Documentary of the Year

As we enter into award season, I love checking out some of the potential nominees. I always start on the Best Documentary catagory, what docs are more than likely going to be in the short list for accolades over the coming months, the first I checked out has blown my mind. It's the documentary directed by Banksy, 'Exit Through The Gift Shop', fucking quality. You enter into it expecting a simple doc which explains and delves into the rise of Street Art but the film takes a completely turn. Just check it out - here is the link to check the whole film and a trailer to get you aroused.

http://watch-movies.ro/movie/exit_through_the_gift_shop_(2010)

I Have To Hit The Showers

I really don't want to get talking about this with anyone, but I have to, it is irritating me so much to even think about it, but I have to get it off my chest. I feel a painful strain on my shins and my back as I'm writing this but what the fuck else can I blog about after tonight. It is a series of things really.

I need to get the fuck out of dodge as soon as I finish this course, that's if this course isn't on the chopping block on the December 4th. I need to get out of this shit hole for a while, I'm getting cabin fever. As the weeks go by I feel less and less association with this country and the cunts that are within it. Everything about the place just annoys me and I feel like I'm on a completely different page than the whole lot of it. The place is just boring the fucking arse off me. There is nothing exciting going on here and it's only going to get worse over the coming 4 years. I bored, I'm bored, I'm bored, and trust me, I've tried to entertain myself.

It's not just all the political fuck up's. To be perfectly honest, I don't care about it that much anymore. I knew they we crooked cunts years ago and I'm not surprised they fucked all that shit up. It was going to happen to the greedy pricks at some stage, it was only a matter of time. You knew just on the look of them, the physical look of them that they were dodgy. Did the people of Ireland not realize all this after 'shirt-gate' with Charlie? All these guys were young fella's in the party when all that shit was going on. By the look of them, I knew it; they looked like baddies and I felt that every time we voted them in. They looked like the type of dodgy idiots that were capable of all this. They looked like the cast of Dick Tracey for fuck sake.





Whose Who?

I don't get the whole attitude in the country, Dublin especially. I just watched an episode of Prime Time, getting the news that the country is going down the swany and after the show, being advertised, watch Fade Street, next Thursday. Are you serious, The Irish Hills, are you for real. I can’t wait, I truly cannot wait to see how those upper-middle class idiots get on in their fake MCD internships, I really cannot wait. Will they be late again, I wonder? How will that one with the black hair get over the fact she is going blow one of those Peter Mark hairdoed band members. 'You've got to pump it up. You have to pump it up', she certainly is. For real, are you messing with me or shall I stab myself in the eyes with my own knob now or later. And you know what, lads, Irish Television, it's only gonna get worse. You think that Irish Television is bad now, wait until the next budget. RTE see you later - you’re gone.

The Arts as well, you thought it was hard to get arts council funding for your theatre company in this country last year, well, you ain't seen nothing yet. You must be fucking joking. There was really good campaign in motion there for a few minutes, to help promote the importance of the arts in every aspect of society. That is pretty much nil-in-void now if you ask me and it is back to the drawing board. I suppose the Abbey Theatre will actually have to stick to their brief now. They will have to actually use Irish actors & directors in the national theatre, we won’t have the cash for the likes of Alan Rickman and Co. for the next 4 years, they'll all have to head to the Gate next year.



I saw a great interview there with author & historian, Tim Pat Coogan, and it really hit home how morto this whole thing is. We are a young country, an extremely young fucking country. The Republic was proclaimed less than a hundred years ago, The free state, where we started actually making important decisions about the running of the country began in 1922, under ninety years ago and the republic itself, only officially came into recognition in 1937 so we have, as a Republic, only been going for just over 70 years. Less than the average life time expectancy for people in this country. What a banana republic we have created in such a short space of time.



I often wonder what motivates people like revolutionaries and historical figures in their own time, to lay down your life like that, to make the ultimate sacrifice. Did they really mean all of it or was it just the cool thing to do back then. They didn't have tabloids or fashion industries or TV3 or any of that shit back then to tell them what to do, so, maybe, dying for your country was the going on 'X-Factor' of their time. Was Wolfe Tone the Mary Byrne of 1798? Was Robert Emmet's public execution the equivalent to Westlife turning on the Christmas lights in 1803? And were the Pearce Brothers, the Jedward of 1916? Who knows? To fight in open war on your doorstep, it seems . . . . harder, less craic. Thank god, I don't have to do that. Does anyone want a dab?

When I look around today, I don't see how we are even remotely related to these men and women. Any nationalism or republicanism I see these days is so forced and fake and ignorant, i.e. that idiot wearing a Celtic jersey, brandishing a sign stating 'No Foreign Games' outside Corker that time. I see people who go on about it all the time as complete charlatans and I see through their visad. I would actually put myself and my peers into the shoes of these historical heroes and truly ask myself and my fellow Irishmen the questions. Would we do that? Would we have the passion? Would we have the patriotism? Would we have the balls to do anything even remotely like that? or would we just rather get stoned and watch Fade Street again. Would we just simply say, 'Ah fuck this, I'm off to Copper's to get hammered and wear some nurse home as a hat.' I am truly terrified of the answers I may hear, I really am.



Getting back to my initial point. I need to get out of here for a while; I've been here for too long. I go to Berlin & London and I feel like I'm in an actual city. That there is a real buzz there, people are not naf. I talk to people I know in these cities and they are loving it. They feel like there is something going on there, there is a completely different buzz in the places. They don't miss Dublin that is for sure. The more I think about it, the naffer Dublin seems

My eye is on New York, I'm gonna jump on that year visa you can get from USIT and see you later, I’m off. My mate, Russell, just got back there. He said it took him a few weeks to get into it and as soon as he felt like he was settling, he had to come home sadly. It just seems like a completely different world to this. I'm gonna finish this course and I'm off. January 2012, I reckon. I'm gone



One last message to anyone political out there, who I would say are reading this in their droves, are you listening - get your fucking shit together and stop being so fucking conservative, open your mind to new ideas that might save us, you are all so fucking scared to try anything different that might help the economy - here are a few ideas that might actually help morale & the economy - just consider these, talk about them, see what they might do for the economy - Extend Pub Licensing - Extend Off Licence Hours - Legalise Weed, seriously consider it - and please cut that 'Cheque Cashing' payment from the Public Sector before I go on a killing spree up there.

To end on a positive note, that Irish performance against the All Blacks on Saturday was the first feeling of Irish pride I've had in ages - Fair fucks to you, lads

That's it I'm going to bed - I'm tired and so is he, below

I'm Not A Celebrity, Giv Me Some Mo

Okay, it has taken a week in bed with the worst man flu ever and watching the first week of 'I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here' to get stuck into another blog, my first blog in the month of November. . . . and October. I have realized that this show is one of the greatest shows since 'The Grand Knockout Tournament' when comes to fucking up real celebrities.



Some how a group of producers have gotten a handful of quite well known celebrities this year, I will never know how. I know normally they are a group of nobodies and has-beens that I never know or never have much interest in but, this year, we have Linford Christie, Shaun Ryder, that politician, Lemptit, who rode a Cheeky Girl, that goofy bird from X Factor, Dom Joly and they just brought on that fat bird from Big Brother. You know, real celebrities. But the one who is standing out for me is that oul'one who sniffs through peoples shit for fibre on that sort of weight watchers show, Gillian whatser name.



Gillian is this frail, little vegan that keeps on getting picked for each task which, of course, involves eating all sorts of mad shit, swimming with baby crocodiles and eels & being bearded alive. This woman is about to have a nervous breakdown, it is amazing television. She has fainted twice, each time better than the last and I can’t wait for the next one. She keeps asking, 'Why do the public keep putting me up?' and I’m happy to give her an answer to that question.

You're being a cunt. Stop being a cunt and you'll see, the public will feel sympathy for you. You wont have to crawl through that pitch-dark tunnel of tarantulas, a task that can only end with you pissing yourself for my amusement. Trust me, they will give a tsk to Linford, he is starting act like a complete cunt so there is your way out. You don't have to even stop being a cunt, just stop talking and Linford will do the work for you.



How much are they paying these people? It must be a healthy amount because you would have to pay me a fortune to do any of that shit and then to put it on TV, fuck that. These people are elected politicians, professional comedians, live-broadcasters, decorated athletes, and music legends, you would think they would know better than a podgy twat from Dublin like me, who doesn't know his arse hole from his ear hole when it comes to making the right decision. They must be getting paid a fuck load.

The whole philosophy behind the show is amazing, it's phenomenal. We are no longer as a society putting celebrities on pedestals and looking up to them. We have turned them into clowns, dance, dance, dance, pig, dance. I used to always think this show was another self-indulgent show about celebrities, another wanky celebration of people who are famous, and how annoying they were. But no, this is different, this is amazing, this should be studied. This should be celebrated, I am so hooked, it unreal. Maybe it might have something to do with my man flu or the high doses of antibiotics & steroids I've been on for the last week but I'm going to watch this show every year now for the rest of time. 'Until the day comes where they have laid out in Marge's funeral home, and truck me off to Mount Almond.'

Russell

I haven't written a blog in exactly a month now, a month, a month to the day. I don't know, it was probably a combination of a few things, not having enough time, sheer laziness and a down right lack of inspiration. Inspiration is everything when it comes to writing these things, you need to really be into whatever you are talking about and I just haven't had anything to talk about over the month of September, it has been pretty uneventful, well, in blog terms . . . . until now. Today is the 29th birthday . . .Well, I think he is 29 . . or is it 28 . . its either 28th or 29th, either way, that’s not what is important. Today is the birthday of our brother abroad - The one, the only, Russell Simmons. No wait he's not the only is he.



Russell was either born on the 1st October 1981 or 1982, I don't know. If it was 1981, while Russell’s Ma was screaming her head off in the Rotunda, Adam & the Ants were top of the charts with Stand and Deliver . . . . . . Jesus, I've been reading up on October the 1st in 1981 and absolutely fuck all happened on this day, lets hope Russell was born in 1982, I think it's more interesting. . . . . okay, lets go. On the muggy morning of the 1st of October 1982, while Eye Of The Tiger was enjoying its 3rd week at number one, while Liverpool were ripping other teams a new arsehole in football, while some kid in Japan bought the very first CD in a shop, while Grafton Street was preparing to become a pedestrian only street for the first time, another thing was happening, up in the Rotunda Hospital, Mrs. Simmons was trying with all her might to add her contribution to the world. To grace the world with her eldest son - Russell

My story with Russell begins in 1997, I was making my move from De La Salle to the High School, I think Russell was making a similar move; we were both new kids in this new palace of tits and arse, it was great. Myself and Russell became aware of each other as permanent fixtures on the High School rugby team’s bench. I was there because I was just plain shite but poor Russell spent most of his rugby life rooted to the bench because he was a hooker, he lived in the shadow of captain fantastic, Ross MacNally, but he finally got his time in sixth year, High Schools finest hour, knocking Roscrea out the Cup, Russell was throwing like the Holy Spirit that day, what a fucking game, what a tush . . . . Pity they got the shit kicked out of themselves in the next round by Rock, but no one remembers that.



As a rugby player, Russell never conformed to the typical rugby - jock behaviour. Instead of giving or receiving nipple cripples and pulling a mates boxers over their head, he decided no, he decided to hang with a different type of group in the school, a group so unique that I don't think their like will be seen in that school again. This group had many names, The Wasters, The Messers, The Scumbags, yes, I'm talking about the gang of lads that terrorised the A Floor jacks between 1997 and 2000. Never had the school seen a group of lads who had such a lack of school spirit, Russell's rugby effort was the only sign of 'High School Pride' within this group. They had mastered the art of the pea shooter; ripping unfortunate teachers as they passed.

At this stage I knew Russell’s mate, JJ, a lot better, as he was in my class. I got talking to JJ and he was telling me all about his escapades in the Tivoli and that he and Russell were djing there. This was in fucking 6th year, djing to me at this stage was like what some dude did at a wedding. At this stage, for me going out and clubbing was the 'pound a pint' night in Bar 47 or maybe rocking up to The Vatican on a Saturday Night. So a couple of us heard about this and we're like 'what the fuck is that all this about?' We head up to the Tivoli and there is JJ & Russell up there, giving it the fucking big boy shit, lashing out this nasty techno to a load of cunts in their late twenties, all of which were madge out of it. It was all a bit much, these 2 chuns were studying for their Leaving, and there they were bangin it out to a load of mashed out of heads about ten years their senior. Get the fuck in there, lads, i thought.



There is a bit of a gap then in me and Russells connection, we might of seen each other occasionally at a 21sts, just hangin out with different cunts and then literally about six years ago it began every weekend, we were getting along grand, we were building a wholesome bond, sometimes physical but mostly verbal, mentally having sex every weekend with each other and then off he went to Australia for a year . . . . . that’s that, I thought to myself, he's gone, he's left me. He never thought to let me know, it was just 'I'm heading to Oz, dude' . . . . Just like that. Gone. Off to have the crack with a load of other chuns without me. Off to have a laugh with a bunch of people I didn't even know and will never know. Myself and Greg didn't know where to turn. This began one of man's greatest projects - Project Russell - bravo, lads! Bravo!



Forward on to St Stephens Day a year later, Me and Greg loosing our bollix at Leopardstown Racecourse, freezing our balls off in the stand, surrounded by twats with binoculars hanging from their necks in suits and we are sipping pints that took us an hour to get. We are in dire need of a surprise, we needed something that was going to boost moral - my phone rings

'Hello'

'Hay Jack, what’s the crack? Do you know who this is? I am looking at you right now.'

'What' I thought to myself 'Who the fuck is this?'

'It's Russell, man, I came home yesterday'

And with that Russell appears beside us. Hugs and kisses all round, well, not kisses, even though I wanted to but I didn't want to push it, he had just got back. That night, we hit town and to say we threw our hands up in the air and shook them around like we just didn’t care, would have been a very big understatement and we pretty much did that every weekend since. Russell has gone into the Jack Olohan Hall of Fame of Sessioners; he has out done himself when it comes to having the craic over the last 3 years. He has consistently shown 100% commitment to the sesh and I believe he needs to be applauded for it. Congrates, bro, you deserves it. He has now left us again to go the Big Apple and to say he is sorely missed by one and all back here in Ireland would be an even bigger understatement, way bigger than the understatement I mentioned earlier in this paragraph. Happy Birthday, dude, go out there a tear that town a new one, you lucky bastard. I wish I was there.

My 2 Entries - Come on the Picnic

I entered a competition to win 2 Electric Picnic tickets from Heineken, I had to write about if I had a choice to bring 3 famous people to the Picnic who would it be. here are my 2 entries - fingers crossed -



What is this with people picking famous people like Jim Morrison & Hunter S Thompson, I couldn't think of anyone more intense and annoying to go to a festival with. Yes, they go down in history as being two of the most out there, mad yolks the world has ever seen but I go to a festival to chill out, not to be freaked out. If you were staying with the 2 of them, Jim would spend most of his time pontificating about how beautiful the world is, while in one hand he would have a bottle of Jack and with the other he would be feeling up your girlfriend. And as for Hunter, you would be waking up in the middle of the night with him on top of you, sticking a gun in your mouth, asking you why you are here. No, my people will be some of the most easy going famous people. Not messy or outspoken or portentous, just sound out of it. Someone who me and my mates can actually buzz off. Persons who will be able to keep up for the weekend, keep going till the bitter end. Number 1 - Billy Bragg - Probably the soundest man I have never met. You can just tell by Billy, he is bang on; there is no two ways about it. He would not be full of himself in any way; he wouldn't be constantly talking about himself. He can talk music, he can talk film, he can talk football. Just very pleasant company, outrageously so! Number 2 - John Peel - Now if you want to have another person who can give you good, funny conversation about music and football and, in turn, keep a chilled out atmosphere, John Peel is your man. He can hold his own at any drink session as can Billy, and again, not portentous, just sound out of it. The two of them are gas as well, they would be cracking you up. Number 3 is person who would fit right in there with Billy & John & Myself - Noel Gallagher - I don't know if anyone has seen interviews with Noel Gallagher but now that Oasis are finished, he should definitely pick up a career in stand up. He is hilarious. He'd be the craic, he would be sessioning until the bitter end, until we haven’t an ounce of energy left and you'd be busting your hole laughing for pretty much the whole time. Jim Morrison & Hunter S Thompson! Are you for real? What a nightmare? Try a little taste of Billy Bragg, the late John Peel & Noel Gallagher - I can just see the 4 of us chilling out inside in the Body & Soul Area, sipping on a beer with not a care in the world, talking about how amazing Leftfield were last night - Leccy Piccy 2010, lets be having you



Entry Number 2 -

I have finally arrived at the Picnic; I can’t believe it, where has the summer gone. I've taken it way too handy, this is my first festival of the year so I'm pretty much gonna make up for all that lost time. I’m gonna have a level of crack that I can’t even comprehend myself - who will come with me on this monstrous journey of palpitating enjoyments? The four man tent is up and ready for myself and my 3 famous reveller mates, I've made it the comfiest bloody tent on the face of the planet, the thing is filled with 8 large cushions, and when I say large, I mean massive, these thing are ridiculously big. We have 4 king-size,15 tog duvets and 4 whopper sleeping bags, those sleeping bags with the hoods on them that cost about a hundred squid. I would also have a small generator hooked up to a pair of deadly speakers and an full ipod so that tunage, whilst in the campsite, isn't an issue at any stage of the weekend. Outside the tent there are four up-market gazebos tied together, real quality ones and a generous selection of camping chairs with a security guard watching them. Now time for the arrival of my first festival friend - Storm from the X-Men - The number one thing needed for a top class festival experience is amazing weather so who else to put in there but the weather controlling Storm. If a big, horrible, apocalyptic rain cloud is about to position itself over Stradbally come next Friday, don’t worry, there will be nothing to fear, my friends - with a lift of Storm's eyebrow that cloud will be history and it will be nothing but sun, sessioning and soundness for the next three days and nights. As well as that, she can fly, guess who is being sent to the offo every time we run out of gargle. Also, sharing a tent with Hally Berry would be absolutely savage. Festival Room-mate 2 has to be someone who is gonna crack me up throughout my stay, so my next friend for the weekend is the late, great Bill Hicks. From crude, controversial, drunken hilarity at night to sound, intelligent, hangover conversation over breaky. A perfect additive to my festival adventure. Also, he would always be stocked up with smokes, something that is key to my festival going pleasure. My final friend in tent is my imaginary pet silver-back gorilla, Mick. Mick is 9 ft tall, he weighs about 800lbs, he wears a bowler hat and is smoking a stogy at all times. He is chilled out as a mofo, once you don't annoy him and whenever we are going anywhere, I just hop up on his shoulders and off we pop. I never get tired walking around all day, I get to where I'm going a lot faster and I've pretty much got the best view of every stage at the festival. Also, Mick is no lightweight; he can gargle with the best of them so he will be able to keep up with myself, Storm and Bill for the duration of the weekend. He is some man for getting the beer into him, I can tell you. In fact, he is notorious for robbing people’s beer at house parties back home. What are people gonna do about it if they have a problem with him, he's a 9ft, silver-back gorilla, Mick will wear them as a hat if there is any back chat. He is also hilarious craic when you get him going so, in my opinion, he would be ideal tent-mate for this years Picnic. Come on the Picnic 2010!

Go On The Fucking County

There I was on my couch yesterday afternoon, hung over, getting stuck into a day of football. I just watched Arsenal take Blackburn and I was sitting comfortably and ready to get stuck into Jeff Skilling and the lads for Super Soccer Saturday. We were watching the Chelsea v Stoke game on the laptop aswell; it was quite obsessive now that I think of it. Within the first twenty minutes of kick off of the 3 o clock games, Notts County, my newly promoted sweet hearts, were 3 - 0 down for the third time this season. This was starting to annoy me.

Last season, Notts County beat all kinds records in League 2 - scoring a record 93 points & a record 96 goals and winning promotion in some serious fucking style. They are finally back in League 1, a place they sadly left in 2004. I thought, we'll probably hang around League 1 for a couple of seasons and maybe, with a bit of luck, after a while, find ourselves in the Championship.

The season kicks off with Hudderfield and we get fucking hockied 3-0, okay, understandable, first game of the season, they are playing one of the favourites to win the league this year. Understandable.

The second game is a Carling League Cup first round game and we are against Plymouth, a championship team, this game is a bit more optimistic and we manage to take them 1-0and we are in their ground. Okay, the first game was obviously a complete fuck up.

Second league game, Oldham athletic, okay, we could take these cunts. Oldham have always been a team I could never respect, they have no personality, we'll take from the Plymouth game and start kicking ass. Ninty minutes later, we were 3-0 down - no points - Minus 6 six goal difference, for fuck sake. This is not a good start. The League Cup is good but lets face it, we're not gonna win it. We gotta think about getting wins under belt.

Next game is Dagenham and Redbrige, the daggers, I don't even know where this club is, and it is 2 towns, we are the city of Nottingham, think about it, if those 2 towns had to come together to make a club, the places must be fucking tiny. Lets go, off the mark 3 points. It is a long 90 minutes but we manage to get an 82 minute winner. Get in there, points on the board. Get in there.

Time for the 2 round of the League Cup and we are taking on another Championship club - Watford. We are away to a club that only recently got relegated from the premiership. This will probably be our exit. Half time it is 0-0, grand, kick off the second half and Ben Davis gets a sweet header pretty much immediately for County and it is all too fucking play for. 10 minutes, bang! Ben Burgess get a second one for County - Holy Shit, we are actually gonna win this bad boi. The game finishes 2-1 and we draw the Premier League's Wolves in Round 3. Savage, bring it on. This season is starting to pick up.

I then come back to yesterday afternoon and we are 3-0 down to Bournemouth after 20 minutes, for fuck sake. We get back one before half time. Here is hoping. 60th minute - no score - 70th - no luck - 80th minute - still nothing - 90th minute - still 3-1. That is pretty much it. Oh, County get a 91st minute consolation goal to make it 3-2 and hold it . . . . . hold it. . . . 93rd minute goal - it's 3-3, get in there you little fucking beauty. This season is gonna be alright after all.

Come on County!

30 Years of the Springboks

The day has come, that long awaited moment has happened for my good mate, Greg Spring. He has finally reached the mature and virile age of 30. 30 years of age. This is significant for me as well, as it marks that I myself have only 6 months of my twenties left to enjoy because it happened when Greg turned 18, it happened when Greg turned 21 and still to this day he is 6 months older than me. I know Greg for about 18 of those years and when I think of it he hasn’t aged a day. The way he looks today is the way he looks in my head the day we met. I am extremely proud and honoured to have known him for majority of his life so in celebration of his 30th year I am dedicating a blog to the growdiest chunfella in Dublin.

I think for us to enjoy and experience the next thirty years of Gregory Paul Spring, we must look back at the last thirty years of Gregory Paul Spring. To truly understand what this man is about. To get into his head, what makes him tic. To have a quick look into the mind of the individual that brought you sayings like chun-a-gred, tweeders, grauwd, HHHooolllaanndd is it and sticking 'ways' at the end of pretty much every word in the English language.

A lot of things happened in August 1980, ABBA were Top of the Pops with ‘The Winner Takes It All’, People in Texas were having a terrible old time with Hurricane Allen, poor auld Mohammad Reza Pahlavi kicked the bucket, promoters in the USSR finally got to bring over a rock band for the first time in there countries history and Nerds were still cuing up in their droves to see Empire Strikes Back but something a little more exciting was happening in a little old suburban town of London, called Surrey. Gregorious Springus was about to enter the world. Born to a very proud Tony and Roz Spring at 3:25 in morning. Weighing in at a healthy 4 pounds, 3 ounces, the nurses knew as she cleaned him off that there was something special about this one. Who in the world could possibly have cuter dimples than this little growd.



Greg eventually grew from a baby into a little boy with the most hilarious haircut in the world, I got onto to Laura, his sister, to scan the photo and send it over to me to put up but sadly she doesn't have a scanner in her gaf.

Even though Greg was a Londoner through and through, he found his love with a football team that he had no association with - Liverpool FC, Tony, who is a die hard Fulham fan, must of been livid. Surrey is also the place where Greg found his love of the English team which many believe he still has to this day. He has recalled many times to me and his mates, his meeting with Matt Le Tissier and with typical cockney cheek, he ran up to Le Tissier and asked




'Mista Le Tissier, Mista Le Tisser, Why won't you ever make the England Team?'

And Matt simply replied

'Coz Bobby Robson thinks I'm too lazy, son.'

In 1991, Greg and his family moved to the mysterious island to the left of England, the homeland of his mother, Roz. He had vague memories of going over to see aunties and uncles but nothing would prepare him for what was about to happen on the mean streets of Rathfarnham in South Dublin.

Within his first week of arriving in Rathfarnham, Greg would make a significant trip to Talking Heads barbers off the Grange Road, this is a significant moment in Greg's life as he would never change this hair style for the rest of his life. It would remain the same for pretty much the next 19 years.

In 1993, Greg entered De Le Salle College in Churchtown to begin his secondary level education, a place where he would encounter some of the teachers that would go on to inspire Greg to this day. Mr. MacSherry, Dave Harding, Mr. Masterson and, of course, the one, the only Chaz.



The Class of 1-3 is where Greg would meet some of the mates he still has to this day - Davey Dwyer, Kieth Downes, Barry Collins, Stuart Doyle and it was through our muturel love of smoking that me and Greg's paths were crossed. Myself, Barry Collins and Davey formed us a band, called JIP. We would be going on about the band and Greg has told me many times that he longed to be a member. ‘He was so jealous of the band.’

Greg's teenage years pretty much consisted of a few things - De La Salle, The Green, Enniskerry, Wesley, . . . . Have I forgetting anything . . . . No, I don't think I have.

The Willbrook Green was the place where we perfected our football skills and I remember distinctly a very heated game of '3 And In' between myself and the Gregmiester, it went on for about a half an hour. I challenged, he excepted, . . . . . . . . He won 3-2. . . . . He such a competitive bastard, ask anyone, beating him at anything feels better than anything else in the world. I will continue to try.



The Green was also a place for hidings and leggin it from hidings for Greg, myself and our chums. We would be enjoying our 15th game of 'Heads N Vollies' of the day and Jamers, Micko and Stobber would pop around for a bit of a chat . . . and a few slaps. Many a time Greg was victim to a fair search, key word here is ‘fair’.

The green eventually was our drinking ground, a place where Greg would prove to be the meanest fucking drunkard the planet has ever seen, a trait that he has some how shaken. In fact I can’t remember the last time I've seen Greg completely bollixed. Ye know, tripping over himself drunk. I have an image of Greg passed out, face down on my oul'pairs living room floor at about 9 o clock at night and my pair were home at about 10. My brother is screaming at me to get this fucking mess out of the gaf. I then remember lugging Greg up to his gaf, me and Franko, leaning him against the door, ringing the bell and legging it. Me and Franko turned around to see Greg's Ma opening the door and Greg falling in after the door. All we could here was - 'Greg, are you alright. Greg'



This behaviour brought us to our next port of call - Wesley. Wesley, probably one of the greatest places. Greg was in Disneyland. I can't really go into any details here but all I can say is TFW. Every Friday we used to gobble our nags on the 48a and in we go with our fake Wesley memberships. Pornography is the only word that can describe what went on in there. It was fuckin savage. After about 2 years, we all evolved to Bectiv where, in terms of the pornography, the bar was raised. Eventually it got a bit scauldy so we began our treks into town.

Out of the blue, one day, I get a call from a bird that I used to know from Wesley, asking if me and the lads wanted to come down to Enniskerry to have a bit of crack, have some cans. 'Fuckin right' I said. I tell Greg and the lads, off to Enniskerry we went willies in hand. It was probably one of the best days of our lives. We went down to be greeted by a massive gang of birds, not a bloke in site. We all got our score on but never had I ever heard of a man getting raped by a bird until that day, and a bald bird at that. Greg was taken advantage of. He was passed out and whilst passed he was accosted sexually. I believe there was a very brief pregnancy scare that soon proved to be false. But it was one of my fondest Greg memories.



A couple of years later when we were about 17, myself and Davey started going out with these girls from Alexander College and a few of these girls mates were very quick to warm to the Springboks, three of them if I'm not mistaken. Over a period of a month, he went out with 3 of them. He was with the first and lost interest pretty quickly, was then going out with her mate the following week and then thought it would be a great idea to not break up with that mate and just start seeing another one at the same time. It was very impressive if you ask me and these birds were hot too. Here was the first sign of the Spring Womanizing Skills kicking into gear. The funny thing was he got away with it. When it all transpired what was going on with these two birds, everyone was cool. They all remain mates to this day including Greg.

Which brings me to another story of Greg getting away with murder. It was warm summer’s night in about July. Greg, myself and the lads were stumbling home from Revels in Rathfarnham Village at about half one. We stroll in through Fonthill which is a short cut home and we discover this JCB, well, it's more like a thing that spreads tarmac. The thing is fuckin huge. There is a dude who is supposed to be watching the fucker who is asleep in a car, he will rue the day he ever fells asleep on the job again. Before you can say, 'way too much to drink', Gal and Greg were in the cockpit of this thing, have started the bad boy up, have lost complete control of the thing and were now beelining for this big fucking gaf. We all stand, holding our breath as we see our 2 mates mill through the front garden wall, into the garden and if it wasn't for the big fucking tree in the front garden, the digger would have been in the suiting room of this house. I have this memory of running up the road beside Greg and the 2 of us are nearly shitting in our kacks with the laughter. The next day we swing by the gaf and there is the owner of the house scratching his head, looking at the digger.



After school, Greg disappeared off to Taunten in Summerset for a couple of years, why? I, still to this day, do not know, neither does he. His oul lad got him this job in his mate’s warehouse. Obviously, Greg felt reminisant of the last story when he was left alone in the warehouse and thought it would be a great idea to jump into a forklift truck that he thought he could drive. Now, to say he lost control of the thing would be an understatement. Not only did he loose control but in doing that he completely wrecked a massive warehouse of stock. There is an image that I will never be able to get rid of as long as I live and it is Greg in this forklift, crying, as it destroying everything in the place.

With his time in England, Greg had 3 memorable relationships - Lisa, Louise and more importantly, Murph. Murphy Spring came along about 9 years ago and as of yet there has never been a bird that even compares to Murph in Greg’s life. Never have I ever seen a man and his cat have an intelligent conversation like Greg and Murph. I've seen them have an argument, like a full blown row.

Eventually, Greg was ready to come home to Ireland and he was bringing Murph with him. I was living in this gaf in Temple Bar, I had just had a whopper session in my place. It was a savage night at Thursday Backlash in Wax. I was only getting started clubbing at this stage, Greg wasn't into it at all. It had been all pubs, the shit clubs and never getting your hole up to that point. I get a phone call -



'Jacko, what's the crack? It's Greg.'

'Fuckin hell, man, what is the story with you?'

'I'm home for good, man. Fancy meeting up.'

'Yeah,'

About 4 hours later, me and Greg are having a coffee in Hag N Daz ice cream parlour in Temple Bar and we discuss what he is thinking of doing?

'I'm thinking of going for this job in Anglo Irish Bank.'

'Sweet, My mate Sean Ryman works there, defo take that, bro. I hear they’re a very reputable bank' !!!!!!!!!

Greg ended up taking the job and from there, pretty much the pair of us have been meeting up every weekend to get sessioned the fuck out of it and it has been the crack. Too many laughs to even comprehend and it continues to this day and tonight should not be any different. I can't wait to celebrate my best mates 30th tonight, it is gonna be fucking savage. Get there you little beauty.

Happy Birthday Greg, see you tonight for an insane amount of crack . . . . . back to yours after, yeah.

Zog This!

This is a short little blog about a certain player I think should be on a lot of manager wish lists in this transfer window. He has just announced that he wants to be transfered and I think he is a real prospect to be a success at a top club.

Charles N'Zogbia was one of those players that I never really considered as an amazing player at Newcastle, I think it was that I never realised his age, he was only a kid back then. The guy signed for Newcastle in 2004 at the age of 17, the last signing made by Bobby Robson and before he knew it he was a first team regular, playing 41 games and scoring 6 goals in his first season. He had another sweet following season but was being played more so in the left back role, a position that he can still play in to this day. He only managed to score 3 goals in 05/06 but was being eyed up as potential utility player by the likes of Arsenal. I believe the only reason he never really excelled beyond Newcastle in these days was the arrival of Duffer, who pretty much took his position and he warmed the bench under Glenn Roeder for a season and a half. The next season, of course, was the faithful mess of a season where Newcastle faltered to the Championship.

But now at the maturing age of 24, Charles N'Zogbia, in his first season for Wigan Athletic, he has been awarded both their Players' Player of the Year and Fans' Player of the Season for 09/10. Wigan bought him for a bargain price of 8 million quid, what a fucking bargain. He went on to play 49 games last season, scored 6 goals and in that 3-2 come back against Arsenal, he showed some serious leadership qualities. Also now that the French International team has got someone with a brain at the helm, there is no doubt he will be featuring heavily over the next couple of years for them.

I think N'Zogbia would fit into the Arsenal set-up brilliantly, contesting on that left side and also as good cover for Clichy in left back. Also with Everton, he would be good competition for the likes of Bilyaletdinov on the left also cover for Leighten Baines in defence. Anyway, enough of me blowing smoke up this cunts arse . . . . . I'm hungry.

Poor Aisling

I just read a hilarious article about one of the Xpose girls on TV3 where a couple of lads from Cork put up a facebook page which was entitled 'Get Rid of Aisling O’Loughlin from Xposé'. It obviously gathered up a significant amount of support because she is not happy about it in the slightest. Supposedly, she was so fuming that she has gone and looked for legal advice, threatened to go to the gardi because she has claimed that she has become a victim of cyber bullying at the hands of the cheeky Cork facebookers.

I'm sorry, Aisling, I don't know if you smell the ironic cup of coffee here but I would like to remind you that you are a host on a show call Expose, one of the most reprehensible tabloid shows that has ever graced Irish screens. You do nothing but report on celebrities private lives and engross yourself in gossip whether it be positive or negative. Once it's something that you're cretiness audience might be into, you stick it in there, it doesn't matter to you and now you have the balls to give out when someone has something to say about you. Would you ever get out of it!

Another thing that I want to let you know about Aisling is, you are a celebrity now. You are in the public eye. Whether you realise it or not, you are on television now and that means you are a celebrity, an Irish celebrity. You are going to be in the tabloids. If you put a step wrong, people will write about it. If you are bad at your job, people will slag you. Look at Pat Kenny, do you think every time he got a slagging, he ran to the police. No, he is in the public eye; he takes it on the chin every time. Get some thick skin and take your scalding, it’s a part of the life you’ve chosen.

I would have loved to have heard the conversation with your lawyer.

'Eh, ooh my god, people are, like, slagging me on facebook, what's the crack with me, like, suing them?'

'What?'

'A load of feckin ejjits on facebook are slagging me and I want to, like, nip this in the bud, like, asap.

'Sorry, Aisling, you're in the public eye, it's called free press. If you put yourself out there, people are going to have an opinion on you. Just like you have an opinion on all the celebrities you have on your show.'

'Oh, it's like the same thing is it?'

'Yeah, it is the same thing.'

The bottom line is, if Aisling O’Loughlin wants this slagging to stop, she could look at the reasons why she is getting it in the first place. I have had the pleasure of seeing her in action a number of times and she is priceless. She obviously does no research on her subjects. Here are a few Aisling classics

1. She is interviewing the actor who is playing Spock in the new Star Trek movie. At the end of the interview she says 'Well, thank you for meeting with me and I think there is only one thing left to say, May the force be with you.'

2. She is doing the celebrity news – ‘Pamela Anderson is in Dublin signing copies of her new autobiography, sadly, she was not accompanied by her on and off husband Tommy Lee Jones.’

They are just two that come to mind from the anthology of Aisling O’Loughlin quotes. Look, the bottom line is the whole TV3 station is a joke, she is not alone in there, she is not alone on that show of hers. Where do you guys think you are living? You are living in Ireland, one of the most cynical places in the world, if you are on television you are going to get a slagging, your show is awful, what do you expect. Never was the phrase ‘You reap what you sow’ more perfect for a person working on Expose.

Enemy of my Plate

Here I am sitting in on a nice Tuesday night, hoping to watch a sweet ass action movie. Me and Tara watched Clockwork Orange last night so tonight we thought we would see if there was something on that wasn't going to freak Tara out so much. I stick on Saving Private Ryan which is on Film Four, thinking that Tara would fancy it. Since getting home from Berlin, she has been obsessed with World War 2. We don't make it through the first scene so we stick on Enemy of the State, starring Will Smith over on TV3. It has been absolutely ages since I've seen this beauty and a bit of Bruckheimer easy going action was exactly what the doctor ordered.

We are about half way through watching it and we realised that this story is completely ridicules and I'm not talking about all the mad surveillance stuff. That is the best part about the movie, all that shit with satellites looking down on us, amazing. No, I'm talking about the story; there is no reason for any of the madness that goes on throughout the movie. None of it.

Basically, this is the story. Some US Senator played by Jason Robards is walking his dog by a lake and he is having a conversation with John Voight who is playing one of these heads of the NSA who wants to bring in this law where there will be 24 hours surveillance on the public but Jason Robards' character doesn't want to pass it so John Voight then has him killed right there and then by one of his goons.

One of the strangest things about this whole movie, before I go any more into the mental story, is the casting, especially the casting of the NSA goons. All of them are actors you know from comedies, they are not exactly the run of the mill NSA types - Jack Black, Seth Green, Jamie Kennedy, Spike Jones, that Irish actor Ian Hart what he is doing there I will never know, Scott Caan who played one of those twins in Ocean 11, Jake Busey who is Gary Busey's son, he is a skinnier, lankier version of his oul fella and the only other movie I can think of seeing him in is Starship Troopers, which is one opf the funniest films of all time. The only one I can take, in any way, seriously is Barry Pepper who is up there as being one of the most serious actors in the history of film. In fact, I don't recall seeing that chun ever smile in a film. He always has that moany head on him.

Back to the story, anyway, they kill your man but unbeknownst to them at the time, comedy actor (another one), Jason Lee from My Name is Earl is filming birds from the other side of a lake. He films the whole thing, the whole murder. They spot him picking up the camera during the chaos of police and press when the body is found and they follow him. Now, this is the part I can’t explain. Jason Lee gets home and obviously can’t wait to checkout the birds he has filming for the last couple of weeks and the lads don't get to him in time. He sticks in the tape immidiatly as he get home, and the lads are standing outside his gaf with guns, waiting for him. This would have been the simplest way for everyone, get to Jason Lee before he sees the tape, simple. No one dies, No one's life is ruined, no one has to be running around in an ipen dressing gown showing off their abs. Get to him, get the tape and job done, you don't even have to kill him.

Okay, next, Jason Lee ends up seeing it, okay, that happenens. He now has to go, he has to die, that should be no problem, these guys are NSA. He makes a run for it but doesn't last very long. Fair play to him though, he makes a good go at it. He's just a bird watcher and he's up against a load of NSA guys, even if they are the funniest looking bunch of NSA guys in the world, they are still NSA.

Now, we have been also following Will Smiths character who is this high class lawyer who has been trying to bring down the mob, he used to go to college with Jason Lee's character, they both bump into each other while Jason Lee is leggin it from the NSA and he drops the disk into Will Smiths bag. Jason ends up getting milled out of it by a big fucking truck a few seconds later and NSA guys are all - 'Where the fuck is the tape?'

In the mean time, Will Smith gets home with the tape on him and he doesn't know at all. Now, this is the case for the next hour of the film, he doesn't have a clue whats going on. The NSA go over all this footage of Jason Lee legging it to see where he might of stashed the shit and they see him give it to Will Smith through some security camera. They see that Will doesn't notice him putting it in his bag, Savage; all they have to do now, is find out who Will Smith is, find out where he lives and asking him for the material. They do precisely that except for one thing. They don't ask him nicely. Instead of just going into the gaf and politely ask could they have a look into the bag, they just act like a bunch of rude cunts and insult the guy in his own place. He then refuses to show them and they leave as calmly as they came in.

Right, why didn't one of them just kick the shit out Will, the other find the bag which they know the tape is in and grab it, happy days, job done! I thought this was very sensitive material. No, they just stroll out. Why? Why do they do this?

The next half hour of the film is the NSA fucking with Will Smiths life. They bug the fuck out of him and his gaf and he still doesn't know about the tape which, at this stage, his son has found. He then for some reason meets up with Gabriel Byrne, why this character is in the film, I still don't know. I’m sure it's for the simple fact that Jerry Bruckheimer had Gabriel Byrne for 2 days and they thought they might write him a nice little character. He arrives and is Will Smiths mate one minute and then tries to kill him for no reason the next minute. You then never hear of that character being mentioned again for the whole movie. Who is this guy?

But the weird thing for me is this, as soon as he meets up with Gene Hackman, Gene lets him know about all the bugs on him and all of a sudden everyone wants to kill Will Smith, out of no where, they want to kill now where they didn't before. They all just start to chase him around hotels and the streets. I don't know why Will doesn't just stop, turn around and go, 'Why is everyone after me? What the fuck do all you cunts want?' and lets say all the NSA guys finally get Will, what are they going to do? Are they going to kill him? If they do that they will never get the tape back, they will be fucked then. And if they wanted to kill him, why didn't they do it earlier in the movie when they had a chance. It's a bit confusing if you ask me. What is everyone doing? What are they doing? The film is the quintessential Bruckheimer movie, all the bad guys die in ridicules shootout ending where Will Smith survives completely unscaved, there are about 20 explosions throughout the whole thing and it all ends where Will and Gene are completely in the clear. Happy ending.

Just, go, watch it again and you will realise that nobody wants to kill anyone in this movie. They just want the tape. The only 2 people that properly get killed are the Jason Robards character at the start and Lisa Bona character who they kill because they are trying to frame Will Smith for some reason. Jason Lee cycles in front of the truck when being chased so he dies accidentally and Jake Busey ends up starting that big gun fight at the end by accident. There are 3 lessons being learned here in this movie.

1. When being chased, stop running and ask whoever is chasing you, what the crack is.

2. When you want someone to give you something, just ask nicely and they will probably give it to you.

3. Stop watching Jerry Bruckheimer movies because they are fuckin awful.









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