Julian Gough

(Photo: Michael D. Higgins, Julian Gough, and the late Séamus Brennan, at the NUIG Alumni Awards Gala Banquet, on March 1st 2008. Photo by Aengus McMahon.)

The funeral of Séamus Brennan, the Fianna Fáil politician and former government minister, was held yesterday. Given that there's hardly a page of Jude: Level 1 that doesn't feature a prominent member of Fianna Fáil inciting vast crowds into a homicidal xenophobic frenzy, taking bribes from property developers, or using an illegally held firearm to try and kill a defenceless orphan, it's only fair to say that Séamus Brennan was one of the good guys. He stood up to Charlie Haughey when that was a dangerous thing to do, and he tried to clean up a corrupt and scandal-banjaxed Fianna Fáil when the task seemed impossible.

I met Séamus Brennan, for the first and only time, earlier this year. We were both receiving awards from NUIG (or University College Galway, as it was when we were there, back in the early Middle Ages). My award was for my contribution of the term "Ardcrony ballocks" to Irish literature. His was for his contribution to Irish politics, which was considerable. As Ireland's Minister for Transport in the early 1990s, he had broken the (state-owned) Aer Lingus monopoly on flights to Britain, and thus freed a tiny and struggling Irish airline called Ryanair to survive, then thrive. (The young, and the non-Irish, cursing at the 3 euros they've just paid for a small bottle of water on their 1 euro Ryanair flight, will not be aware that air travel out of Ireland, until Séamus Brennan's reforms, was far, far too expensive for 90% of the Irish population. Which was the only reason there was anyone left in Ireland by the early 1990s... My generation had to emigrate by bus.) Later, he was a highly regarded Minister for Social and Family Affairs. When I met him, this year, he was Minster for Arts, Sport and Tourism (the ever-mutating ministry which appears in Jude: Level 1, thinly disguised as the Ministry for Beef, Culture, and the Islands).

The NUIG Alumni Awards ceremony was a black tie affair, Gala Ball and all, and my noble punk spirit was seething after the third round of photographs, "Stand there", "Sit there", "Hold the award a little higher."

I said to Séamus Brennan (who was patiently cooperating, changing seats when asked, standing up, sitting down), you must get awfully sick of these events, I'd imagine this must be astoundingly boring for you. No, actually, he said. Politicians are always handing these things out, but we never get to keep one. In fact, I think this is the first award I've ever received. And it's a great feeling, it's a great honour.

He was so pleased, and humble, and as a result dignified, that I felt like a spoilt little shitehawk for not accepting the award more graciously. So I amended my attitude, and my mood improved enormously, and I had a great night, with my beloved and my family, feasting and dancing and generally knocking seven kinds of crack out of it.

I also talked quite a bit that night with Séamus Brennan, and with the blessed Michael D. Higgins, another former Minister for the Arts, and former recipient of an NUIG Alumni Award (and a former lecturer of mine, in sociology, who used to put the Labour Party's noble redistributionist policies into action by buying me coffee and buns in the canteen after lectures, when I was seventeen and staaaarving). We talked about everything from Beckett to Braveheart, and Séamus Brennan came across as a gentle, thoughtful man, at peace with himself. The shoptalk of two Ministers for the Arts gives a very entertaining insight into the peculiar mix of glamour and grind in the job. At one point, Séamus passed on Mel Gibson's best wishes (from a party the week before) to Michael D. (Michael D. Higgins had, as Minister, helped Mel shoot Braveheart here in Ireland by loaning him, among other things, the Irish Army.) I also heard some very entertaining stories about paperwork and three-foot-high piles of receipts (which reflected very well on Mel Gibson, and less well on some of our much smaller, native Irish film makers.) A mighty night.

Séamus Brennan was diagnosed with cancer a year ago, so he must have known he was dying that night. (Or dying a little faster than the rest of us, as Beckett would probably point out.) He still managed to bring something to the party.

I liked him a lot. May he rest in peace.

I was very pleased to see that Gideon Rachman, chief foreign affairs columnist of the Financial Times, firmly backs my proposal to unify Europe. (By holding the Lisbon Treaty referendum again, but this time promising Ireland's voters an ice cream if they vote yes.)

Some of those commenting on his fine piece, "An Ice Cream For Ireland", miss the point, and blather on about democracy and subsidiarity and corporate tax rates. I was obliged to join in and steer this important debate back onto the right path, pointing out:

"Yes, this talk of protocols and democracy and referendums and addendums is all very well, but let’s get down to the nitty gritty, or at least the tutti frutti. What flavour of icecream would win over the most Irish voters?

Nothing too exotic, you don’t want Ireland’s voters to feel foreign values are being foisted on them (so pistachio is out). Vanilla would be the Eurocrats’ obvious, offend-nobody choice. But, on reflection, I would vote no to vanilla. Too bland an offering is also suspicious.

My gut feeling is strawberry."

Several people, instantly grasping the simple genius of the idea, made useful suggestions. My  favourite being from David Wilkins:

"May I suggest that the ice cream given to each Irish voter should take the form of a ‘99′? That would remind the Irish that they are voting not just for themselves but also for the 99% of EU citizens who have been denied a vote on the Lisbon treaty. The whole process is, after all, distinctly flakey."

And Shevvers suggested:

"A pint of Guinness would work better than ice cream."

Which is a strong and original idea, but would be open, I fear, to legal challenge after the vote, from the remorseful and hungover voters.

It is not too late to vote for your favourite flavour over on Gideon's blog. Now that's democracy... 

(The fine photos of the leaders of Ireland's three largest political parties, in case you're wondering, are borrowed from Kieran Murphy, of Murphys Ice Cream, who has a wonderfully ice cream-obsessed website, called Ice Cream Ireland. Although, er, he doesn't know they're borrowed yet. It's a bit late to be ringing him in Dingle, at half two in the morning, to ask permission to use these, but I'll ask him tomorrow, honest. I know, it would have been great to get Brian Cowan, but he's not really an ice cream type, now, is he?)

(An Taoiseach Brian Cowan, being chased by an ice cream man for not buying an ice cream.) 

RTÉ Radio 1 (the Irish national broadcaster) will be nationally broadcasting little lumps of Jude: Level 1 all this week, from Monday to Friday. The short extracts will go out at 11.45pm each night (Irish time), and can be heard live, anywhere on earth, and probably far out into space, on the RTÉ Radio 1 stream. They are read by the brilliant Beckett actor Conor Lovett. (One of the select few actors - a band apart, a very special breed - who have appeared in both Waiting For Godot and Father Ted).

I would have posted this earlier and given you a bit of warning, but nobody had officially told me that it was happening, and I couldn't find any advance mention of it on the RTÉ website. Maybe it's a secret. Maybe I shouldn't even be telling you. (Or maybe I'm just not very good at navigating the RTÉ website...)

No, I've had another poke around the RTÉ website, and they've just updated the Book on One page (after the first episode had aired, naturally) to plug Jude. Ah, there is more rejoicing in heaven over the sinner who repents than over the goody-two-shoes who updates his website punctually.

And I've just noticed, Lucille Redmond in the Sunday Business Post previewed it, in their Radio Review section:

The Book on One this coming week sounds enticing. It’s Jude: Level 1, in which a Tipperary orphan sets off for Galway, ‘the Sodom of the West’, when the Mob burns down his orphanage. After facial surgery reconstructing him in the image of Leonardo DiCaprio (but for an erectile nose), he endures a chase through the Dublin of Ulysses. It’s to be read by Beckett interpreter Conor Lovett. 

A woman of great taste and discernment, Lucille Redmond.

Anyway, I  heard some of the first episode as it went out (the live streaming kept breaking up, I really must tinker with my internet connection... chase those storks off my chimney, hunt the voles out of the DSL box, unpeel the clinging vines from my cables), and the bits I heard sounded mighty. Sorry I couldn't warn you in advance about the first episode, but you can tune in Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at 11.45pm Irish time for more, more, MORE of Jude's adventures across Ireland.

I  think he'll be walking through Tipperary, in the dark, tonight, and may well meet the mysterious Pat Sheeran, who will give him a lift on his motorbike to the Sodom of the West... I'm not sure where Jude will be tomorrow (possibly doing battle with James Bond super-villain Charlie Haughey, on Haughey's private island). On Thursday and Friday I do believe he'll be trying to preserve his innocence as he pursues former Supermacs employee, and his true love, Angela, through the Inferno of Dublin...

And if you like that sort of filth, you can buy the book here...

Thank you Kevin, Siobhán and Ariel for the congratulations and comments on my last post...

I did indeed get given a nice piece of bog oak, Kevin. Apparently it's called an Ossian.

The award (and I will probably give myself RSI typing this out in full), is one of the annual NUIG (National University of Ireland Galway) Alumni Awards. Mine was the AIB Award for Literature, Communications and the Arts.

Met some very interesting people there. The other award winners included Gráinne Seoige of Irish-language TV fame, and Séamus Brennan, the current minister for Arts, Sport and Tourism (the ever-mutating government department which inspired the Ministry for Beef, Culture and the Islands in Jude: Level 1). As you can see above, I flirted outrageously with Séamus, while grilling Gráinne on the leading political questions of the day.

A fun night out, and Aengus has sent me many other nice pictures, which I do intend to put up on the site... But, right now, I'm more excited by the goings-on in the credit markets. You don't normally see the words "wild and inexplicable" popping up on the front page of the Financial Times...

I've been having a great, nostalgia-saturated conversation with Rachel King's sister Naomi, over on the forum. Apparently Naomi's first ever gig, aged fifteen,  was Toasted Heretic in Clogs (the legendary pub in the legendary Galway Centre for the legendary Unemployed), in 1988.

That distinguished lecturer in linguistics at Trinity College Dublin,  Dr. Breffni O'Rourke, is also chatting with us on the thread. Breffni may be better known to some of you as Toasted Heretic's chiselled-featured rhythm-guitarist in those early days (and resident Sex God, till Barry Wallace, now of The Rye, joined and took over that important role). It turns out Breff has a tape of the gig. He's a fountain of knowledge, I'd totally forgotten that decade, let alone that night. Apparently the original title of the song "Charm & Arrogance" (later the title track of our second album) was "Everybody Wants To Shag Julian Gough". Who knew?

So if you're into the intimate details of a particularly obscure Toasted Heretic gig in Clogs pub off Dominic Street in Galway city in 1988 (a gig so obscure even I'd forgotten it), by golly you've come to the right place. Click HERE...

Meanwhile, as I was reading the account of the Ireland-Brazil friendly unfolding on the Guardian's minute-by-minute live report, and as I threw in the odd email pulling the Guardian journalist's Offaly leg, I read (in the 83rd minute of the live report... the match must have hit a dull patch), that I had been, em... involved with his wonderful sister a couple of decades back, in Trinity. 

As a result I am suffering an almost lethal overdose of nostalgia, and may need to do something terribly modern to get over it.

But by jingo, this is what the internet was invented for. Gathering round the global campfire, telling tales from the old days before electricity. Hurrah!