I write having made the massive life changing decision to move to Canada and all that it entails. I’m sure you’d expect me to (how shall I put this?) blow me own trumpet, a la Marc Almond, and go on about how great the place is and how great a time we’re having but...I’ll save that for another time when the t on my keyboard is working properly and we’ve had an opportunity to properly judge which country pisses on which. I do know which does what, it’s fairly obvious, but we’ll park it alongside that particular sidewalk. Go Blue Jays.
We sat tonight and watched ‘Back To The Future 2’. For the seven hundredth and fifty second time. But the question arose as it always does. If you could go back in time and observe yourself in a particular scenario, when would it be and why?
I trawled through the sands of time in my head and thought about the glory days of Club Sarah and Deep. A bag of chips and she’s yours for the night type things. Fantastic days. Fanfuckingtastic.
I thought of working in the Ballinteer House and staying up until six in the morning watching lounge boys and girls lose their sort-of hard earned wages in games of ‘Killer’ in the snooker hall. Of getting into Noel Murphy’s or Spud Murphy’s cars and heading to some nightclub or other and wasting MY hard earned tips on beer that tasted of and probably consisted of human or horse piss.(Another Marc Almond reference for those still reading). But the constant, the factor ‘x’, the thing that stops me from suggesting that period as the golden period is the same as anything in this life...M-O-N-E-Y.
I, and my associates had none in those days. Therefore, I discount it reluctantly.
1995 sure was a fabulous time to be a bloke in your teenage years. Oasis, Adidas tracksuit tops, three-stripe runners, a shit haircut. None of these I have lost as of yet, incidentally. Live Forever? That was the mantra innit.
Money? Ireland to Canada. You do the ‘Math’. Go Blue Jays. ZZ Top rock.
Just when all seemed lost and town had lost its lustre and the ‘Millennium Bug’ was just about to wreak havoc causing aeroplanes to fall from the sky, forcing bank machines to tell you to fuck right off and helping A & R men from record companies to take over Saturday night televisual entertainment, there was a light in the darkness. I was getting bored of the Nitelink and some Jesus Hairdo freak spouting love and peace whilst punching me about the head as I clung onto my 3(three) kebabs like they were my first born...along came the Three Rock.
The Three Rock was born out of a quaint little nightclub called Marleys where the people did dance and make merry and spread good tidings and goodwill. It may be possible that it is the only nightclub in history that saw an increase in violence with the introduction of Ecstasy. For that alone there should be a monument placed outside of someone dressed in a ‘Kickers’ checked shirt, frozen in time kicking seven shades of shite out of another bloke in a ‘Kickers’ checked shirt. A beautiful, mystical place.
They revamped. They disposed of 45” records stuck to the wall and held the masses enthralled by suspending three Styrofoam ‘rocks’ from the roof. And they got live bands in too. Easily pleased us Ballinteer lot. But it was good. Great in fact.
8pm, meet in the Coach House. Drink tonnes of Guinness and Bulmers. Laugh at Mick Keogh’s latest scheme. Slag my brother off. Have a row with my brother. Make up. Get in a taxi, get out because the row has kicked off again, call him a ‘f***ing c***’,have Brian Kane talk us out of it, hug, get to the door, show ID (I was 24!,sweet),get to the bar, have the legendary Conor ‘Sos’ O’Gorman serve us pints, as it got later have Conor serve us triple vodkas and Red Bull, have another row with my brother because his shirt is shit and he says I look like a gay because of my shirt, Kaner(inebriated now) intervenes once again, do a bit of stupid dancing, The Mulville Fella arrives and proceeds to get very drunk indeed, another row with my brother... “what’s wrong with my shoes?”,make up, watch as Alan, Mick Keogh and Kaner dance whilst looking at themselves on the big screen. Try to chat up the best looking girl in Ballinteer and make a tit of yourself because you’re so drunk and in the end get a mooch from some other girl, another few Vodkas, LEAVE, laugh as The Mulville Fella falls into a hedge and Kaner splits his head open falling off Keoghs back, get home and fall asleep in a reheated lasagne, have a row with your brother because he wants to watch Alan Partridge and you want The Office....Thats a full working day lad!....and don’t you forget it!
God I miss Ballinteer.
Canada is going well though. I’ll fill you in another time.
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