I was walloped by a virus last week. It finally passed yesterday, when I could eat something other than toast. I opted for a bagel. No need to get carried away.

It meant that I didn’t write the column for Saturday, and stopped posting on the blog on Friday, and I have to admit that it was great not to have to bother with the computer for a few days. It has a sometimes oppressive grip on me. If I’m not posting on the blog, I’m trying to think of what I’m going to post on the blog, or hunting for something to post. After that I’m checking the comments, which I always like to update as regularly as possible. And then that cycle begins again.

Alongside that, I’ll be tapping into Hype Machine; clicking through Technorati; I’ll be checking personal e-mail, work e-mail, websites, other blogs. I’ll be wondering how I’m doing in the Fantasy Golf Masters Irish Times league (very well, since you ask). Plus, I’m in the middle of writing a book, something for which the web can be both a help and a hindrance.

The computer eats up my time like nothing else. It devours it. It’s a microchipped siren, calling me every time I pass, and I’m too weak to resist.

And here’s the thing: I do not have a MySpace, Bebo or Facebook account. I have never Twittered. I do not Blackberry. I am not Del.icio.us. I will not Digg.

How much time is there in a day that anyone can do all of these? I’m convinced that Damien Mulley, clearly operates in some other dimension, in which mornings last all day and afternoons last a fortnight.

Occasionally, as a journalist, you find yourself wondering how people managed before the internet. All that information they had to go and root out for themselves, through dusty files and inky pages. But sometimes I envy the way that they did not have the tyranny of the computer and had fewer distractions - except, of course, the rush to get for a few lunchtime pints.

I don’t believe I’m alone in this, so here’s an idea that would be unworkable (and smacks of Luddism anyway), but it would be nice if there was some global campaign to switch off all our computers for a day. Not the important ones, obviously: we don’t want nuclear war breaking out simply because I need to get some fresh air. But we could walk away from the non-essential stuff, at least. It would give us all an excuse to walk away for 24 hours, and appreciate a day without this relentless mind pollution. Even if there will always be a few who wouldn’t be able to resist live blogging such an event.

I was griping with someone earlier about how dry The View is - the only regular arts programme on RTE television, and not worth staying up for - and how BBC2’s Late Review has become of a caricature of itself. And I was reminded of how fresh and ambitious the BBC’s Culture Show can be, and specifically how this piece on skiffle music, by Mark Kermode, was one of the best packages I’ve seen on television over the last couple of years.

Top moment: Kermode giving a piece to camera while playing double bass with his skiffle band.

With no surprise whatsoever, the Government’s new laws on alcohol turn out to be weaker than a non-alcoholic Becks. In fact, this is pretty much the wussiest attempt at dealing with the alcohol problem that could have been managed. A snip at the off-licence hours, a move to remove booze from open sale in convenience stores, a few CCTV cameras outside nightclubs, and a promise to actually enforce legislation already passed that allow on-the-spot fines, and seizing of alcohol on the street.

And, thankfully, they’re cracking down on theatre licences. Well, by cracking down they mean they’ll make it harder for them to get one. Thank God they’re finally hitting those theatres hard. Dens of iniquity the lot of them. Especially those specialising in early European avant-garde. Louts.

So, a pointless exercise all round. They listened to the recommendations of the Alcohol Advisory Group, and then went ahead and ignored several of them. The Government goes on about changing this country’s attitude to alcohol, but it’s unable to change its own attitude to publicans and the drinks industry.

And it means that in a week that a HSE report gave some stark facts about the impact of alcohol in Ireland, the drinks industry will continue its mealy-mouthed defence of itself. It claims it is responsible in all it does, when it continues to target young drinkers through sponsorship and multi-coloured rocket fuel. Frankly, when you have the drink industry and vintners welcoming legislation aimed at tackling the alcohol problem, you can be sure it has nothing to do with their own changing attitudes and more to do with how watered down the legislation is.

…is waving at TV cameras. And the RTÉ report from yesterday’s Tipperary v Galway match features a world class display from several individuals, and clearly confirms our place as the world leaders at edging into shot.

As ever, most of the wavers are kids (including an impressive nipple-rubbing display at the very end), but there is the all-important quota of middle-aged men getting a slice of the action so they can get a cheer in the pub later in the evening.

Watch it (from exactly 2 minutes in) here.

Feel your national pride swell.

If you were so inclined, you could get up this morning, turn on the television and watch women giving birth for the rest of the day.

You would have a selection of channels on which to watch it, and a variety of methods.

Water births, standing births, Caesarean sections, emergency births, routine births, American births and British births.

You will not be able to watch deaths. You will not be able to find entire channels dedicated to helping people face up to the end of their life. There are none that offer advice to family or friends; that follow the last moments of the terminally ill so that you might better appreciate how it will be when your time comes. Death happens about 150,000 times a day, and will happen to each of us. But there is no Death Channel. (more…)

From Tory MEP Daniel Hannan’s blog in The Telegraph comes a post, “The Borders of the Anglosphere“:

The Anglosphere, for anyone who still doesn’t know, is a modern name for the community of free, democratic, English-speaking nations. Where the EU is based on state-to-state accords, the Anglosphere is chiefly formed of organic links between businesses, independent institutions and citizens. The characteristics of the Anglosphere are parliamentary government, free elections, an independent judiciary, a limited state and the common law.

So, who qualifies? While the borders of Europe are endlessly disputed, there is far less debate about which countries are in the Anglosphere. The US and Canada, obviously, Britain and Ireland, Australia and New Zealand. But then who? Some Commonwealth states qualify on almost all the criteria. Singapore isn’t exactly multi-party, and is a tad authoritarian, but it is clearly a country based on the rule of law and the separation of powers. Sri Lanka gets in, I’d have thought, plus the more stable Carribbean states. Gibraltar, of course, and the Falkland Islands. But all these are tiddlers. Is the Anglosphere white man’s club, with a couple of hangers-on?

The answer depends on whether we include India. If we do, whites and Christians are a small minority of the Anglosphere population. So, do we?

Yes.

It continues here.

I was present at last year’s Independence auction at Adam’s auctioneers on St Stephen’s Green, when chunks of Irish history were sold at truly whopping amounts. In a packed room, some people were clearly determined to spend their money, while the museums had representatives present in an effort to grab what they could.

The build up had been dominated by a row over whether it had the right to sell on privately a letter from Pearse with his final requests before his execution. Eventually, a deal was done which allowed the letter be bought for the National Museum, and among the items sold at the auction were an original proclamation (€240,000), a Citizen Army mobilisation order personally signed by James Connolly (€80,000), five letters by Patrick Pearse (€37,000) or the flag above - believed to have been flown by Volunteers during the Easter Rising, fetched €20,000. You can see the full sale prices here.

It was thrilling in one respect to see how much this period of our history remains so vital to us today. I had already had first-hand evidence of this when a 1916 Rising supplement I helped write gave that day’s paper the highest daily sale in the history of the Irish Times - 90 years after the event. (more…)

Local parade grand marshal came fourth in 2005’s You’re A Star: (spotted: __.__)

Local dance club teens randomly grunt and thrust their way up the main street to Rihanna’s ‘Don’t Stop the Music’: (__.__)

Clown on stilts frightens the life out of a child: (__.__)

American tourists attempt flag-waving cheeriness while sheltering from squall: (__.__)

Local councillor’s chains of office get caught in his belt buckle: (__.__)

Some very big tractors feature: (__.__)

Teenager in Celtic shirt pukes on car bonnet: (__.__)

On the TV round-up, reporter says, “And the man himself was there”, over shot of break-dancing St Patrick doing a headspin: (__.__)

Newsreader sports spray of shamrock bigger than their own head: (__.__)

Marty Morrissey reports from club finals while two dozen children, and one middle-aged man, jostle to get in the shot: (__.__)

During the discussion on yesterday’s post, occasional fly in the ointment AE Mouse interrupted our “what it means to be irish fun” to if we are more obssessed with being Irish than other nationalities.

None of the traits mentioned here apply to me or anyone I know. Does that mean I am not Irish?

Or maybe it just means I don’t like to define myself as part of the national collective.

(more…)

Given the week that’s in it, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be Irish. Here are some of the things I identified.

Being Irish means…

1) Knowing, within two minutes of meeting someone, where they are from, where they are going, who they went to school with and at least one person you have in common.

2) Never resigning. Ever. No matter how much you screwed up.

3) Thinking we have the best crisps in the world.

4) And the best biscuits.

5) Never, ever talking about what you earn.

6) Always, but always, buying your round. Even if there are 43 people in it and you’re tens of thousands of euro in debt. And your doctor has told you that one more drink will kill you. (more…)

ZERO: the number of women seen wearing their pyjamas on the street.

There was a good piece by Mark Abley in yesterday’s Guardian about the death of Marie Smith Jones, the last native speaker of the Alaskan language, Eyak.

Most residents of Anchorage, the Alaskan city where she spent her final decades, had never heard of her. Even after she addressed a UN conference on indigenous rights, she managed to maintain her privacy. Yet among the advocates for minority languages, Jones was famous. A few of them knew her by a different name: Udach’ Kuqax’a'a’ch’, a name that belonged to the Eyak language and means “a sound that calls people from far away”.

He used a quote that emphasised just how precious each language is:

Linguist Ken Hale put it more bluntly: “Languages embody the intellectual wealth of the people that speak them. Losing any one of them is like dropping a bomb on the Louvre.”

For anyone with an interest in language - and why and how quickly they disappear - I’d recommend Abley’s Spoken Here: Travels Among Threatened Languages. (I also mentioned it in a column a while back.)

Will Ferrell is in the country. Maybe he came to get away from it all. But he couldn’t. Because every time he so much as stopped for directions someone would ring Today FM with the latest on his location.

It was like The Running Man, except he’s not running, and his head won’t explode despite the laser-beam stares of starstruck Paddies. (more…)

A writer in the Charlotte Observer, Mary C Curtis, came to Ireland for the sessions and the spuds, and heard us talk about almost nothing but US politics. Keep an eye out for a cameo by the taxi driver who, most uncharacteristically, complains about immigrants taking jobs and seems to tell her that 10 per cent of our population is Polish.

You’d think the Atlantic Ocean would be wide enough to separate an American from American politics. You would be wrong.

On an Ireland adventure with my family, I ate hot porridge for breakfast, fresh fish for dinner and more potatoes than I care to recall.

I also read about the Iowa and New Hampshire primaries and saw TV segments of the close contests in which no two European reporters pronounced Barack Obama’s name the same. (more…)

The head of the Vintners Federation of Ireland, Paul Stevenson has been doing a bit of blue sky thinking on how to save rural pubs (he’s been throwing glasses in the air to see where they smash; putting his hand in the Tayto to see if they pick out a green one; and other such pub-related management-speak).

What are his big ideas? Homework clubs and a fruit-based drink for the ladies. (more…)

The site eDiplomat gives advice on whatever country diplomats have been posted to, including cultural etiquette. So, here’s what it says about Ireland. I’ve posted the whole thing, because it’s too good to edit. (Thanks to Fiona for pointing it out.)

By way of an introduction, it says:

The Irish are interested in people and place great value on the individual. They are naturally courteous, quick-witted and will go out of their way to welcome visitors to their country. Don’t rush the Irish. Although they work very hard, the Irish are dedicated to a less stressful lifestyle that allows time for friends and family, a visit to the pub, a cup of tea, or just a bit of a chat on the corner. Families are closely-knit and very important to the Irish.

Translation: They’ll be late and desperate for a pint, but don’t insult their mothers when they are.

“Meeting and Greeting”

- Shake hands with everyone present — men, women and children — at a business or social gathering. Shake hands again when leaving.
- A firm handshake with eye contact is expected.

Shake hands with the kids? Only if you want to catch something.

“Body Language”

- The Irish are not very physically demonstrative and are not comfortable with public displays of affection.
- The Irish are uncomfortable with loud, aggressive, and arrogant behavior.
- A “Reverse V for victory” gesture is considered obscene.

Translation: Our fathers showed us no affection, so don’t you start. (more…)

The Irish Times prints its annual round-up of the most popular names in its birth notices. Anna and Jack top the list for 2007, but it’s the more unusual names that always catch the attention.

Algernon appeared on the list. So too did Zenon, Cotheo and Niadh … (more…)

The questions that Slate’s ‘Explainer’ didn’t answer this year.

Shock news: some, but not all, people Google themselves, and other people

The Onion cuts to the chase on the whole Harry Potter nonsense.

P Diddy’s perfume is called Unforgivable Woman. Rejected alternatives: “Fallen Woman” and “Harlot”.

Time may be running out. Literally.

Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert have had enough of the writers’ strike and are going back on air.

Will Smith’s next movie is I Am Legend (read the book, it’s brilliant). Then it’s a “homeless superhero” flick that’s likely to be pretty terrible.

Dublin looks very well today and this makes it look positively funky (I posted it in July, but I can show it now, so up it goes).

(more…)

Latest news from the world of dumb censorship: BBC Radio 1 is going to edit out the word “faggot” every time it plays Fairytale of New York. It’s also censoring “old slut on junk”. But, good news for filth fans, “scumbag” stays.

According to the BBC’s own report:

The BBC said: “We are playing an edited version because some members of the audience might find it offensive.”

A Radio 1 spokeswoman said the station’s management had met on Tuesday morning to discuss the issue.

She said they “had made their decision” and would not be going back on it.

But the ban does not apply across the BBC. Radio 2 said it would be playing the full version of the track.

For starters, Kirsty McColl is NOT calling Shane McGowan “gay”, so this is utter nonsense.

Secondly, anyone offended by it deserves to be offended, so the BBC should turn up the volume specifically for those words.

Thirdly, Ronan Keating started all this when his attempt to destroy the song forever included chaning the line to “you’re cheap and your haggard”. Now that was offensive. In fact, they should bleep all the offensive elements of songs by people like Ronan Keating, so that in future his lyrics would be as follows:

We ***** ***
** **** **** **
**** ** * ***********
**** ***** ride **

Jim’s jaw reacted in pretty much the same way as mine yesterday morning when Bill Cullen’s appearance on Marian Finucane’s show brought pearls of wisdom grabbed straight from the open gob of some mouthy taxi driver. But it was one of those weekends during which a lot was said about cocaine. Some of it was educational (such as the A&E doctor on Finucane’s show), some of it allowed Prime Time get a plug for tonight’s programme, but little of it was constructive. Only Kevin Myers on the Sunday Supplement offered anything when he suggested - as he, and others, have done many times before - that we should at least legalise drugs to take them out of the hands of criminal gangs. (more…)