Wind up for Christmas

I’m tired today. To make it worse, Claire has booked today and tomorrow off on annual leave and neglected to tell me, leaving me in charge to run the tours department on my own. Champion. I’ve been drinking steadily over Christmas- not too much mind you. Let’s see if I can try and recall...

17th Dec
Work do for the Beeb over in Broadcasting House. Free beer all night. Thank you. We kept going up to the bar and lifting four packs to bring back to our table. We missed the fork supper as we were pissing about in the club beforehand. I arrive with a few others and chat to a couple of the new starts, posing with one of their handbags. As what usually happens, Orlagh and Ursula ask if I was gay. I deny the accusations, in a outraged, but camp, manner. Actor’s blood must be somewhere in my genes. For some reason (perverted and ignoble reasons probably) we play spin the bottle… for a bleedin’ hour and a half. If I remember correctly, very few people actually full on snogged. Most of the group end back at mine in order to phone down taxis. I’m vaguely tempted to go on the touch, but beer has made me sleepy and I can’t be bothered to think of complex sentences.

21st Dec
Emmet’s 21st birthday party. Champagne reception in his house. The birthday cake has a naked baby photo of the birthday boy himself on it. I feel dubious therefore about eating a slice of it. Everyone is suited and booted and we head out to Irene and Nan’s. I finally meet Emmet’s girlfriend, Ellie. Both of them are over visiting from Manchester, where they are studying... some kind of course. I never remember what people do. Luke, who is a giant of a man, impresses us with some mad rhymes in time to the music. I stand at 6’2, so it’s damn odd to have to look up so far to him when we talk. At the end of the night, we realise that myself, Mark, Dan, Luke and Dave will all still be in Belfast for the next few months at least, so we leave with resolutions to meet up again in the New Year. Happy days.

22nd Dec
My good friend Mikey is over from London for the week, and is staying with me tonight before heading back to Omagh to be with his family. I’m working ‘til half five, but once I’m free, we head over to the Big Event in St. George’s Market, a community arts fair which some of my friends are helping out in. Unfortunate, we’ve missed most of the damn thing. A load of the Belfast Poets are their, so we head over to McGuiness’ round the corner for a few jars. I shoot the breeze with Mikey and catch up with the rest of the guys, sharing pre-Christmas wishes and hugs. Mikey and I head over to the John Hewitt and meet up with Anita and Brian. We are introduced to a girl called Kelly, who seems to be a photographer of some repute, good looking, and quite mad with me. We head over with her and Brian to Madden’s, where ole Terri Hooley is spinning the discs downstairs. I’m fading, but some peanuts pick me up (substance that I will rely on a few times over the festive period). The bar is absolutely tiny, but we manage to squeeze in and dance through the night.

23rd Dec
Originally, we had planned a big pub crawl tonight with everyone from the office. However, best laid plans and all that became a trip to Auntie Annie’s for Brian’s leaving do. But damn that, Elaine, Eimear, Emmet and Mark (four non work friends) and myself have other plans. Elaine and Eimear are up from Magherafelt staying at my place for the night. In what seems like aeons, there are finally in the same country together, as their respective homes at the moment are Edinburgh and Galway. A lovely bottle of wine each soon warms us up for the night. Mark and Emmet call up, and it’s off to the pub we go.

Auntie Annie’s, despite being packed, seems a bit subdued: possibly because not as many people from work as expected have turned up. Elaine has just bought a gigantic Polaroid camera, which is a source of much mirth throughout the night. The clock moves to after 11pm, and all the off licences shut. The other place we can get a carry out now is the Hatfield Bar. When we arrive there, the music is so good, that we decide to stay for a few before getting the carry out. I run into big James Magee, a guy who I use to work with at the BBC. We catch up over a pint and then the rest of us start chucking beer mats at each other, which we get told off for by the barman. Elaine and I try to dance to some songs and then we head back to my place.

What is waiting for us at home? Why, two lovely bottles of champagne! I can’t actually remember drinking much of this, but somehow afterwards we head up in the hallway wrestling with each other. Elaine and Eimear are experienced in Judo, so I’m sure they started it. This causes my housemate Ruairi, who I forgot was trying to sleep, to become very annoyed. We apologise and meekly scuffle into the living room. Emmet falls asleep on the sofa, so we cover him with strategically placed cubes of jelly. Oh, what japes we are!

24th and 25th Dec
I’m working ‘til after five on Christmas Eve, which is slightly annoying, but there are plenty of buses heading up home in the evening. I don’t go out of Christmas night as I think that that should be a family time, or at least, the day should be spent with loved ones. My niece and nephew of course go mad on Christmas Day with their oodles of new toys. Yet why does every child complained of being bored later on?

More to come soon...

3 Things

Okay, I nicked this from http://www.snazzykat.com/. I've seen it on a few blogs. Compile your own record, if you really want to....

3 Names you go by:Colin, Colon, Col
3 screen names you have: Col79, bravepiffle, colonyink
3 things you like about yourself: stubble, height, nails
3 things you hate/dislike about yourself: no six pack, feet, hairline!
3 parts of your heritage: Err…Irish mostly
3 things that scare you: Heights, Woodlice, Michael Jackson
3 of your everyday essentials: Contact Lenses, lip balm, mobile phone
3 things you are wearing right now: Roman Dirge t-shirt, zippy pants, holey socks
3 of your favorite bands/artists: Jeff Buckley, Iron Maiden, Belle & Sebastian
3 of your favorite songs at present: The Black Keys- Have Love, Will Travel / Green Day- Boulevard Of Broken Dreams / Pretenders- I’ll Stand By You
3 things you want to try in the next 12 months: Going to the gym more often / Visit my friend Elaine in Edinburgh / Get promoted!
3 things you want in a relationship: Intelligent conversation / Openness / Friendship
2 truths and a lie: I was caught shop lifting when I was seventeen / I had to sit my first A-Level exam with bits of glass embedded in my scalp after a car crash / I played rugby for five years as a tight head prop
3 physical things about the opposite or same sex that appeals to you: Bright eyes, cute smile, not afraid to be themselves
3 things you just can't do: Juggle, swim competently, blow smoke circles
3 of your favorite hobbies: Drumming, playing the guitar, reading
3 things you want to do really badly right now: Go to the gym, go for a drink with my mates, eat some sweeties
3 careers you're considering: Social drop-out, penniless poet, team manager in my work
3 places you want to go on vacation: Melbourne, Auckland, San Francisco
3 kids names: Rain, Luke, Jay
3 things you want to do before you die: Travel around Australasia, publish a book of poems, record an album of guitar based tunes
3 people who have to take this quiz now or eat a spider!: I wouldn’t make anyone eat a spider!

Oh No- Some Kind of Annual Review!

Hello everyone!

Well, it hasn’t started to snow yet (at least, not in my part of the world. Being Ireland, it probably won’t snow ‘til May time), but I hope everyone is getting in the festive mood for whatever celebration of faith or commercialism you align yourself to! I’m not one for reflection you know, live your live day by day and all of that. So I really can’t stand that reviewing of the year approach. However, I'm going to straight foward contradict myself here,so let’s take a little moment to celebrate the wonder that was 2004. Actually, I’ll bulk up the list a little my throwing in a few oldies at well. Wow…!

To those who have fallen:

Sir Peter Ustinov (March 28th)
Alistair Cooke (March 29th)
Ray Charles (June 10th)
Marlon Brandon (July 1st)
Rick James (August 6th)
Janet Leigh (October 3rd)
Rodney Dangerfield (October 5th)
Ken Bigley (October 9th?)
Christopher Reeve (October 10th)
John Peel (Oct 26th)
Yasser Arafat (November 10th) - controversial choice?
Margaret Hassan (November)

Sorry, had to throw in some political ones. Can’t think of anyone else at the moment…

Songs of the Year
Oh there were many great albums released, this list would easily be triple, but here’s just a small selection.

The Killers- Somebody Told Me
Franz Ferninand- Take Me Out
The Hives- Two Timing Touch And Broken Bones
Embrace- Ashes
Ed Harcourt- Born In The 70s
Eastern Lane- I Said Pig On Friday
Do Me Bad Things- Time For Delivery
The Bravery- Unconditional
Damien Rice- Cannonball
Belle & Sebastian- I’m A Cuckoo

Some Books I Have Read
I don’t keep up with the best sellers or new releases (haven’t even read any Dan Brown), so here’s a few books I enjoyed reading this year.

Ian McEwan- Enduring Love
Lynn Truss- Eats, Shoots and Leaves
Alexander McCall Smith- The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency
Douglas Adams- The Hitchhikers’ Guide To The Galaxy
Anais Lin- A Spy In The House Of Love
Annie Proulx- The Shipping News
Dave Gorman and Danny Wallace- Are You Dave Gorman?
Danny Wallace- Join Me
Frank McCourt- Angela’s Ashes
Bill Bryson- A Short History Of Nearly Everything

Films
It seems I’m not quite the culture vulture I though I was. And there’s a cinema five minutes from my front door... the shame of it all!

Bad Santa
The Invincibles
Lost In Tranlsation
Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind
Hellboy
Van Helsing
Jersey Girl
Kill Bill Vol. 2
Mr. Deeds (for John Turturro, not Adam Sandler!)
Basquait

Websites
No, I won’t list my own… I’ve been mainly checking out website comics and silly stuff, so don’t expect any philosophical treaties, alright?

Able and Baker
http://www.jimburgessdesign.com/comics/index.php
Ballad by Deadmouse
http://www.deadmouse.net/comics.htm
The Fray
http://www.funnybonecomics.com/thefray/thepreface.html
Release The Lather (for the dancing duck)
http://www.releasethelather.co.uk/site.php
Talk Like A Pirate
http://www.thomasscott.net/yarr/
Cringe Comics
http://www.cringecomics.com/
Hellboy- The Corpse
http://www.playboy.com/darkhorse/the_corpse/
Toothpaste For Dinner
http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/index.php
White Ninja Comics
http://www.whiteninjacomics.com/
Belfast Poets
http://www.belfastpoets.com/


I’ll update the site soon with more news of drunken ramblings and festive chaos. When I can be bothered…

Christmas Awards and Dinner

It is the night of our department’s Christmas do. The one night of the working year where scandal is guaranteed to happen. We are dining in Shu restaurant, where the food is divine, but the waitresses are less than angelic. Never mind, this lacking is compensated by the fine gallery of fashion etiquette than the staff has adorned themselves with. Honestly, everyone is looking splendid. Apart from the big boss. He’s in jeans and a t-shirt and has been drinking since 4pm. I can’t think whether to admire his sense of non-conformity, or pity the fact that he didn’t try the lobster sauce.

We have these Christmas awards, our own version of the Oscars every year. It’s a democratic vote. The staff determines the nomination fields, and we all vote in each category who is most deserving of the respective awards. I’m in the running for two awards, both a bit tongue-in-cheek. But I’m hyped, I’m up for it. I want to win.

The meal ends and we move downstairs to the bar and disco. I’ve lost count of how many drinks I’ve had. The award are been announced. Ssshhh! In first place, for the second year running, the award for Fashion Victim of the Year goes to…Col Dardis! Yes, victory is mine and it tastes so sweet! I run the MC and do a little celebration pose for the crowd. I am entertainment for the masses, and I want the smiles, the claps, the laughter. Milk it while you can I guess.

I also came second place for the Management Lick of the Year. Hey, I just work hard, okay? As for the scandal, I probably would be sued for libel in I mentioned all the rumours and suspicion than came to light in the course of the evening. So there.

A Past Glory

Went up with Mark to discuss plans for Emmet’s birthday and just shoot the breeze. And I’m drinking. It all went to pot on Friday, so I think screw it, I’ll have a few with Mark and chill. We meet in the Empire Bar, where back in October, during Movieoke night, the whole bar sang Happy Birthday to me, and then a group of Spanish girls sang it in their native tongue. I was so astounded I forgot to thank them.

Movieoke is like karaoke, except instead of tunelessly roaring along to your favourite tune, famous scenes from films are played against a white backdrop, and you get to act the scene out on stage. I did this in the BBC Club one night for Children in Need’s 25th anniversary, dancing and laughing to Professor M’Kay’s song about swearing, from the South Park movie. I tried it again tonight, who the words go so damn fast, I’m mumbling along to most of it, desperately trying to be as charming and entertaining as I can. A sign of my failure to do this: the girl at the next table who was spurring me on before I went up onstage doesn’t turn round to talk to me when I return. The lesson learnt: do not try to relive past glories. They will seem less glorious.

Floodgates

Oops. I drank yesterday. Four days before I was meant to, on the big office Christmas night out. Believe me, I did not intend to. Meabh, Dave, Richie and I headed over to Kelly’s Cellars for a post-work drink, and to meet up with some of Meabh’s friends. Now, I firmly declare that the first pint after work is always the sweetest. But on the way down to the pub, I was stating clearly that I was not to drink tonight. I had a poetry reading later on in the night which I had to go home and prepare for, so it will be just the one for me, thank you very much.

Well, you can guess what happened after that…. Meabh went to the shop and the rest of us went straight to the bar. I’m first in the queue. What will I have? My eye automatically scans over the beer taps to see what they have on draught. “Mmm… a pint of Harp please.” Grand. Richie and Dave order and we find our seats. We have a typical laddish conversation over who has the best ass in work (only because we have to nominate a Rear of the Year for our annual Christmas awards. Apparently I’m in the running for Management Lick of the Year!). Meabh comes in after a few minutes and we join her friends.

I’m halfway down my pint before I realise. “Feck, I’m not supposed to be drinking!” Richie and Meabh catch on at the same time. Ladies and gentlemen, and floodgates have now officially reopened. Now at this stage, I considered not finished off my beer. I could just easily chalk it down to a force of habit. I was at the bar, so I naturally ordered a pint without really thinking about it. Quite simple, nothing more to it. I wasn’t gasping for a drink.

Something kicks in, a sense rebellion or ennui (it’s hard to tell the difference these days) and I decide, feck it, I have the pint now; I might as well drink it. It has been twelve, nearly thirteen days since my last drink, that’s quite good. Richie and I were going to leave after one. I had the poetry reading, he wants to go home and watch the Leeds match. But the craic is good, so we decide to stay for another, albeit very fast, one.

After the second pint, I’m ready to leave. I have to go and meet my housemate and decide what poems to read tonight. However, Meabh has other plans, and gets another round in. I resign myself to the invite of another drink, with a little resistant. Right, that’s it. Three pints down, and I’m starting to feel bloated. I need something to eat. Richie and I get a taxi up the road, and I head to the chipper, then onto the poetry night.

A-Carolling We Will Go

I am saddened to hear that ex-Pantera guitarist Dimebag Darrell, was shot dead at a gig by his new band, Damageplan. Although I am not really a Pantera fan, undoubtedly, they were one of thee big names in nineties heavy metal, and their influence can be felt in today’s sound still. It’s just unbelievable that someone could jump out of the crowd and shoot people around him; I can’t really get my head around it. Thoughts and prayers to his family and friends.

On a brighter note, my friend Marilyn flew into Ireland on Tuesday. I haven’t seen her since May time I think, so it was excellent to chat to her again! As usual, we immediately got into the topic of relationships. During her time hear, Maz and I would constantly debate over the merits and downfalls of her respective partners, so it was cool just to have a bit of craic with her and talk away.

Now, unbeknown to many people, I love Christmas carols. I don’t have a particular strong singing voice, but for some reasons, carolling just brings out the tenor in me! So Maz, her friend Malenka and I headed down to St. Anne’s Cathedral for a light procession to City Hall. The crowd was led by a brass band, and we walked through the freezing night air to entertain the great Belfast public. I’m not too sure who organised the event, but whoever it was, the kind people put on some free tea, mulled wine and mince pies for the carollers in the city hall reception afterwards.

And no, I didn’t take any wine…. Just in case, you know?

Productive

Confession time: A dabble, a dribble, a mite of a smidgen of alcohol passed my lips on Saturday night. My uncle Georgie bought down a bottle of wine for my dad to try out (who still has to take it easy on the old drink after the heart attack). I’m trying to remember the name of it: mmm, Spanish Gran Reserva 1997, Luca Moja something… some of my family are connoisseurs when it comes to drinking, but I’m just a bluffer. Anyway, I sample the tiniest drop of this wine just to get the taste of it, and damn, it’s quite exquisite! I toy for ten minutes with the notion of having a glass, but I am firm and stick tight to my rules, despite my uncle urging me to try some, and my dad’s later claims that I actually did have a glass, just to make it look like he didn’t partake in it too much.

This, on top of my brother giving me a bottle of strange coffee flavoured rum, and finding a bottle of vodka in a cupboard that we had completely forgotten about. It’s a conspiracy I tell ye! Now, when I drew up the rules for my phrase of sobriety, I didn’t allow for any special occasions. In hindsight, maybe I should have. My good friend Marilyn is flying into the city today, and may want to go for a drink. Would it be the height of rudeness not to oblige her? Am I making excuses for myself?

I’m quite happy with the time I spent not drinking at the weekend: I read a book (The Whale Rider), worked on a poem, got the design template down for another booklet, visited my grandmother (sorry it’s been so long), spent some time with the family and got some good practice on the drums in as well. In my book, that’s quite a productive weekend. I wonder if anyone has studied the benefits of long term abstinence…?

The Big Test

Ok, I’m doing well with this whole detox thing. No smokes and no drink. Coffee is off the menu as well, has been for months, since the doc said I burnt my guts out and now have a duodenal ulcer. I still blame the vodka jelly. I’ve been in four pubs on two occasions in the last three days, and not one alcoholic drink has past my dry lips. Yet there is only so much lemonade one man can take in an evening.

I thought the big test was on Tuesday night. The phone call came through. The big invite. The promise of good company, good drink and good times. But no! I turned it down like cheap trash and made myself go to the gym instead. Consequential, I can barely lift my arms above my head. But the calls still came through when I got home. “We can pick you up from your front door.” Such ease and luxury. This was going to take a lot of resolve. But I came through on the other side clean and sober. Regret eating those two packets of bacon fries though…

Though here was the biggie, the real, proper test. A charity event for MacMillan Cancer Research. The Empire Bar in Belfast. Capacity: 500. Five bands. Eight poets. And I’m the second poet on.

Now, I’ve done big enough gigs before. It’s been a while since I’ve done a big reading, so admittedly, I must have a little ring rust. But I’ll happily got up on stage and made an eejit out of myself for the merriment of others. I’ve sang in front of three hundred people in the Menagerie Bar, when I could not sing and I didn’t know the music, and I pulled it off. I’ve stood in the middle of the city shouting out poems about anti-sectarianism. I recently sang a tune from the South Park movie to a packed bar of BBC staff and did a little dance while wearing a cowboy hat, and people loved it. I’ve even performed topless for goodness sake. But for some reason, I’m shit scared tonight, and it isn’t adrenalin, it is pure nerves running through me.

Why should this be? I’ve been doing public readings for four and a half years, but this is by far the biggest gig I’ve done. And I know that essentially, the crowd are here for the music. They do not expect poetry. But that’s the great thing about performance poetry, you go out and stick it in the eye of the masses and get them moving. Yet this knowledge is not a comfort to me, and I think I know why…

Due to my self-imposed restrictions, I cannot drink for Dutch courage, and I cannot smoke to calm my nerves. I might as well be going on stage naked. And all that nonsense about imagining everyone without their clothes on to steady your nerves… it never worked for me. I’m tense: my shoulders feel like wood. Going backstage, I’m the youngest person around by two decades. Suddenly I’m transformed to a little boy in a man’s game. Thankfully, everyone is cool and supportive. Brian gives me a little pep talk before I go onstage, which helps a lot.

“Hello Belfast!” They clap. I recite. I can hardly see a damn thing due to the stage lights. I still read. The legs are starting to go. And then it happens… people laugh. Sweet mercy, people are actually laughing, and in the right places as well. It’s working. I never expect a riot of excitement and astonishment, but this is good. There’s the odd heckle, but I’m going to take that for granted.

I come offstage. Some of the musicians pat me on the shoulder. Thanks to my nerves and paranoia, it is hard to tell if they are congratulating or commiserating me. Interesting, as Laura points out, despite this being a charity event for cancer research, most of the musicians smoke on stage. On walking back to my seat, people stop to shake my hand and give their thoughts. Again, the paranoia is running rampant. My legs have discovered genetic secrets and are busy turning muscle into gelatine. I should be relieved that I’m not being reviled. Why the hell can’t I just accept their praise and be thankful and happy?! What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been able to take compliments gracefully anyway; I always turn it into a joke. There is no need to go on the defensive. I am now defenceless in my sobriety and am learning to cope. There will be hope, there will be light, and it will be glorious.