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Lean green cycling machines
Amidst all the howling and ululations following the government's blockbustingly popular budget, some of the good aspects of it have been hugely overlooked. OK sure, Lenihan and co. might have knicked your granny's medical card, but did you know you could wrangle a free pushbike out of your employers now?
Not just any old police auction rust bucket either, but up to a value of a 1000 euro, including all the attendant safety gear you need nowadays in Dublin, like a helmet, reflectors and bulletproof vest.
And in a city where bicycles have a life span of a dipsomaniac mayfly, the odd free rothar can't be a bad thing.
O'Carroll Kelly, Howard, Palin and Fey
With author Paul Howard appearing in the Irish Times magazine, an eighth book out, his own blog, a MySpace account and even talk of a film, Ross O'Carroll Kelly has fast reached saturation point on this benighted isle of ours. Not bad for what is basically one joke.
Ross even has his own Facebook account, so deluded D4 teenagers can befriend what is essentially a vicious cutting parody of their whole lives and value systems. It's a bit like Sarah Palin getting pally with SNL's Tina Fey.
Oh no wait. That's already happened.
Let's do the time warp again...
Nuns on The Late Late Show? Ireland winning at football again? One of The Dubliners dies? Everyone's on the dole? It's 1988 again!
Yes, somehow our little island has collapsed into a wormhole that has thrust us 20 years back in time to the days of Seán Kelly, Jack Charlton, wool geansaí's and Dublin's 1000th birthday.
So, while the watchmakers over at the Large Hadron Collider claim that there were no unforeseen results of ripping apart the fabric of space-time, we know better.
Now, let's go build another Anna Livia fountain.
Theatre director Ronan Wilmot is in love with Cuba. And, more specifically, with a beautiful Cuban woman 34 years his junior. He tells Nicola Reddy about his wedding to Janet, and why this small Caribbean republic is streets ahead of Ireland. Photos by John Minihan
So this is how I met my wife: I was visiting a good friend, Bernie Dwyer, who has been a journalist with Radio Havana for 15 years. There’s a famous promenade called the Malecón which runs through Havana, with the sea beyond. Everyone walks there at night.
I was sitting having a coffee and Janet was in the same café. I asked her to join me. We spoke for a while and I invited her to a show at the Havana Film Festival that night. We went to see Intermission – my son David [an actor] was up on that big screen. I went back to see her about two months later and we continued our relationship long-distance for a year and a half. Then I asked her to marry me.
Who’s creeping up behind you? Hairy hand on your shoulder? Be afraid, be very afraid of these famous Dublin spooks. By Eleanor Fitzsimons
Bishop Narcissus Marsh
In 1701, while serving as Archbishop of Dublin, Narcissus Marsh established a magnificent scholar’s library. Shortly afterwards, his 19-year-old niece and live-in housekeeper, Grace, rebelled against the lifestyle imposed upon her – and eloped. A distraught Marsh recorded in his diary: “This evening betwixt eight and nine of the clock at night my niece Grace Marsh (not having the fear of God before her eyes) stole privately out of my house at St. Sepulchre’s and (as is reported) was that night married to Chas. Proby vicar of Castleknock in a Tavern and was bedded there with him – Lord consider my affliction.” Seized by remorse, Grace wrote a letter begging for her beloved uncle’s forgiveness and placed it amongst the pages of one of his many books. The old man never discovered it and to this day it is said that his ghost continues the search. Marsh’s Library, Dublin 8
Celebrate, this party's over
Another year, another budget. We would have written about it yesterday, except the internet in our little part of the world took a brief nosedive and we were instead reduced to writing down on paper like troglodytic neantherdals. Or exactly how we'll all be writing soon once we can't afford to plug in our keyboards.
Sooo, it's good news for single, unemployed, barren cider-drinkers who are just about to buy a house. And terrible, dreadful and appallingly bad news for those of you who work for a living (or as a government minister), drink wine, fly regularly, have any savings (or children), own a second home or enjoy the odd fag or 20. In short, goodbye to all our readers.
It was nice knowing you. Can you lend us a fiver?
Sean Kelly sez: "Lance Whostrong?"
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