HAN SOLO

Swimming pool acoustics. ATMs. Escalators. Nothing of interest anywhere. I bet they have nothing by Durkheim in the bookshop. (I'll ask for the laugh.) People, unattractively good looking and numerous. Hollister. Harvey Nichols. House of Fraser. Nama. Austere couture. I could have sworn I saw an imperial stormtrooper. My mate calls this place the Death Star. I met her for coffee on the fourth floor balcony. I couldn't see her and that's how I knew it was her. Her voice emitting behind a tower of purchases. She spoke of fit celebrities and favoured restaurants. She cast doubt on welfare recipients. She made frequent mention of her sundry achievements. 'I guess as a person, you could say I'm kind of driven.' And that's when I felt driven to do something.

I stood on my chair and jumped on the table. Then I placed a foot on the balcony rail. She screamed beyond her shopping as I escaped the Empire's clutches, plummeting down and away from consumer dismay. As Han Solo once said – 'boring conversation anyway'.

CRAZY PEGGY

I worked real hard and Master rewarded me with shiny new manacles. They was so beautiful. I paraded them around the plantation and everyones wished they was me. Everyones except Crazy Peggy. Peggy didn't give a damn. She didn't work hard. Never. 'Why's should I works myself near dead for another's profit', she'd protest, unable to see the bounty she'd be awarded if only she'd apply herself to her duties. She never had nice manacles. We used sneer at her rusting chains. She didn't seem to care though. She was a strange one for sure, always sat there daydreaming in her dirty shackles. No self-respect that crazy girl. She let things get so bad those manacles clear rusted right off her. Middle of one night we awakes and she's gone. We wondered where the girl could have got to. We looked out and saw the faraway confusion of stars. We heard the night wind, hissing through the trees. It was just wild out there. What could a body do but keep running through all that? How could a body fill its days without the reassurance and structure of cotton picking? What of a body's hopes? What of a body's dream to one day wear the shiniest manacles on the plantation? But Peggy never gave a damn for any of that. She just sat and stared and pondered something we'd never understand. Something crazy. Master was right about her. He said she was nothing but an animal. Well, she's out there with the wild animals now. That's what comes of not working hard and partaking of tasks. Your mind wanders and sooner or later so do you. Chances are you never come back. You is lost. Lost forever. Hell, I ain't never going to wind up like that. Master says if'n I keeps working likes I do he just might find me in such favour as to take me with him on one of his trips to Dundrum Shopping Centre. Says he'll buy me the longest roll of gingham you ever did see and manacles so shiny I'll be able to look upon them and regard my joy reflected.

THE MATCH

Four-Nil but the lads can still do it if they focus and commit to stability and we can still apply for goals from the ESM and it's just a question of knuckling down really at the end of the day and the nation could do with a lift after all the doom and gloom y'know fair is fair and the Eucharistic Congress and stealing Trevelyan's corn and dreams and songs to sing and Brush Shiels and Joe Duffy and Funny Friday and I painted a shamrock on my arse and there's absolutely no official record of what took place on the night of the bank guarantee but sure this is it really isn't it and Obama's visit was great and the Queen was on great form wasn't she and I'm off to Dundrum Shopping Centre so we should make Michael O'Leary the minister for health and happy birthday The Late Late because we're a good team so we'll get there and we're getting there and are we there yet and will we ever get there and you'll never beat the Irish and the property market has bottomed out going forward.

Anyway, I voted Yes.

A Lament...

I wrote this poem as a kind of lament. Like most good poems it doesn’t rhyme and its appeal is hard to determine. In fact, it might seem a bit shite at first but try reading it in a solemn Paul Durkinish kind of way and you’ll soon realise how good it is.

And so, without further ado, I give you:

ORANGE FACED LADY

My orange faced lady
Where did you go?
I used meet you at the close of day
Coming with determined face
From counter or desk among
Dundrum Town Centre resplendent
Kathleen Ni Houlihan dressed in Ralph Lauren
Optimism incarnate
Escalator rider
Nay sayer chider
Your name, was heard in the right places
You knew Conrad Gallagher
He sent you a fondue set for Christmas
And you kept it
Just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha
So look into my face Marie-Claire reader
And remember just who you are
For the light it does fade
The tangerine foundation gives way
A chill wind blows through the House of Fraser
It was all boots and bags
Now its riches back to rags
Don the shawl again and wanly peer from beneath it
Cut your cloth to your measure
For the wonderful dream is over
The kids’ karate lessons are for the chop
It’s Portumna for summer
Oh what a bummer
What could have been
A terrible beauty stillborn
Do you remember the back streets of Naples?
Just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha
Oompa Loompa doompadah dee
If you are wise you'll listen to me
My orange faced lady
Where did you go?