Monty Got A Raw Deal

March is coming to an end, and with it the ‘St Patrick’s Day Season’ (as it is known here). Personally I’ve had enough of the green shit being omnipresent.: Martha Stewart and her entire audience wore green for a week; In Chicago they really did dye the river green (have a look at the website); Otherwise sane Americans feigned Oirish accents; Daytime TV was obsessed with Corned Beef and Cabbage (which sounds like a euphamism for someone you’d rather not wake up with to me, and anyway isn’t it bacon and cabbage ?); And the 3,433,225th St Patrick’s Day Parade got underway.

I spent the morning watching some of it on the TV, and after establishing that its a bunch of pipe and drum bands walking down the street and with around 2 million extra people in Manhattan for the day, decided to go to the local. Which was full of green shirts. Although to be fair the Rugby was on and though England got beaten by West England (nee Wales), I took some sense of satisfaction in Ireland losing the 6 Nations through laziness.

I’m as plastic a paddy as the next person though, so the Thursday before the 17th took Steph to see The Pogues at the Roseland Ballroom in town. Having talked up the Pogues as one of the best bands ever in the world, I guess I forgot that someone who’s never heard of them probably wouldn’t understand Shane MacGowan’s unique appeal. Trying to describe how a man who can’t really sing, stand or speak is worth $100 and an evening out is hard, but Steph played ball and off we went. Shane had not let me down. Two days before in Boston he fell of the stage and broke his legs. We were therefore treated to Shane being wheeled on and off stage as the music dictated.

Look ! Shane in a wheelchair.

During a quick visit to the bogs, I returned to find Steph had picked up another fellar. Not a problem I thought, so having done my part by flexing and posturing he wandered off. However, Joseph as we shall call him (since that was his name) wasn’t done yet. He came back having bribed security for us to get to the VIP area, so given the option of possible trouble and having to give my girlfriend up versus plush seats and a bar you could get to, we followed. We (I) stayed for the booze till the band arrived then made our excuses and went to back to the crowd – Joseph actually seemed like a reasonably nice, somewhat lonely bloke but there was a band on. The Pogues came on and were as good as they get (curiously not playing Fairytale of New York, but managing to go for about 2 hours), they got around the ban on smoking in public places by smoking in public places. Afterward, Jospeh found us again and gave us a couple of pint glasses he’d bough for us, we responded by being slightly weirded out, bought him a drink and left.

Talking of plastic paddy’s, this was the week that Marty became a dad. Just want to wish the three of them all the luck (especially little Monty Murrihy who has the best name I’ve ever heard).

Who’s the Daddy ?