Sean Flaherty was a born taxi driver. A very successful one too, he had the knowledge alright and a whole lot more. He'd his own fleet of cabs now and they did schmooze about the town in bright red Mercadian splendour.
" Flaherty will get you Everywhere ", said the dazzling yellow letters on each one. And so it was , if you wanted to get there, Flaherty and his drivers would surely deliver you.
One thing that Flaherty could not find however was a soul mate , a significant other , one true and certain love. Oh he had all the trappings of success you know, detached seven bedrooms , on suite and off suite this , on piste and off piste that, a bed the size of the back garden of the house he grew up in, big telly on the wall, big fecking dogs ..... too much really too much, and he'd rattle about that big house sometimes and wonder ..... " What the feck good is all this to me ? "
And you know what good it was to him ? Feck all is what.
Tom Dooley is my name, and I drive a Flaherty Cab. Not my real name in case the taxman is reading this. Oh and if you are reading fine Sir Mr Taxman , I want to say that I only drive cabs on a voluntary basis anyway. I get a lot of satisfaction from delivering the bladdered and impatient to their destinations. I go home from a few hours of selfless cabbying, rejuvenated in the knowledge I have delivered some drunken gobshite or other safely into the arms of their beloved, what can I say , call me an altruist if you really must.
Good shift Dooley ?
Ah not so bad Mr Flaherty sir, uneventful. 25 years a cabby and still haven't been called upon to deliver a baby.
God in His infinite wisdom Dooley, does not pass unto us any burdens beyond our capabilities.
Modesty almost prevents me from saying I am very good in an emergency, Mr Flaherty.
Are you shite !
I had if truth be known , often felt like lamping Mr high and frigging mighty Flaherty. So what stopped me ?
( Singing in the distance and growing louder ......' There's three pubs in Bohola ......' )
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyN1qPXVSSA
Ah feck here comes Tansey , Flaherty's star cabby , and ' a man you don't meet everyday ', praise be to God ..............
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Sunday, 19 September 2010
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Nines
She stands in her dream kitchen weighing ingredients for the fiftieth birthday cake that she knows he'll never taste.
He'd built this kitchen just as she'd imagined it in her head and she'd loved it, but this morning as bright sunlight streamed through spotless windows, everything felt too harsh, stark and cold. A too shrill tune from a too frequent ice cream van pierced the silence and took her back to when Liam and Siobhain were young.
" Mummy pleeeeease can we have 99's ."
The days when they relied on her, when granite, chrome and the swing area of a concealed fridge door were of no concern. Now as Jackie approached fifty herself, she felt like a mother again to husband Peter who'd swapped his independence for the attractions of the bottle.
The ice cream van cast an ambulance shaped shadow on the dining room wall, she'd grown used to the calling of ambulances to her home.
" Jackie please, please call 999 I'm dying " a desperate Peter would beg as he went through the physical, mental and spiritual torture of his addiction and took Jackie on that journey with him.
There had been times when she'd had to dial for herself when his fists would fly as he raged drunkenly, because she didn't match up to some fucked-up image his sodden mind had created for her.
As Jackie weighed sugar, flour, lemon juice and baking powder she wondered would she walk away.
They had always argued at home and publicly, some were embarrassed by it, but close family and friends thought they thrived on it. Now the passion had left their rows and they were left with just daily spite and recrimination and it seemed there was no making up left to do. She'd lie awake at night hurting and wondering why she stayed and he'd lie oblivious in drunken stupor. Still she'd try and make sure he was ok , fulfilling the mother role once more.
What would become of him if she went ? She foresaw failing health, hospital, loneliness, an early death and weighed it against the love she once felt. A love that had been replaced by pity and sorrow on the occasions when her anger at what he'd become had subsided.
She told herself she'd not leave before his fiftieth birthday, there always seemed to be a reason not to go, how could she leave him alone for that ? She dreamt of taking those first steps to freedom, a new beginning and a time to grow again, how much she wanted to embrace that dream.
She looked into the living room at him sprawled in disarray upon the sofa, half-conscious or what passed for it these days. A bottle at his head, he'd lost the battle with it and the bottle had taken his heart , mind and soul and left no room for her.
Today she felt she could not or would not leave, something like guilt had her petrified. She also knew that all the screws that held the hinges on her married life had come undone, and she was teetering on the edge.
Glimpsing the School Reunion Invitation card on the kitchen table , she'd heard that Paddy O'Connell was returning from America to be there. Her mind was transported back thirty and more years and the draw of being seventeen once again saw the ghost of a smile pass over long neglected lips.
He'd built this kitchen just as she'd imagined it in her head and she'd loved it, but this morning as bright sunlight streamed through spotless windows, everything felt too harsh, stark and cold. A too shrill tune from a too frequent ice cream van pierced the silence and took her back to when Liam and Siobhain were young.
" Mummy pleeeeease can we have 99's ."
The days when they relied on her, when granite, chrome and the swing area of a concealed fridge door were of no concern. Now as Jackie approached fifty herself, she felt like a mother again to husband Peter who'd swapped his independence for the attractions of the bottle.
The ice cream van cast an ambulance shaped shadow on the dining room wall, she'd grown used to the calling of ambulances to her home.
" Jackie please, please call 999 I'm dying " a desperate Peter would beg as he went through the physical, mental and spiritual torture of his addiction and took Jackie on that journey with him.
There had been times when she'd had to dial for herself when his fists would fly as he raged drunkenly, because she didn't match up to some fucked-up image his sodden mind had created for her.
As Jackie weighed sugar, flour, lemon juice and baking powder she wondered would she walk away.
They had always argued at home and publicly, some were embarrassed by it, but close family and friends thought they thrived on it. Now the passion had left their rows and they were left with just daily spite and recrimination and it seemed there was no making up left to do. She'd lie awake at night hurting and wondering why she stayed and he'd lie oblivious in drunken stupor. Still she'd try and make sure he was ok , fulfilling the mother role once more.
What would become of him if she went ? She foresaw failing health, hospital, loneliness, an early death and weighed it against the love she once felt. A love that had been replaced by pity and sorrow on the occasions when her anger at what he'd become had subsided.
She told herself she'd not leave before his fiftieth birthday, there always seemed to be a reason not to go, how could she leave him alone for that ? She dreamt of taking those first steps to freedom, a new beginning and a time to grow again, how much she wanted to embrace that dream.
She looked into the living room at him sprawled in disarray upon the sofa, half-conscious or what passed for it these days. A bottle at his head, he'd lost the battle with it and the bottle had taken his heart , mind and soul and left no room for her.
Today she felt she could not or would not leave, something like guilt had her petrified. She also knew that all the screws that held the hinges on her married life had come undone, and she was teetering on the edge.
Glimpsing the School Reunion Invitation card on the kitchen table , she'd heard that Paddy O'Connell was returning from America to be there. Her mind was transported back thirty and more years and the draw of being seventeen once again saw the ghost of a smile pass over long neglected lips.
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Jimmy Grimes
Poor ould Jimmy Grimes lived a life of rhymes,
And that you may think could be a mite amusing,
But it caused him such unfortunate times,
For it was not a life of his own choosing.
Today they'd call it an obsessive compulsive disorder,
A failure to walk the narrow path of logical,
Forever straying over the border,
Jimmy's decisions were often quite diabolical.
To shrinks, quacks , and men in white macs, he was a chiming mystery,
" Your demeanour " they concluded, "Mr. Grimes, is most inscrutable ",
When in a jiffy, he married Kimmy in a registry office in Rimini ,
Though Lucy would have been far more suitable.
Kimmy poured scorn on Jimmy's affliction,
Scoffed at his desire for a greetings-card-life,
So Jimmy sought treatment for his homophonic addiction,
To win the devotion of his ( frankly ) bleedin' hard wife.
With their children Jemimah and Hieronymous,
They rode in tandem to Rhymers Anonymous,
In a darkened room folks shared their woes,
Of how they longed for a life lived simply in prose.
Jimmy who in truth had sunk a few beers,
Felt the urge to unburden and tell of his fears,
" My name is Jimmy and I'm addicted to rhyme",
To generous applause they urged " One day at a time .......
....... arrrggghhhh ",
But tomorrow is another day right ?
Oh yeah and erm good night.
And that you may think could be a mite amusing,
But it caused him such unfortunate times,
For it was not a life of his own choosing.
Today they'd call it an obsessive compulsive disorder,
A failure to walk the narrow path of logical,
Forever straying over the border,
Jimmy's decisions were often quite diabolical.
To shrinks, quacks , and men in white macs, he was a chiming mystery,
" Your demeanour " they concluded, "Mr. Grimes, is most inscrutable ",
When in a jiffy, he married Kimmy in a registry office in Rimini ,
Though Lucy would have been far more suitable.
Kimmy poured scorn on Jimmy's affliction,
Scoffed at his desire for a greetings-card-life,
So Jimmy sought treatment for his homophonic addiction,
To win the devotion of his ( frankly ) bleedin' hard wife.
With their children Jemimah and Hieronymous,
They rode in tandem to Rhymers Anonymous,
In a darkened room folks shared their woes,
Of how they longed for a life lived simply in prose.
Jimmy who in truth had sunk a few beers,
Felt the urge to unburden and tell of his fears,
" My name is Jimmy and I'm addicted to rhyme",
To generous applause they urged " One day at a time .......
....... arrrggghhhh ",
But tomorrow is another day right ?
Oh yeah and erm good night.
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Fran ' Biddy ' Lock
Is a brilliantly talented writer.
I think as many people as possible should be able to read her work.
I could attempt to describe her writing , but I would fail miserably and anyway it speaks for itself perfectly.
You will find some of it if you follow the link below.
http://www.littleepisodes.org/profiles/blog/list?user=2eq1504f5z9av
www.littleepisodes.org
" Dispelling the notion that art is a corporate commodity and giving the artistic industries back to the artist.
Promoting the arts as a cathartic and therapeutic tool as well as a powerful platform to incite empathy and understanding. "
I think as many people as possible should be able to read her work.
I could attempt to describe her writing , but I would fail miserably and anyway it speaks for itself perfectly.
You will find some of it if you follow the link below.
http://www.littleepisodes.org/profiles/blog/list?user=2eq1504f5z9av
www.littleepisodes.org
" Dispelling the notion that art is a corporate commodity and giving the artistic industries back to the artist.
Promoting the arts as a cathartic and therapeutic tool as well as a powerful platform to incite empathy and understanding. "
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Fillums
Thought i'd have a rare treat watching a few fillums last night.
Walk The Line - The Johnny Cash story and the more recent fillums about the two Ian's - Curtis and The Blockheads fella.
I had been really looking forward to seeing all three of these , but I found them all to be a bit shite quite frankly .............. then it dawned on me , I am currently taking a course of Anti - Biopics aint I ?
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the above .
Walk The Line - The Johnny Cash story and the more recent fillums about the two Ian's - Curtis and The Blockheads fella.
I had been really looking forward to seeing all three of these , but I found them all to be a bit shite quite frankly .............. then it dawned on me , I am currently taking a course of Anti - Biopics aint I ?
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the above .
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Tall Stories
Hell bent .
How stunning the views,
The very thingness of things,
When time is finite,
How appreciative I become.
How many steps did I take alone,
With only the pavement coming to meet me,
So what is one more,
For me and my white lips.
A sense that few have,
How it might be to fly,
A place where wisdom is bound to strike,
Just when I can least use it.
So my eyes are open wide at last,
Finally in the moment,
To see fifty fleeting framed portraits,
With an unjaundiced eye,
Of how might it be to fly.
That I might in an instant,
Be a witness,
To the very youness of you,
And send you my observations,
On streams of ticker-tape,
So in boxed locations,
Spectators might, in the absence of compassion ...... celebrate.
Those things which made your head fall,
Down into your hands,
Seems so slight when cast,
Against garlands of clouds and stars,
And that which might fly,
Heaven Sent.
How stunning the views,
The very thingness of things,
When time is finite,
How appreciative I become.
How many steps did I take alone,
With only the pavement coming to meet me,
So what is one more,
For me and my white lips.
A sense that few have,
How it might be to fly,
A place where wisdom is bound to strike,
Just when I can least use it.
So my eyes are open wide at last,
Finally in the moment,
To see fifty fleeting framed portraits,
With an unjaundiced eye,
Of how might it be to fly.
That I might in an instant,
Be a witness,
To the very youness of you,
And send you my observations,
On streams of ticker-tape,
So in boxed locations,
Spectators might, in the absence of compassion ...... celebrate.
Those things which made your head fall,
Down into your hands,
Seems so slight when cast,
Against garlands of clouds and stars,
And that which might fly,
Heaven Sent.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
She's Not Given To The Song
Johnny and Kitty had been married for ever and although to outsiders they appeared happy enough it would be fair to say that Kitty was long-suffering.
Johnny had never grown up, as is the way of man. Spent all his money on beer, fags and arthiritic horses ........ betting on them you understand, not show-jumping, carriage racing or dressage.
Kitty had grown to tolerate this , far from happy , but stoic as she was she made the best of things and somehow contrived to make a home that was a credit to her.
One thing that Kitty refused to tolerate though was Johnny's infidelity , she'd turned a blind eye to it when the children were growing up , but now it was just the two of them she would not have it any longer.
She's not given to the song,
( You'd have to say that ),
She's not given to this life,
Though she tries to sing along,
( from time to time )
It never seems to sound quite right.
I suppose you'd have to say ,
That she feels like she's just in the way,
I don't know how it came to this,
There was a time, She felt the chime,
Of hope for some harmonic bliss,
Now she wills the punishment to fit the crime,
As she gives him one last dutiful kiss.
She's not given to the song,
She's not given to this life........
Early morning routine, Johnny took to the bathroom, sat on the throne, fag in mouth, daily paper in hand, studying today's form.
Kitty stood in the garden , there was a photograph she had been longing to take.
Johnny coughed and considered the ill-effects of his lifestyle , pleased with today's selections , he let his cigarette fall between his thighs into the lavatory bowl. The water in the toilet had been replaced with a mixture of petrol and Jeyes ............ Jayze ! Jayze ! Johnny was launched through the roof, his arse ablaze. He had little time to consider much on his journey into the stratosphere ... 'smoking IS very bad for you ' he thought ,...... ' the hedges need a trim ',.......... ' my arse is fierce hot ' ,.......' Good morning Mr and Mrs Abercrombie ' ...... and then looked down to see Kitty pointing a camera in his direction. Not knowing quite how to behave in this situation , he waved and clenched his teeth in an approximation of a smile.
Kitty's camera clicked as she got the last ever shot of Johnny with his pants down.
Johnny had never grown up, as is the way of man. Spent all his money on beer, fags and arthiritic horses ........ betting on them you understand, not show-jumping, carriage racing or dressage.
Kitty had grown to tolerate this , far from happy , but stoic as she was she made the best of things and somehow contrived to make a home that was a credit to her.
One thing that Kitty refused to tolerate though was Johnny's infidelity , she'd turned a blind eye to it when the children were growing up , but now it was just the two of them she would not have it any longer.
She's not given to the song,
( You'd have to say that ),
She's not given to this life,
Though she tries to sing along,
( from time to time )
It never seems to sound quite right.
I suppose you'd have to say ,
That she feels like she's just in the way,
I don't know how it came to this,
There was a time, She felt the chime,
Of hope for some harmonic bliss,
Now she wills the punishment to fit the crime,
As she gives him one last dutiful kiss.
She's not given to the song,
She's not given to this life........
Early morning routine, Johnny took to the bathroom, sat on the throne, fag in mouth, daily paper in hand, studying today's form.
Kitty stood in the garden , there was a photograph she had been longing to take.
Johnny coughed and considered the ill-effects of his lifestyle , pleased with today's selections , he let his cigarette fall between his thighs into the lavatory bowl. The water in the toilet had been replaced with a mixture of petrol and Jeyes ............ Jayze ! Jayze ! Johnny was launched through the roof, his arse ablaze. He had little time to consider much on his journey into the stratosphere ... 'smoking IS very bad for you ' he thought ,...... ' the hedges need a trim ',.......... ' my arse is fierce hot ' ,.......' Good morning Mr and Mrs Abercrombie ' ...... and then looked down to see Kitty pointing a camera in his direction. Not knowing quite how to behave in this situation , he waved and clenched his teeth in an approximation of a smile.
Kitty's camera clicked as she got the last ever shot of Johnny with his pants down.
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