Ingest this. It is all in jest.

So the Ryder Cup came and went and according to a free newspaper delivered through my door every week, the skies above my home were like Vietnam during an American offensive. I think that safely wins the award for worst simile of the decade. It even tops the lady on Liveline this afternoon who compared Bertie’s debt of honour to murder. I didn’t know if I should feel bad about having the world’s 3rd biggest sporting event (what bullshit by the way!) on my doorstep and not even taking the time to understand the rules but now that it is passed I am relieved that small talk has returned to safe topics like weather and property prices and I no longer have to talk about Tiger’s woods and irons.

This weekend I speak at the national conference of Evangelical Alliance Ireland. So if you can refrain from letting them know all my heterodox beliefs so they don’t kick me off the billing, I’d appreciate it. In a busy schedule of about 9 hours, I get to speak for four minutes. So I am a crucial part of the next 12 months of Irish Christianity. Me and my boss are going to stand up and say some very controversial things hidden behind conciliatory language. It is quite a challenge actually, to make a short presentation on something. You read this blog, so therefore you are aware that it takes me longer than usual to make a point. I always feel a need to add an epilogue to any statement to conclude it nicely. And then I feel I have to clarify a point to head off misunderstanding. And then I remember something else I meant to say. And my speech ends up like this paragraph.

On Saturday however, I will be a slick, smooth-talking schmooze-mobile. It will be sexy. It will be daring. It will be a freshly pressed suit I am wearing. That will probably cause some mockery when I resume normal life-service later in the evening down at the old Pigeon Fanciers’ Club but I am willing to take that blow for the sake of evangelical unity.

There was a dreadful drought of good movies at the end of the summer. There were even days when we were so desperate at the prospect of watching a comedy about the world’s shortest jewel thief pretending to be a child or a horror about a stranger calling your mobile that we got videos. It takes a lot to convince Zoomy not to go to the cinema but the crap they were serving managed it. Then all at once, we get Little Miss Sunshine (the best movie I have seen this year), Talladega Nights (a movie filled with ideas so funny that you’ll laugh at the catchphrases for years to come even if the execution lacked that pee-your-pants factor) and Children of Men. I thought Children of Men was going to be class because of the cast and the director and the brilliant idea. But what a surprise I was in for since the plot is actually an allegory of the Flight Into Egypt. Or at least I think it is. I know that is unlikely to make you want to see it any more but watch for it because it at least brings an interesting new layer into the movie.

Stigmund and I brave the terrifying world of ticketed events this weekend as we head off to see Duke Special. I am almost certain I haven’t posted the tickets back to myself so there is hope we’ll actually make it to this gig. Duke is a strange one. The more I listen to him, the more I love him. The more Neuro listens to him, the more she hates me for listening to it. I usually respect her opinion, since she is usually talking about how marvellous I am. But in this instance, Neuro is wrong. Duke Special is not like a Northern Irish version of Martyn Josesph (a Welsh Christian song writer who doesn’t write “Jesus is my boyfriend” songs). By which I mean, a travesty of a musician who would have been better off developing his unique talents in Saddam’s Republican Guard. Duke Special is actually the rarest of things- a singer-songwriter who writes songs that are happy. Even my beloved Mumblin’ Deaf Ro plumbs the depths of human awfulness without neccesarily coming back up. The horrible MySpace has some samples to listen to. But better again, the grown up webpage has lots to gorge yourself on.

Your Correspondent, This Assault Was Not Sexual In Nature.

2 Responses to “Ingest this. It is all in jest.”

  1. neuro-praxis says:

    Nobody go.

    ‘E’s raaaabbish.

  2. zoomtard says:

    It has already sold out. You have lost this one Neuro