it was the sepia tone lighting in all their videos but I always thought she was pretty. I followed her on twitter recently but that felt a bit weird.

Sonia. A bubbly Liverpool singer who was dubbed the new Cilla Black was another ginger chanteuse who appealed to my little boy sensibility. This penchant for redheads is not something that I have carried forward into my actual romantic life. I don’t know what it was about Sonia. Maybe it was the pinchable cheeks or twinkly eyes. Most likely it was the floppy hat and yellow bolero combination that she sported on her album cover Everybody Knows (which I owned on cassette tape, by the way.)

Dana. There I said it. I used to fancy Dana. All Kinds of Everything, Dana. I didn’t know she was a religious nut at the time. Before she wanted to be president and sign Ireland over to the Catholic Church I used to think she was very cute. She had big brown eyes and rosy cheeks. She had a seemed to have a kind heart; she helped Finn and Derval in Flight of the Doves. Playing Snow White in pantomime and winning the Eurovision proved how talented she was. How could anyone not be attracted to this woman?

In a time when Georgia Salpa is considered a sexy celebrity, it’s hard not to yearn for a simpler time. Or maybe I just have strange taste in women. Oh, I don’t think herself will like me saying that.

Year in Review 2011

It’s the third day of the New Year and so far most people seem happy to see the back of the year that was 2011. And who can blame them? Earthquakes, uprisings, riots, political upheaval and recession do not make for a joyous end of year summary.

Not that we talk about those kinds of things here at Insert Witty... No, we tend to stick to the stuff we know about, music, movies, books and giving out in general. Unfortunately the last twelve months haven’t been great for those either.

Movie wise it been a pretty ‘meh’ year. Far too many ‘it was ok I suppose’ (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Super 8 and Oscar winning The Kings Speech) or ‘I can’t believe people thought that was good’ (Black Swan, Puss in Boots.) In fact a lot of reviewer’s movie the year fits perfectly into that second category.

Drive, starred Ryan Gosling as a moody, broody, stunt man turned getaway driver. As a movie it was a shallow homage to movies of the 80’s, a decade whose style over substance emptiness Drive emulates to perfection. There is absolutely no need for any of this movie to exist. From the horrible Day-Glo credits and appalling synth music soundtrack to its lack of script and video nasty violence, it is of zero artistic merit. Ladies tend to swoon over Gosling but he was in three other movies this year which are miles better than Drive.

In fact, one of those movies, Blue Valentine makes it into what I would consider the top five of the last year along with, in no particular order, Submarine, Tree of Life, Animal Kingdom and possibly Bridesmaids or Warrior. Like I said, it wasn’t a particularly great year for cinema but of what I saw, these were probably the best.

It was reported today that album sales (including digital units) for the last year are down. I can appreciate this. While there have been some good records, there hasn’t been anything that makes me want to listen to it over and over again. Bon Iver, Adele, Elbow and PJ Harvey have released decent efforts but nothing that has blown me away. So there is no JH album of the year.

My musical highlights have come from live gigs this year. As a huge Prince fan I was very sceptical about his gig in Malahide Castle. It was too expensive and the sound was bound to be terrible, I wasn’t going.


In the end my love of the man’s music got the better of me and I’m so glad it did. It was the fifth time I had seen him live and this was easily the best. It was definitely the best outdoor gig I’ve been at, possibly the best anywhere. A hits collection from start to finish (almost three hours,) he interacted and had the crowd eating out of his hand.

Then at Electric Picnic, I saw lots of great bands playing to appreciative audiences that where there to have a good time. Bands like Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Public Enemy, Caitlin Rose, Midlake, Santigold, DJ Shadow and others all put on great sets to make for an enjoyable weekend. The Headline acts then went and turned it into an amazing experience.

Arcade Fire on Saturday night put on an incredible show, every bit as good as their performance in the O2 in 2010, and should have been the highlight of the weekend. That was until Sunday night when the man god that is Jarvis Cocker strode on stage with a reformed Pulp and sent me and my friends back in time to 1996. Singing and dancing along to Disco 2000 was an experience I have waited fifteen years for. It was worth the wait.

On a personal note, 2011 was a great year. I continued my efforts to become a proper human being and writer. I spent a lot of time helping kids write stories (I even appeared on the news doing so) and I helped educate some of them in the ways of proper comedy. The best bit, without doubt, was that I ended the year all loved up and in a relationship with a fantastic woman who I personally think is brilliant.

If I can keep that stuff going forward into this new calendar I will have a very Happy New Year.

Pseudonym

‘What’s in name? A weed by any other name is still a weed.’

I recently heard that quote from an animated flamingo called Featherstone. Ok, so it’s not ‘exactly’ Shakespeare but I think we can allow a cartoon about gnomes based on a tale of teenage suicide some wiggle room.

Any child or unemployed person with a Cineworld pass knows, I am of course talking about Gnomeo and Juliet the 3D movie based on The Bards opus. Having developed something of a thing for Emily Blunts plummy British accent I took myself along to see (hear) her voice the titular Juliet. Not expecting much from the movie it was quite enjoyable and it did give me a nice intro into this week’s piece.

I’m incredibly fussy about what people call me. My opinion on somebody is instantly affected depending on how they address me. They say you only get one chance to make a first impression. Why would you mess that up by calling me something that isn’t my name? Getting someone’s name right is a simple courtesy.

I once worked a job where it was customary to change the names of anyone who might have an unusual name, usually foreign nationals. It’s not as if they had particularly hard names to say in the first place. One of the managers decided that one Chinese workers name was too difficult to pronounce so that became Paul.

Of course if he’d been Irish on a British Building site he would have been called Paddy. Apparently that was different. That was racial. This was just convenient. I’m not sure how ‘Bo Heng’ felt about that. I know how I would have felt about it

Mine is a very simple and common name. It’s not hard to pronounce or remember. Yet the amount of times I am called something different is staggering. Why do people feel the need to add syllables to a four letter word when they address me? I’m not Johnner, Johnno, Johnser or JohnJoe. And I am certainly not Johnny.

I used to have a boss. He reminded me of a cliché spouting parody of a radio DJ. Like Alan Partridge or Tony Fenton with less charisma. Every day he would greet me as Johnny. It used to drive me nuts. His desk was behind mine so I would be typing (or more likely arsing on the internet) and I would hear his awful voice float over me. “Hey Johnny, have you got a second?” I would stop dead in my tracks. My fingers would claw up and my shoulders would tense.

The first couple of times I asked him nicely would he mind not calling me Johnny. No problem he said, he’d been in the army and all the Johns were Johnny so he just assumed I’d be the same. I smiled and moved on to whatever business we had. Then the next day he would call me Johnny again. Oops he forgot. I wouldn’t have minded so much if his name hadn’t been John as well.

It’s not that I’m against nicknames per se but let’s try and have some degree of originality. Hoops and Jayhaitch (or J.H. for those who haven’t figured that one out yet) are perfectly acceptable. Hoops is a derivative of a childhood nickname of Hula Hoops. I like Hoops though. It makes me sound ‘street.’

At least nicknames can be attributed to some sense of acquired familiarity. People who think they are close enough to you to have a pet name for you. This is understandable.
Strangers who refer to me as ‘Bud’ ‘Buddy’ ‘Pal’ or ‘Mate’, however, have no such luxury. It really makes me cringe when someone calls me one of these. I’m not your buddy. I don’t even know you.

This is especially annoying when it’s perpetrated by those cocky arseholes that are raising money for charities. You know the ones in the bibs with the clipboards. “Hey there buddy, have you got a minute to support the starving babies?” or “Alright mate, you want to give money to stop animal cruelty?”

I hate those guys. Their over familiarity is not endearing, it’s rude. Considering most of them are getting paid for it, if they want me to give them some of my money, they should act professionally. It sounds ridiculously old fashioned, but surely ‘Sir’ is appropriate when soliciting donations.

Oddly enough, I’m ok with being called ‘dude’ or ‘man’. It seems softer, less sarcastic. Maybe it’s because buddy and pal can be used in an aggressive manner. Dude just seems warmer. Perhaps it to do with the connection the words have with the hippy movement. More likely it’s to do with The Big Lebowski.

“...I’m the Dude. So that’s what you call me. You know, that or, uh, His Dudeness, or uh, Duder, or El Duderino if you’re not into the whole brevity thing”

Ok so maybe if the Dude isn’t going to get hung up on what he is called maybe I shouldn’t either. I suppose there are more important things to worry about in life. After all if ‘the Dude abides,’ maybe I should too.

Just don’t call me Johnny.

Spooning

One of the big drawbacks of doing this writing lark and working part time to pay the bills is that you’ve got to be flexible. Its not always possible to have the weekends off. The fact that I haven’t seen a single one of Irelands reportedly average Six Nations so far this year or I don‘t get to go home and have a Sunday Roast in my folks are sacrifices I have to make.

And that’s ok. I enjoy my schedule, it lets me write Blogs on Monday afternoon and hoover the stairs on Tuesday morning. If anything it means I appreciate my days off on weekends all the more when they do occur. I have one this week and I can’t wait.

Do you know what I’d really like to do with my day off? I’d like to go out on Saturday night, get drunk, maybe have a bit of a dance. Then I’d like to go home and have some drunken sex before spending the next day having hungover sex in between eating breakfast in bed, watching movies, talking nonsense and generally having a nice time.

Oh I should have warned you. This one is going to be a little honest. I may ‘share’ a bit.

I wrote before (here) how I wasn’t a huge fan of sharing my bed. Snoring, cuddling, naked sleeping being the reasons as I explained. Unless of course it was someone who I was comfortable with. Someone who I could relax around. And that’s what I really want for my Sunday. Someone I can happily just be with.

Of course the first step in spending a lazy, horny Sunday with somebody is to actually meet someone. And I haven’t done that in a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I have had sex. “I gets mine,” as the latest rapper turned actor might say.

None of those encounters worked out. Just not right for me. Or they weren’t meant to work out in the first place. Casual, No strings, friends with benefits kind of things. I don’t want that anymore.

There is a movie out at the moment called No Strings attached. It stars Ashton Kutcher (playing Ashton Kutcher, his best kind of role) and recent Oscar winner Natalie Portman as two chums who try to have a casual,friends who have sex relationship and it doesn’t work out because (spoiler alert) they fall in love.

In my experience, this is not what happens. One party might develop feelings while the other is content to go along with the status quo until they find someone they do want to be in a relationship with, thus breaking the heart of the deluded half of the duo.

Alternatively, one of the fuckbuddies (I hate that term) might realise they want something more out of life in general and realise that its not a productive path to go down. Or neither of them will realise this and they will end up having empty, meaningless sex for a long time until one of them dies.

That’s not for me anymore. I used to think it was cool to have as much, varied sex with as many people as possible. And it is. But I’d just like to meet someone who I can hang out with on a Sunday.

Of course I realise that people in relationships, people with kids and families know this already. They probably think that I have some fantasy that is nothing like the real thing. At least 3 of my friends can’t remember the last time they got to lie in bed all day Sunday and perform their special party piece on their partners naked body.

Maybe I am just a romantic at heart. I’ve definitely seen too many movies. I want my last minute dash to airport to stop the girl leaving. I want to burst into a church a punch out the jerky boyfriend who doesn’t laugh at her jokes. I want a musical number.

Failing that? I’d settle for someone who makes good scrambled eggs and likes Cohen Brother movies.

Commuter

Regular readers might remember that a I wrote a piece a couple of weeks that started off situated at bus stop. Without wanting to come across as devoid of ideas or something of a self parody, I’m going to start this one at one of Dublin Bus’s sheltered pick up points too. Don’t worry, I mean The Hangover and Leaving Las Vegas were both set in the same place but had very different outcomes.

Is there any more basic, per functionary place than the bus stop. No one ever visits there unless they are waiting…for a bus…to stop. Its more straight forward than Ronseal. Surely romance could never blossom at one of these plexiglass coverings, could it?

Taking my usual route through the park which is situated directly between my estate and the place where I get my bus to the city centre, I was on my way to work. As I got closer to my destination I saw one person already there. They were walking back and forth from the little bench that some of the bus stops have.

When I reached the stop I could see she was a very pretty girl. In her twenties. Dark hair tied back in a thick, neatly groomed pony tail. She wasn’t wearing a lot of make up, so her skin was clear and bright. She was wearing a blue wool coat over a short skirt with dark tights and knee high boots.By now, she’d stopped walking and her big brown eyes scanned the printed time table on the back of the shelter.

Failing to garner the necessary information from the printed rota she turned to me.

“Do you know what time the 19a usually comes at?” she pleaded with me.



I didn’t really have a satisfactory answer for her. My attitude to time keeping means I rarely look at something as Orwellian as a timetable. I’ll get there when I get there. I told her that there was usually one every twenty minutes or so. This did not seem to provide any comfort to my fellow traveller.

She continued her desperate pacing. She really was very attractive, her legs drawing most of my attention.

For the sake of openness I should admit, I;m a big fan of the boots tights and skirt ensemble that is in style this season. Actually if I’m completely honest I LOVE this look. Its incredibly sexy and it appeals to certain fantasies that I have….. Too much information?

Anyway, like the cliché of an expectant father in a 1950’s movie she strode up and down, constantly looking in the direction that our bus was due to come from. When she wasn’t searching the horizon she was look furiously at her watch. I’d never seen anyone in such a tizzy over a bus.

Not only was she beautiful but now I was intrigued. She could not stay still. It was as though, in her head, every step she took would bring the bus closer. Each stare into the distance willing her big yellow rescuer closer. There could only be two possible reason for such nervous fretting.

Concluding that she was either late for an interview or alternatively late for work and on some kind of warning for tardiness, I had to know.

It also seemed like it would be a bit of an ice breaker. A charming fellow such as myself taking in interest in her unfortunate predicament. If I’ve learned anything from watching romantic comedies over the years well then a stranger striking up a conversation in such unusual circumstances could only lead to wedding bells .

“ I think they normally get here on the half hour. What time do you have to be in town for?” I asked.

“Ten to. Will that get me in on time do you think? Should I get a cab?”

So far so good, in that she didn’t mace me or tell me that her boyfriend was in the Army.

“You should be alright. If there isn’t one here in ten minutes maybe get a taxi, but you’ve plenty of time.” I tried to sound as confident and reassuring as possible. It seemed to be working as she flashed me a smile. I’ve never found teeth so sexy.

She went back to her marching while I tried to think out a way to ask her to bear my offspring. Figuring I was getting ahead of myself I decided on asking why she was so impatient.

“So whats the rush?”

She stopped walking and there was that smile again. This was it. My whole life was about to change. Conversations like this always get the heroes in the movies laid. Don’t they? It’ll work for me, won’t it?

I don’t know. Just as she was about to reveal her innermost secrets and desires (and why she was in a rush,) a colleague of hers pulled in and offered her a lift. She lept at the chance, almost pulling the back door of the car of its hinges. She did turn and say goodbye before driving out of my life for ever.

Not exactly a Hollywood ending but then they rarely happen in real life. There is a Coke Zero advert which asks “ why do chick flicks give women unrealistic expectations?” I guess I fall into that category too. Kinda.

Jayhaitch in Review 2010- Movies

Around this time last year I wrote a piece that was subsequently the start of what as been a really interesting and fulfilling time for me. When I sat down to write Jayhaitch 2009 it was supposed to be just something throwaway and frivolous to entertain some mates on Facebook.

As I typed, what started as a joke turned into one of the most open and honest things I’ve ever done. I revealed stuff about me that I wouldn’t normally be inclined to talk about. That’s was never my aim and I was a little embarrassed by all the nice comments and feedback that I got. That said, my bashfulness was beaten down and I realised I wanted more.

I don’t mean I wanted plaudits and praise, although it was nice. I wanted people to take in an interest in what I was saying and writing seemed like a good way to get whatever message I might have, out there. And so was born this blog and the reigniting of the desire to be a writer.

That review of my year was definitely the spark that kick started everything I’ve tried to do since. Whether you think that’s a good or a bad thing or not I’ll leave up to you. Personally I loved it so much, its back. Another year older, wiser and happier.

Jayhaitch 2010 is going to be done in a couple of parts. It’s been a busy and interesting twelve months and if I tried to fit it all in to one post some readers with shorter attention spans might struggle to keep focused.

You should think of this as the aperitif. Just a little something to whet your whistle before I stick up the succulent prime cut of the personal stuff. This will just be a bit of a list of things I’ve enjoyed whilst turning the pages of my calendar. The juicy, bare all, expose will come closer to the end of the year, so make sure you check back regularly.

With a name like InsertWittyPopCultureReferenceHere, I think there is a certain responsibility on be to actually make said references regularly. And with that in mind I give you the Jayhaitch Year in Review 2010- the pop culture stuff.

Movies is probably a good place to kick this off. With the aid of my trusty UGC multipass I have once again seen a lot of movies this year. Some of them were terrible. The Expendables, Whip It, Due Date, all best forgotten. I’ve already expressed my opinion on the abombination that was The Karate Kid. But I want to focus on the good, not the bad and the ugly.

I’m not going to do a top ten or my favourite or whatever. There are plenty of magazines, newspapers and blogs that will and have been doing that for years. Yes, Inception probably was the film of the year and Scott Pilgrim versus the World is so much fun that I saw it three times in the cinema and still continue to shout ‘We are Sex Bob-omb and we are here to make you sad and think about death and stuff’ at regular intervals.

The likelihood is you already know that. And if you don’t, you will be able to read about it in other publications year in review pieces. Both movies got a lot of mainstream coverage when they came out and proved quite popular with ticket buyers. If you haven’t seen them, then along with these other mainstream movies from this year you should catch them on sky movies or get them from Xtra Vision.

• Up In The Air
• The Social Network ( A movie about Facebook!!)
• How to Train Your Dragon
• The Town (Affleck is a much better director than actor)
• Shutter Island (Inception would never have worked without this. Di Caprio finally seems like a grown up)
• Hot Tub Time Machine (yes seriously. Its laugh out loud funny and its got John Cusack…you know how I feel about Cusack)
• Kick Ass (ultra violence, profanity from minors, the banana split theme tune, what’s not to like)

No, what I’m more interested in is letting you know about some of the great movies that you may have missed. Maybe they weren’t marketed very well or they were only shown one week in mainstream cinemas and that was the week Sex and the City 2 was out and it was the wife’s turn to pick.

I thoroughly enjoyed all these movies and I believe my intelligent clued in readers with a sense of humour would get something from them too. Even if you don’t like all of them, I believe there will be at least one that will enrich your life, even if its just for a little while.

• Gainsbourg- Vie Heroique (Quirky bio pic of quirky French chanteur. It has weird puppets and it validates somewhat that even ugly French people are sexy while the pretty ones are super sexy)
• Winters Bone (Amazing break through performance from Jennifer Lawrence in this redneck film noir)
• A Prophet (Hard hitting French prison drama)
• Four Lions ( Where to start? A black comedy about British Islamic fundamentalist who plan to suicide the London Marathon whilst disguised as characters from breakfast cereal boxes. Hilarious and sad. Satire and Farce. From Chris Morris the creator of Brasseye, Jam and the Day Today.)
• Sex and Drugs and Rock n Roll (Another musical biopic, this time of cockney geezer Ian Dury)
• Bad Lieutenant : Port of Call- New Orleans
• Worlds Greatest Dad (This and Bad Lieutenant are so good that I was able to ignore the fact that two actors whom I despise are the leads)

Many of these films were overlooked by the popcorn brigade which is real shame. None of them are easy watching and that might explain the poor box office. It might require a bit more effort to view these movies but if you have any faith in anything I say, trust me. It will be worth it.

Disposition

I don’t think I could ever be described as ray of sunshine, although some have tried albeit sarcastically. Over the years I have tended to voice my grievances with the world’s ineptitude and have never been shy about letting people now if I’m upset. Someone once said I could change the mood in a room. They didn’t mean it as a compliment.

People who have only got to know me in the last year or two may not have seen this side of me. I’ve been trying to be a much more positive person. I’m a veritable happy go lucky scamp compared to the pre therapy Jayhaitch.

Its not that things don’t annoy me anymore. They do. Equally if not more so. These days however, I try to let things slide. Look on the bright side.

I do this for a couple of reasons. Obviously the main reason is because all that anger isn’t good for you. Getting stressed by (in a lot of cases, little) things is not good for the mental well being.

When people talk about a metaphysical weight off their shoulders this is what they are talking about. Getting wound up and holding on to pet peeves manifests itself as tension in the neck and shoulders. Let that shit go.

The second reason I’m less inclined to rant is that, in the end, nobody took them (or me) seriously. The first time I went off on a bit of a tirade, people may have been shocked. The second, they might have been taken aback. The third, they nodded knowingly. The tenth, amusement. By the time I got around to my twentieth they were downright ambivalent. Nobody wants that

I’m angry dammit, listen to me, cower at my outrage.

I was as effective as Mr. Furious in Mystery Men. So these days, I count to ten, hold my breath, bite my tongue, turn the other cheek and walk away. I’m also probably a little more considerate of other people’s feelings so I tend to keep in check my disgust if I think it might offend someone.

It wasn’t easy at first. Everything still bothered me. Not rising to people’s consistent idiocy was extremely trying. It was as if the world knew I was trying to self improve and it wanted me to test me. Push me to the limits. Sometimes I would rise to the bait, take a bite out of juicy worm of stupidity.

But as I worked on my smile and nod technique it got easier. My episodes became more sporadic. I developed a certain understanding. I practiced patience. I was down right calm. I have to say it feels good.

People have noticed this change and think it’s for the better. I know at least one person who gets annoyed by my being positive while she chooses to bitch and moan about everything. Some might even suggest if it came to a Zen-off I could probably give the Dali Lama a run for his money…as long as David Bowie was the judge and not Richard Gere.

They would be wrong. I still get pissed off, a lot. I can forgive them for getting it wrong though. I think I thought I didn’t get bothered by stuff any more. I do. I just choose not to voice it. I realised this last week I found myself getting aggravated by a couple on the bus.

It was 8.20 in the morning, the earliest I had be up in at least 6 months. It was raining. The battery on my MP3 player died half way through ‘This Is Where It Gets Good‘ by Eels and I was on my way to Fighting Words. I was going to take the lead with a group of twenty-five 9 year olds for the first time. I was quite nervous and trying to shut the world out.

Then two stops after I got on the bus I was joined by a pair of simpletons who were about to make my morning worse.

In what I imagined was the first flush of a budding romance, holding hands as they came up the stairs. He took the lead looking around for a seat for them both. The bus was about five eights full so there were plenty of seats available; however there was only one seat for two free.

They were both in their mid to late 20’s. He had that really fine strawberry blonde hair that makes it hard to tell if he is actually going bald. His cheeks were red as if in a permanent blush. If you can imagine Niles from Frazier had eaten too many Tayto sandwiches your pretty close.

She was wearing the world’s least sexy outfit of jeans and a GAA jersey, probably his. I think it was a club jersey but I really couldn’t say.

They sat down in front of me, he offered her the window seat but she declined so he sat on the inside. She sat beside her man. Snuggling into him, she rests her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her along the back of the seat, his elbow dangling over onto my side.

This is where I began to get irked. That was my space. He was invading my personal bubble. I paid one Euro sixty for this journey I want the air at least till the distance of the seat in front of me and here was this interloper trying to deny me.

Eventually he moved it. My tension abated briefly. Very briefly. They then began what can only be described as snogging. The kind of kissing 14 year olds do outside the local ice rink or bowling alley. Kissing for kissing sake. Kissing because they were boyfriend and girlfriend. The kind of kissing that makes me sick.

I have no real issue with (moderate) displays of public affection as such. But it was too early in the morning for that shit. They seemed to be on there way to work so it’s not as if the kissing was going to lead anywhere. And before anyone (female) says just because you kiss doesn’t mean you are going to have sex here is a news flash. Yes it does. We only do the kissing ladies, because we want the sex…if not immediately, later. We can play the long game.

In the past I would have coughed in a very unsubtle manner and told them to get a room. This time I didn’t. I went into my tongue biting routine but I was really aware that they were annoying me. I counted to ten. The anger built. I tried to think happy thoughts but they two slurping morons in front of me were very off putting.

Just as I was about to explode and slap them both in the back of the head they had a lucky escape. She stood up and said ‘This is my stop, I love you and can’t wait to see you later’ and kissed him goodbye. And that was it. My rage subsided and once the taste of sick at her parting comment left my mouth it was all good again.

As I finished my journey I was very aware of how much they annoyed me. And I was very aware how I had been appearing to not get annoyed. Little things like that didn’t bother me anymore did they? I guess they do. I decided that this re discovery needed some analysis. I was going to keep a record of all the little things that annoyed me for a week.

I didn’t have long to wait till I found items number two and 3 on the list. After my session in Fighting Words I went to the cinema. It’s a usual Tuesday afternoon thing for me to do. I was sitting waiting for Scott Pilgrim to start (still very enjoyable on second viewing) and the adverts had yet to begin even.

Cineworld at this stage normally pipes in movie related music over the P.A. The boss must have been off on this day and a member of staff hijacked the music system and decided we all needed to hear the new album by Diana Vickers.

For those of you lucky enough not to know who Ms. Vickers is, she is a reject from X factor. She sings with such an effected voice that she sounds like a cross between Kate Bush having an orgasm and Delores O Riordan from the Cranberries having an asthma attack. She has ‘distanced’ herself from her Xfactor days in an attempt to be taken ‘seriously’ as an ‘artist.’ One of her ‘lyrics’ is about how she hates ‘rich kids’ who shop in ‘charity’ shops.

How many sarcastic inverted commas is that? You get my point.

Number 3 on the list was the trailer for the movie Vampires Suck. A ‘comedy’ lampoon (ok, no more ironic ‘air fingers‘) of the Twilight. Bereft of any artistic merit, a cheap cash in on the movie franchise that already has no soul. It happens to have been hugely successful in the United States despite terrible reviews and coming from the same stable as Another Teen Movie, Scary Movie, Meet the Spartans and others of its ilk How could anyone not be annoyed?

I was going to put the guy behind who laughed at the trailer for this abomination of cinema on the list but when the movie was over and the lights came on I saw he was a man in his 40’s dressed in the full Liverpool away kit, socks and all. So I’ll let that slide.

The rest of the list was made up in part of the following things-

• Last minute cancellations
• 
  
• People not leaving a voice message (especially when they ring from a private number)
• 
  
• Bertie Ahern in that stupid ad. (Just Bertie Ahern in fairness)
• 
  
• Wanting to put something on my list but then realising I’m blowing things out of proportion
• 
  
• Passive Aggressive Behaviour. (You can slam as many things as you like but I won’t know what’s upsetting you unless you tell me.)
• 
  
• Losing the other stuff on my list of annoyance because I was recording them on my phone and I lost my phone.
• 
  
• Losing my phone.

So as you can see. I am still prone to the bout of vitriol. I think that’s natural though. It isn’t natural to keep it all in. Get annoyed, let it out and let it go. I will still try and keep a positive spin on things but occasionally I will think about the things that annoy me and try and let them out.

If only I had some sort of public forum where I could do that without shouting at people.

Exploitation

I don’t normally do film reviews. It’s not something I want to get into. I love writing and I love movies but I have if a feeling if I tried to cross them my enjoyment of one would suffer for the benefit of the other.

When I go the cinema I like to enjoy what I’m seeing. Put myself in the movie and go with it. Whether it’s something that requires a lot of attention or a brain off, popcorn shovelling blockbuster. If I were to do reviews I’d need to take notes, look for flaws, and rate every individual line of script.

Also, sometimes, when my brain is in the right frame of mind I happen to enjoy some truly terrible movies. I know The Mummy was awful, but the 3ft long marshmallow I was eating whilst watching it meant I was having the time of my life. How could I possibly write anything negative about that experience?

That said, I do want to talk about a movie I saw this week. It was a movie that I didn’t really expect much from. I had a couple of hours to kill, I was in town, and my Cineworld pass was burning a hole in my pocket.

So I went in and entered the snaking maze of elasticated barriers they have to control the queuing masses. On this occasion there was no queue so I had to wind my way around the dividers with the three people selling the tickets watching me zig zag my way to their position. I could have just walked around the barriers but surely that would lead to some sort of anarchy. I got to the man with the ponytail behind the counter, gave him my card and said “One for the Karate Kid please”

So with ticket in hand and my contraband bag of store bought popcorn secreted away under my jacket I went and had what can only be described as the most uncomfortable viewing experience I have ever had to endure. I want to try and explain why and I just hope I don’t end up sounding like the Daily Mail.

The film itself is not terrible. Its pretty loyal to the original (despite a change of location and martial art style,) which while hardly a classic has a basis of one of the most enduring stories ever told. Boy adapts from what he knows and learns way to overcome evil. Story telling at its simplest. So if you’ve seen the original there is nothing really in the way of spoilers in this piece.

Jackie Chan as always was very watchable. While he’s no Mr. Miyagi, his character of Mr. Han has a charm and when Chan is on screen you should always keep watching because you can never be sure what surprises he has in store.

The issue I had was with the child actors, especially Jaden Smith in the lead role. I’m not taking about his performance. As child actors go he seems quite capable and has a certain confidence on screen that can only really come from having Will Smith as your father. Smith junior was quite good in the Pursuit of Happyness so he does have some chops.

Its been well documented that it Jaden Smith went to his parents and said he wanted to make a movie like the Karate Kid. Being the mega rich Hollywood power couple (Will Smith is married to actress and producer Jada Pinkett Smith) that they are they indulged their sons whim and production began on the movie.

So we have a twelve year old boy playing a twelve year old character that was originally played by a twenty two year old man playing a 16 year old character. This I think is very important. The Kung Fu shown in this movie is at times quite brutal and to see a child go through that is at times quite unsettling

Jaden plays a boy, Dre, who having moved to China, with his mother for her job, then struggles to settle in and is bullied in school. The rest is then pretty loyal to the original where the ‘Karate Kid’ learns (in this case) Kung Fu and goes on to battle his bullies in a big competition.

My first big problem was with the mother character. She was outright negligent. On his first day in China, she sends Dre off to find the maintenance man. He's has no idea where he is, it has just been established he can't speak the language and yet she is happy for him to go wandering the streets of Beijing whilst she catches 40 winks.

It never seems to be a problem for her that her son spends far too much time with a stranger. She never questions the nature of the relationship. Anything to distract her little boy. She is told that Dre is learning Kung Fu from the man who came to fix the shower and she accepts this as the legitimate explanation .

On one occasion she arrives in Mr. Han's house and finds him drunk and what can only be described as handcuffed and dancing (actually practising Kung Fu, but it looked like dancing) with her only child and she smiles as if it is the cutest thing she ever saw.

She watches as her soon partakes in violent competition and cheers him on, never once questioning if it is appropriate. Even when the doctor advises that he should not take any further part in the competition she still allows him to proceed.

Then there was what I guess was the romantic subplot. Dre forms a bond with Meiying, a young girl from his school who is studying violin in the hope of going to the Beijing Academy of Music. What should be a harmless friendship had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

Both actors are clearly children but the blossoming connection they have is played out in an adult manner from the overly romantic setting of their first kiss to the overtly sexual dancing of Meiying in the arcade and the way in which Dre reacts to it.

I feel Jaden Smith was way too young for such a role. Realistically the role needs an older actor and I don’t feel the material was appropriate for a 12 year old. Even for a 12 year old with better muscle definition than your average WWE wrestler. Twelve year old's should not have six packs. It has to be said the child spent far too much time with his shirt off.

In one of the first scenes between Smith and Chan, Mr. Han ,who having rescued the boy from the gang of bullies, brings the child back to his office and takes the unconscious Dre’s shirt off. He was healing his bruises but I couldn't help but recognise that this is not appropriate behaviour.

Naysayer’s will probably decry this is as paranoid poppycock. Or they might tell me that the movie isn’t aimed at me. It’s aimed at young children and I’m reading too much into an innocent movie. I’d counter that by saying that any remake of an 80’s classic is not just marketed for children but for the people who loved the original.

Maybe my problem is more with the 'sexualisation' and 'exploitation' of young people in the media (I sound like the Daily Mail...god dammit) than with the movie. We have children behaving in an adult manner on screen which we are expecting to buy as normal.

When 12 year old Chloe Moretz played Hit Girl in Kick Ass there was an outrage because of the violence in that movie and the language she used(Let’s see what you cunt’s can do) there was a media furore crying exploitation and child pornography. Kick -ass, however, was a cartoon-esque pastiche (in a good way) with fantastical situations with an over 15‘s certificate. The Karate Kid is a more realistic situation with more realistic characters with realistic violence in a kid’s movie.

It’s a bit of chicken or the egg thing. Do children these days behave overly grown up because they see children on screen doing it? Or are children on screen portrayed as being overly grown up because that’s the way children in real life are. I know which I think came first.

Satellite

“Let me take you on a journey. A journey into German Opera”

The above statement was contained in a text message I received recently. Apropos of nothing, that would be quite a vague sentence for anyone to take the time to type. However, it been preceded by a rant about the banalities of the current crop of BBC presenters and their insistence on using clichés when segueing into the next link, gave it some credence

It had come from a friend who had just heard that very sentence used on T.V. Angered and appalled by such tired presenting she felt the need to text me and vent her frustration (She also text me when McDreamy was shot…whatever that means.) I agreed with her that is was ridiculous and trite and we concurred that he should be taken out and beaten about the face with potted plants. It was an enjoyable conversation. She told me I could use it in my blog.

Now there a couple of reasons why I wouldn’t do this (oh the irony.) The first reason is that “Let me take you on a journey” is used at the start of The Mighty Boosh. A wacky comedy show that the ‘kids’ love. I enjoyed its off the cuff irreverence at first. The more I watched and the more I heard the ‘kids’ saying how genius it was the more I questioned it. Its really not as clever or as funny as it thinks it is.


One word that is constantly bandied about when describing it original. Its no more original than I am. Its style and humour can directly be traced back through the likes of Vic and Bob, The Goodies, Monty Python and The Goons. I’m not saying its terrible but they didn’t invent comedy as some internet boards would have you believe. In fairness my problem is probably more with their fans than their comedy.

The second reason I wouldn’t be using it in my blog, is because it wasn’t my idea. If it had come to me naturally after the conversation well then I would have used it. A clever little dissection of the decline in quality televisual reportage. However because she suggested it, it would be a little cheeky of me to take her idea and claim it as my own.

It did however make a nice change to have someone suggest that I could use something I shared with them on here. People have become a little paranoid about meeting me. Many conversations and encounters are suffixed with, “don’t talk about this on your blog.”

I find this a little offensive to be honest. Over the years people have trusted me enough to share secrets with me. A vast range of confidentialities have been entrusted to me. I have never once felt the need to share. And some of them would make great stories. Who wouldn’t want to hear about the girl who cries out “Oh thank you, Easter Bunny” at the height of passion (you know who you are.) But I have never betrayed her trust.

Also what they fail to understand , is that its not about them. Even if they are featured in one of my pieces, its not about them. Its about me. I know that sounds a little egotistical but hear me out. Even if someone is involved in one of my little tales, its not them I am talking about. Its an imaginary version of them that I have created to fit my mood. Doesn’t everyone do that?

I guess its like that part in High Fidelity (the book, not the movie) where Rob is talking about how he is the star in the movie of his own life, but when it comes down to it he’s probably only an extra in a crowd scene in someone else’s movie. For someone else’s movie, I’m probably left on the editing room floor. But here on Insert Witty Pop Culture Reference Here, I’m the character, subtext, romantic subplot, comedy relief and gratuitous nude scene. But none of that would make any sense without my supporting cast. (That’s a compliment I swear.)

So in the context of the movie of my life, I’ve decided to cast it with the crop of Hollywood's finest. Of course I can’t cast everyone who has ever featured in my life so some of the characters are a composite of more than one person from reality.

Of course to play me I would love to cast John Cusack. He’s smart, funny, has a good track record of playing men struggling to reach maturity. However I don’t think people would buy him as me. Instead I am going to cast him as a cross between a spirit guide and my conscience. He will play the part Adeela, my therapist (who by the way was lady of Pakistani origins, Cusack has got range.)

To play the role of my parents I am going to reunite one of Hollywood's power couples from back in the day. The part of my Dad will be played by Jack Nicholson. Mostly because some of Jack’s facial are very similar to my dads. To the point where I was uncomfortable watching As Good as it Gets. His wife will be played by a woman who has played a lot of Irish mammies lately, Angelica Huston.

My two oldest friends will be played by Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, despite the possibility of Affleck being attacked by lumberjacks. My other friends will include, Kevin Bacon, Jarvis Cocker, The League of Gentlemen, James Galdofini, Dylan Moran and Basil Brush.

The love interests will be played by Reese Witherspoon, Jeanane Garoffolo and Uma Thurman. Oooh I can hear the women I’ve known wondering out who is whom as I type. They are compositions ladies.

I suppose for me we are looking at someone like Jack Black. I do however find his schtick really irritating these days. So instead I considered going to go with the greatest actor of his generation, Philip Seymour Hoffman but when I thought about it, he’s just doesn’t have the requisite sex appeal. Clooney and Pitt are too ‘traditionally’ handsome and Johnny Depp is frankly a terrible actor. So I’m left with no choice but to play myself in my opus.

And off course I’ll find a role for my good friend Glen, who is a professional actor and this week is appearing in J.P. Shanley's ‘Doubt’ in the Teachers Club on Parnell Square West. It is an excellent play and I heartily recommend you go see it if you can.

I’ve even thought about some songs that should be on the soundtrack. It contains music from people like Whale, Paul Simon, Avril Lavigne, Fighting Spiders and Elton John. It would be a must have album for a generation. Like the soundtrack to Pulp Fiction or Trainspotting.

I am aware that this makes me sound incredibly egotistical. However, surely everyone is entitled to be an icon in their own head at least. I’d love to hear who you would pick to play you in the movie of your life.

I guess most people wouldn’t be vain enough to post it on the internet for all to read. Let me have this one thing. Let me be a star. In fairness, in the movie of your life I’ll probably be played by Leo from Fair City.

Milliner

I hate doing up C.V.’s. I’m trying to do one up at the moment, but I hate doing them so much I decided to write this instead.

Your typical résumé is supposed to define you, in less than three pages and with bullet points. And when I say 'define you’ what it really means is tell prospective employers about your work experience. They don’t really care if you have the worlds greatest collection of plastic beer glasses from music festivals or once abseiled down the side of Cineworld on Parnell St.

They want to know that you are capable of holding a job and that your last employers thought you weren’t a threat to their financial status or the rest of their staff (although more about the financial than the staff…it’s a recession, everyone is downsizing.)

I resent that some person who I’ve probably never met before is going to judge me based on a couple of words printed on a piece of paper giving a list of roles and tasks that I have carried out to varying levels of competence over the years


Its understandable if you want to be introduced as a Doctor or Solicitor or something that requires two thirds of a decade of study to get qualified for. You’ve earned it. I think you are entitled to be introduced as Dr. House or Quincy, M.E. I’m a big fan of letters after your name. In fact from here out I’d like to be known as John Holohan, Jo.A.T., Mba. F.A. (that’s Jack of All Trades, Master of Fuck All.)

Actually it might work out better if we were all introduced by our name and profession. Then we wouldn’t have to go through the awkward part of conversation were we sit and pretend to be interested in just what it is the person we have just met spends eight hours a day doing.

For me, most of my ‘professional’ (term used very loosely) life, I hated talking about what it was that I did for a living. I hated doing most of the jobs I had, never mind talking about them. I guess maybe that’s the point. If you love your job, you love to talk about it. If you hate your job, you hate to hear some annoying sod raving on about how great theirs is. Maybe it’s just me.

I suppose I always hoped that I was more interesting that what my job title was. I know for a fact that my job titles were certainly a lot more interesting than what the actual entailed. To fully understand what I am talking about maybe we should look at the varied list of positions I have held in the name of earning an honest living.

Since leaving Waterford Institute of Technology (or Regional Technical College as it was known at the time) I have held the following positions

• Upholsterers Assistant
  
  View Enhancement Technician
  
  Retail Assistant
  
  Assistant to Retail Manager
  
  Customer Service Representative
  
  Commissions Assistant
  
  Commissions Executive
  
  Commissions Assistant (again)
  
  Fraud Analyst

Some of those Job titles are pretty impressive. If you were invited to a dinner party and were introduced to someone who said they were any of the above you might be tempted into asking a bit more about the career of your new friend. Don’t. Its not worth it. I’m going to save you those excruciating mind-numbing moments so that you can enjoy your filo pastry with crab and salmon filling starter.

Lets start with upholsterers assistant. Sounds like a creative job. Working with your hands. Taking some raw material and turning them into something beautiful that people will put in pride of place in their homes. Well, that all sounds wonderful. Its nothing like what the job is.

As an ‘Upholsterers Assistant’ my task was to make buttons. If any of your furniture (usually headboards of the back of sofas) has little pleats and buttons in them, well then you know the type of buttons I’m talking about. Made from the same material as the piece of furniture. I made those. Thousands upon thousands of buttons of different colours but all made with the same brain melting, soul destroying technique. I did this for 7 months.

After that I was a View Enhancement Technician. This was never my actual job title. I could just say window cleaner but that wouldn’t really fit in with the theme of the piece now would it?

Retail assistant, Assistant to Retail Manager and Customer Service Representative are all pretty straight forward. I think most people my age have tried their hand at least one of these jobs. Everyone knows what they are. You do all the crappy work making the public happy either front of house or as a phone monkey whilst dealing with all the grief from those higher up. Its true what they say. Money goes up the ladder while all the shit comes down.

I would like to point out that I never used to refer to Customer Service Reps as phone monkeys. Until one very nice customer eloquently pointed out that I was ‘just a phone monkey working in a banana republic.’ It was against company policy to argue with customers. And, to be honest, I could kind of see his point but I still hung up on him.

Now it gets complicated. Commissions assistant is quite an ambiguous job title. What it technically involved was assisting the Commissions Executive in calculating the payments of ‘Commission’ to Mobile Phone Stores based on the number of customers that they signed up to the network.

What this involved was looking at the contracts and proofs of id and laughing at someone who had a bad passport photo or a funny name. I know Roger Rabbitte parents didn’t know there was going to be a cartoon movie with the same name as they chose for their beautiful son. Still unfortunate though.

I was then promoted to Commission Executive. Which was great, its kind of the same as his assistant but sounds so much cooler. ‘Executive’ It has a ring to it. I then switched company to one of our rivals. It was the same job but in this company there was no Commission Executive, just assistants. More money but a bit of a drop in job title. I could live with that.

Then I became a Fraud Analyst. I’ve got to be honest. I had no idea what that job would entail. I just thought is sounded awesome. John Holohan, Fraud Analyst. Has ring to it. What that job entailed, I can’t really discuss. I signed an official secrets act and if I were to divulge too much information I’m afraid I would come to an unfortunate end in suspicious circumstances, just like JFK or Bambi’s Mum.

What I will say, is it was nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds. Due to the confidential nature of the role we were seconded into a very small office with a secret key code and people with questionable body odour. It was more running reports that kicking down door of fraudsters.

Frankly, I was duped. And if they were silly enough to give the job to someone who really understand the role well then I don’t see how there can be any complaints about my performance. Not that there were any. I’ve said too much. Stop reading….

These are the jobs I’ve spent the last twelve or thirteen years of my life. None of them have had a profound effect on my life other than to make me realise I don’t want to waste another minute doing a job I hate. I doubt if anyone were to meet me these days they would guess that I was Fraud Analyst or Customer Service Representative. And that’s all I ask.

If someone asks me what I do these days, I generally say a bit of this, bit of that. If they are interested I’ll tell them about my writing. If they aren’t I tell them about all the fancy Japanese stationary I sell. If they think they know who I am at the end of the conversation well then maybe they should consider a role in Fraud Analysis. I know of a company who is hiring.

Spanish Fly

Doing this kind of thing isn’t always easy you know. Inspiration doesn’t grow on trees sadly. Constantly trying to come up with clever and witty ideas that are not only entertaining but also suit my (some might say limited) style is not something that comes naturally.

Ideas are like constipation. You know there is one there, waiting to come out but its not always easiest to get it out of you. The more you push it…the harder it seems. And just like constipation as long as its stuck in there, life is a pain and you never ever to properly relax.

If you ask any doctor what’s the best way to deal with these things, they might advise that prevention is better than the cure. Eat plenty of fibre and make sure you don’t eat too much junk food. Well this writing lark is kind of the same.

I try to hang out with inspiring people (they being the metaphorical fibre) and I try not to watch too much rubbish on TV (the junk food). I’ve spoken before about how T.V. can rot your brain and is at least partially responsible for the increase in the amount of stupid fuckmonkeys you see walk the streets these days. So I won’t dwell on the negative.

I’m very lucky person in that my friends are, almost to a man, intelligent, erudite and funny people. Everyone of them possesses a sense of humour that marks them out as special. I draw a lot from their friendships. And when I say draw I sometimes mean outright steal…but they love me so they forgive me.

I could write an article on each one of them and how they are an important part of my life and how they give me cause to celebrate knowing them. But I won’t. A little of that is because I’m incredibly lazy. Part of that is because some of them have enormous egos and I’m not about to feed that. (You know who you are, you big headed bastard.)

This last week I have been incredibly fortunate to have made a lot of new friends. I went on my second Pueblo Ingles programme. Pueblo Ingles is an English language immersion programme for Spaniards to improve their grasp on everyday use of the old Queens English.

It is kind of a cross between Big Brother and that episode of The Simpsons where Bart goes to France as an exchange student. Taken from their homes and families and transplanted into a village in the middle of nowhere 21 Spanish Nationals (and Juan, who was from Chile) where surrounded by 22 native English speakers, talking complete nonsense in a variety of accents and speeds.

Intimidating and scary is probably putting it mildly. How would you feel if you in a situation where you felt like you would spend a week not understanding a word that anyone said to you. Imagine you had to communicate with strangers for 13 hours a day and not being unsure if anything you say makes sense.

This is Pueblo Ingles.

My role there was to spend my waking hours chatting to Spanish people. Get them used to my accent (tirty tree not thirty three) and my way of talking. Even though it was my second programme I was still a little nervous. It was one thing if I could make them understand my Jimmy Rabbite accent I still had to manage to be entertaining and interesting from 9 in the morning till at least 11 at night or as happened on more that one occasion 6 the following morning.

What if they didn’t get my sense of humour? What if they sensed I was bit of charlatan? ‘You call yourself a writer? And yet you have published nothing’ they might say. What if they just thought I was really boring? The last time I did the programme I was very lucky that the group of people I was with where all lovely people. Surely the law of averages dictates that this group was going to be full of assholes?

Not at all. I’m so happy to report that this group was just as nice as the first. Everyone was open and honest. Prepared to talk about anything as long as you were willing to listen and able to understand. I love Spanish people. They are so genuine that it took a while for someone as cynical as me to believe it was true. They are warm people, friendly and very comfortable with themselves. They think nothing of giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, just because you are standing there.

In the last week, people who I did not know two weeks ago, told me stuff about their families, their jobs, life ambitions, hobbies, losses and fears. We spoke as if we had been friends for years. In return I tried to return the openness and was always as honest as possible.

Bonds of friendships were forged over the course of the week. Many bottles of rioja (I’m actually gone a bit off red wine at the moment,) cerveza and Cuba libre where shared. Stories and anecdotes from each of our lives told. Group activities and theatre showed everyone was open and up for a laugh.

All of these united us but nothing as strongly as the beauty of the English Language in the form of swear words. We imparted all the knowledge we could in relation to abusing and insulting other people, how to deal with stressful situations, shouting at a soccer referee and how to tell a lady you enjoyed her appearance, (Nice Funbags.)

Yes, I know swearing isn’t big or clever, but it can be very funny…kind of like me.

By the end of the week I felt I had made some real friends with people who I wouldn’t normally get an opportunity to meet. High level business men with intense jobs, Spanish Senoritas who are ‘so lovely’, New Zealand grannies and two English People who reminded me so much the friends who I have had since I went to college 15 years ago, that I had to check that I hadn’t gone and sat in some kind Delorean or Hot Tub Time Machine.

One of these English people pointed out something on Saturday as we were having a stroll around the Reterio in Madrid. On Friday night when the course was over and Spanish people no longer ‘had’ to speak to each other in English and could go back to their mother tongue, they didn’t. They continued to speak to us in a English. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to talk to us. Their friends.

I would also like to mention two Spanish ladies from my last Pueblo Ingles programme who came in to meet me when I was in Madrid. The beautiful Mayte who works long days (well when she is on time) and then comes in to see a ‘giddy’ like me and the lovely Inma who on her day off drove me to see the medieval town of Toledo. Thank you both very much even if Inma’s driving was a little scary. I’m joking of course. (not really)

I learned a lot this week. Some very handy Spanish swear words. That putting on a pink straw hat does not look good on me. That just because you’re a self conscious Irishman you can still just reach out and put your arm around someone and be friendly (probably not in Ireland though). Mostly I (re)learned that being with Spanish people is a great way to spend your time.