GUADALAJARA   and ‘GOD’ (1) by Perkin Warbeck

 

It is understandable that most of the media attention has been focused upon the hocus pocus of what is quite possibly the Plight of the Century currently being played out in the circus tent at Ten, Downing Street.

It is certainly the most lucrative P of the C as an extra few noughts seem to have been added almost every time one glances at the bottom line of the Cash Register.

But then it is not every year that a scrap heap the likes of Teresa Mayweather versus Arlene ‘The Notorious’ Foster is set up, one in the Blue Corner, the other in the even Bluer Corner. The latter’s nom de guerre having been predictably acquired after years of being embroiled in the Mixed Martial Arts (not, Mixed Marital Arts) of a province whose defining slogan is:

-Ulster says Notorious !

In preparation for this, the biggest plight of her career, the leader of the Provisional Sin É Party (for it is also she!) even went to the trub of filling her bath tub with a (gulp) crocodile. Said crock to serve as her new knock-out sparring partner, a chara. A trub, involving the splashing out of extra cash, but which has already paid off handsomely and is even set to pay off even more handsomely in the near fewch:.

-Cling !

Rings the Cash Register of her heart (not to be confused with ‘Give me your Hartes of Tyrone’) as yet another few noughts are added on. Noughts but nice, as it were. The Colleen ón Éirne, if the latest Newtownforbes Rich List is anything to go by, is on course to become one of the Great Erners of All Tempo. Even as the much dissed and current,erm, ‘Bash for Cash’ jamboree goes the dist.

To which , emptor, one must, perforce, be added a caveat:

-To Erne something is not necessarily synonymous with: to Foyle something.

Versus, of course, is mar dhea for Wink-Wink, Nod-Nod which are the permitted grips, holds and blows in the Compromise Rules game currently being played out , over (yawn, stretch, trouser cough) fifteen fatuous rounds at Number Ten but whose result was, is and never will be in the slightest doubt, if the non-dissers are to be believed. All designed to impress those who are more impressed by, erm, Length rather than Lent.

-Cling !

One of the collateral sideshows which was oversadowed by the number one story from Number Ten was, sadly, Bloomsday last Friday.

Bloomsday, of course, is the day set especially aside in the brand new, shiny, whiny, secular, non-sectarian, hectarian, A-list Atheistic City of Dublin to worship its very own ‘God’:

-James Augustine Joyce.

JAJ, of course, was a member of the RAJ caste of cultural nay-sayers , having been cast out (after one week !) by his concerned father, from the antedeluvian clutches of the Christian Brothers on North Richmond Street and cast into the civisling embrace of the Jeuits of Belvedere College on nearby Great Denmark Street, Dublin 1.

-No son of mine will be contaminated by proximity to Paddy Stink and Mickey Muck !

Snarleth Jocye Major whose first name, curiously, wasn’t actually Jarlath but was in fact, John Stanislaus, a Nabob among Snobs from the (failed) Merchant Princes of Cork, boy.

-Cling, not !

Belvedere College, of course, is located on a spot which looks down on North Great George’s Street (and most else besides), in one of whose gorgeous 18th century houses doth dwell, Senator David Norris heself. This is, in all probability, not without georgraphical (as well as historico-litearary) significance.

The Norris (as he is affectionately known to his lost legion of admirers and other would be Knorr souper stars, much in the same way as B. Karloff was known as The Boris ) is famed far and wise for two achievements (at least):

One, he was was the very first to be inducted into the (gasp) Hiberno Hall of Fame for Horse Frighteners.

Re-spect.

And secondly, he was the driven genius who singularly and single-minded molecularly engineered the fabulous literary phenomenon know as ‘Bloomsday’. (The actual technical term for ‘fabulous literary phenomenon’ is : Molecular Malarkey.)

Bloomsday is , ar ndóigh, a con-celebration of 24 hours in the life of Leopold Bloom who is the ‘hairo’ of Ulysses, that useful guide to the Realism of Contemporary Literature in the German Queen’s English.

And in this the year of the Lord of the Language, 2017, Leopold Bloomsday fell just (gulp ) 24 hours after (gasp) Leopold Varadkar ascended into the Highest Office in the Political Coppice.

Now, to comprehend fully the f. extent of The Norris’s achievement in arranging this One Day Worship to the ‘God’ of gravity and levity (ReJoyce, for a Deity is born unto us / Oh, had’t we the Deity in P the F’s Baile ) one might do worse nor take a gawk in the direction of a city which is a five hours drive west of Mexico City (one hour, if one happens to be a Senor de la Droga with El Policia non Remunerado in hot pursuit) :

-Guadalajara.

This vibrante ciudad   is renowned for three great contributions to the human condition:

-Mariachi music, Tequila and Charles ‘Charlie’ Douglass.

Senor Douglass, the son of a Yanqui who was temporarily a resident in Guadalajara, went on to invent one of the most inenious gadgets of the 20th Century:

-The Laff Box.

In a very real sense (in the sense of Literary Realism) Senator David Norris is the Charles ‘Charlie’ Douglass of Dublin.

(To be continued)

 

 

 

 

4 Responses to GUADALAJARA   and ‘GOD’ (1) by Perkin Warbeck

  1. Jude Collins June 19, 2017 at 6:30 pm #

    “Now, to comprehend fully the f. extent of The Norris’s achievement in arranging this One Day Worship to the ‘God’ of gravity and levity (ReJoyce, for a Deity is born unto us / Oh, had’t we the Deity in P the F’s Baile ” – screech, laff, howl with merriment. Once more you have graced yourself, Perkin. Maith thú!

    • Perkin Warbeck June 20, 2017 at 8:31 am #

      GRMA, a Mháistir Ionúin Blog.

  2. Brian Patterson June 19, 2017 at 8:30 pm #

    Perkin you are too generous. DN did not invent Bloomsday though he may have breathed new life into it. An antecedent of this feast was mentioned by Joyce in a letter as far back as 1924. And Brian Nolan, (aka Myles na gCopaleen and Flann O’Brien ) Paddy Kavanagh and Anthony Cronin formally baptised the whimpering infant in 1954 with an incomplete (but not unconsummated) pub crawl. Brendan Behan appears to have been by-passed.

    – “Portrait of t(hre)e piss-artist(s) as a Young Man/Men”?

    Nolan was of course author of “At Swim-Two-Birds” which magnificently parodied Joyce, the Fenian Cycle and much else of Irish Society and culture. Unlike Joyce Nolan was a fluent and enthusiastic gaeilgeóir and wrote “An Béal Bocht” (The Poor Mouth) which parodies and satyrises saol crua literature of the Peig Sayers genre. Less Well known than Swim-Two-Birds re “The Hard Life” and the (very dark) Third Policemen, also “The Dalkey Archive” in which Mr Joyce appears in a kind of Limbo-life pulling pints and sewing “simmets” for the Jesuits. (Simmet was an old term for a coarse vest, it was a word used liberally and unselfconsciously by my own paternal grandmother)
    Swim-two-Birds I count as one of the funniest and richest lyricalvaganzas ever written in English and I count it jointly with Heller’s Catch 22 as my favourite novel of all time. Indeed I think a bi-lingual Flann’s Day would be a much more entertaining, and from a sartorial point of view challenging, feast than Bloomsday with its silly boaters, blazers bloomers and top hat Ascotry.

  3. Perkin Warbeck June 20, 2017 at 8:33 am #

    Excellent correction noted and appreciated, BP.

    Míle buíochas.