always something there to remind you

Every time I leave Ireland the trip through the airport on the way back serves to remind you of the annoying things about living here. There are interactions that you dont seem to get at other times. The people flying from Düsseldorf to Dublin yesterday were definetly strange. The first sight of some fugg boots in a few days reminded me of where I was going back to. At the duty free checkout the German sales assistant had to interrupt my transaction to ask a bird from Wexford where she was travelling to. She had 400 bensons but had not taken the duty paid and had to go back. I knew she was from Wexford as her only concern was ‘are day da same’. The hot checkout assistant thought I was German and said some people just dont know. I told her in German that they were from the same country as me, but it was on a sign. She then said ‘some people just dont read’. I walked away cheerfully rather than embarassed. It was rare for me to mock my own people with a German but I could get used to it.

Some young builders from up north were led by alpha chav in a von dutch t-shirt. There were two middle aged coupled who talked constantly about the duty free.

There was a girl in the airport with sunglasses on at night. She was drinking with her friends. I was delighted to be sitting next to her. She had seemed to have lost her laces and the zip of her jeans and she could’nt sit still. They were also from Wexford. The only conclusion I could come to was that her friends had to go to Germany to rescue her from the excesses of something. Come to think of it maybe she had been at the love parade.

There were the guys from near the border who were clapping when we touched down. One of them shouted ‘I’m a sausage’ after we landed.

whats another year?

I read with great interest in the Tribune last weekend that:

Some people date the decline of our economy to the moment we sent Dustin the Turkey, a national in-joke, to mock our European neighbours with a terrible novelty song.

In the past we took the Eurovision song contest very seriously. When Dana won in 1970 with ‘All Kinds of Everything’, her Eurovision win was all we had. By the time Johnny Logan sang ‘What’s Another Year’ in 1980, the Euro­- vision was our main industry; it accounted for 75% of our GDP; there were Fás courses in writing pop ballads; every able-bodied youngster was apprenticed to a previous winner. Norway had oil. Denmark had fisheries. We had Eurovision wins. And now, with new-found humility, Ireland is trying to kick-start that industry once again.

That was the general feeling underlying Friday’s Eurosong 2010 Late Late Show Special: “We need the win!

Sending Dustin to represent Ireland was a bad joke that only we found funny. It is often said that the people previously loved the Eurovision but were let down by our inability to make relevant music any more. How cruelly it backfired. It was hardly our proudest moment to have a glove puppet turkey from Sallynoggin representing our country in a song contest.

It got me thinking about how Ireland went from that crap to this in 25 years. I found some images of Ireland in the 80s. Activities at the time used to include standing on a ditch watching rally cars go by, watching Paul McGrath and sniffing glue. I didnt really look too hard but you get the picture.

The change was gradual no doubt but I think a lot of the status anxiety was aroused by television. In Dublin in the mid 90’s I remember Friends started and people were hooked immediately. There was a lot of empathy shown to the characters. It seemed to make people who watched it more perceptive and wittier by watching it. It embraced absurd topics and everyone had a great laugh recalling the episodes.

A few years later it was Sex and the City. I was trying to claim to some friends that this show was one of the biggest phenomena in Irelands transformation from ugly duckling to broke rich guy.

The finale of ‘Sex’ was in 2004 and long since the the brits and the famine which had held the nation back. Around the time of the finale a lot of its female fans knew very little about it but they knew it was for them.

Fast forward to now and after consuming tons of Ugg Boots, GHD’s and san tropez tan bottles:

orthopedic uggs?

I could’nt really feel bad for the girl on the crutches on exchequer st last night. She scowled at a taxi for not picking her up. I asked her if they were orthpedic uggs. I dont think she answered or got a taxi.