play_arrow
SLE Radio ONE Gateway to the Underground
play_arrow
SLE Radio TWO Real Badass Rock Station
play_arrow
SLE RADIO THREE Classic SLE RADIO
play_arrow
SLERADIO RAVE Classic Rave, Jungle, Drum n Bass, Hardcore
HAPPY ST PADDY’S DAY!
I was thinking to myself, sitting here in my green shirt, what a fun, happy celebration this is for the Irish everywhere.
As a child growing up in troubled Belfast, you had to get your Green Jumper on. On 17 March, don’t dare leave the house without the Green Jumper on. Nothing much related to celebrating a bearded man and his snakes, but more to show those Orangemen who they were dealing with. Yes, that scratchy knit was my papal armory against the perceived Protestant enemy. God help them if they laughed at my embroidered shamrock pedal-pushers and matching Nana Maskouri NHS specs. I had God on my side, and I looked GREAT! (Don’t worry this was just faux-hate, I ended up marrying ‘A Protestant’, to do my bit for the Peace Process, of course).
I marvelled at their exquisite vinyl artwork, reading every word and every credit (who was that girl they thanked on the ‘Unforgettable Fire’ seven inch? Why can’t that be me?), watched them on MT USA (Vincent Hanley, God rest his soul) and wrote them long heartfelt letters to PO Box Wherever, waiting for them, any one of them, to propose.
Me and the stalker mates found out they were recording The Old Grey Whistle with some unknown called Sinead O’Connor. Shivering in the Belfast ‘summer’ night, (-1 degrees max), a limo pulled up, the window rolled down, a handheld out three entry passes and mumbled something about the cold. ‘You’ll catch your death! Take these and go in that door!’ Old folk were obsessed with the cold. Anyway, two hours of heaven followed listening to the premiere of the Joshua Tree and Sinead O’ Connor’s exquisite Mandinka. “And they say, see how the glass is raised? I have refused to take part” she belted. Almost knew she would be trouble with those sort of lyrics. Afterwards we hung out back hoping we would get an autograph, that paper thing people used to use back in the day. It felt like Stars in their Eyes … a smoke mist billowed, a halo light shone, and a shadowy figure emerged…
I imagined Mrs Mummy Bono saying to Little Boy Bono that old Irish proverb “You’ve got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was.” Yes, his growth in spirituality definitely surpassed his growth in the vertical.
Anyway, my adulation continued unabated throughout my entire life. At uni, I dated a fella who looked like Bono and he was about six foot. He didn’t have the Bono bank balance, artistic talent, voice, charisma, smooth accent or well, I’m not sure what he had – he was a poor man’s Bono and that suited me fine.
If you’re interested, I was lucky enough to find my ‘Bono’ in the end. Well, it was Poor Man’s Bono’s mate – Lyonsy. I had moved on to my Jon Bon Jovi/ Billy Idol phase (blonds, good bone structure, lips).
Go n-eirí an t-ádh leat.
Post comments (0)