In today's column I talk about my experience of Halloween growing up in Derry, and my son's rather limited go of it. But I *also* traffic in some thoroughly debunked Irish halloween myths, so I'd like to correct the record. theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2…
Although Samhain did denote the start of winter, conflating it with Halloween is a relatively modern invention, without much actual evidence. Also, Irish emigrants to America did celebrate Hallowe'en, but so did the English, Welsh, others.
The conjecture that the veil between worlds was more permeable on Samhain, hence beasties, costumes and trick or treating, also seems to have appeared in the early 20th century. A nice story, but bolloxology alas.
I've been hearing this stuff for decades and fired off the piece without checking. Do follow @VoxHib if you're interested in this kind of stuff, their timeline is a treasure trove of corrections to mistakes like mine.
In any case the most important thing is my son's decidedly non-spooky fox costume was a wild success.
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Huge news at my dad's house, as a robin has moved in. He has, somewhat inevitably, been named Pablo, after the novelty robin ornament he bought some Christmases ago, which had telescopic legs and a kind face. This robin too, appears friendly and professional. More updates to come
Pablo has been a visitor to my dad's garden for some time, but began entering the home this weekend. He flies back out the window frequently, but always returns, and he is now a free-roaming member of the household, gallivanting from room to room on regular tours of inspection.
Pablo loves music, with a particular predilection for the Northern Irish Country Music™ for which my homeland must be thoroughly, and regularly shamed.
For this, my father now loves him more ardently than any of his eleven children.
For the record I got SIX rude words printed in the end. The five below and also Turrdz. I managed the last three after the events detailed by the Daily Mail, during which time I was so well known to Selfridges I had to evade VERY ACTIVE surveillance whenever I entered the store.
My Nutella shenanigans did mean that a corporate spokesperson had to issue this statement about me, which was such a life highlight that it has now been my banner picture for almost five years.
Want to hear a funny story about something that happened to me this weekend? It concerns the internet, elephants, and the absurdity of online nostalgia.
So, Naomi Wolf was getting pelters from me and others for having said that non-5G Belfast had the “calm” of the 1970s, (despite Belfast *having* 5G and the 70s not being the calmest of times for Belfast). It was really... something.
As a result, people in my mentions and throughout the wider web shared similarly “calm” photos from 70s Northern Ireland, rebranded with the stock phrases of those inane “Remember The Good Old Days?” memes. It was very funny.
It's not conscious I know, but I've always found it odd to hear English people using the bastardised Irish surname "Hooligan" to decry their fans' worst behaviour. Every tournament. For days on end. While Irish fans sing songs and make friends without thinking of attacking anyone
Like the worst thing an English fan can be is a hooligan. And it's not a nonsense word to Irish people, it's a very recognisable corruption of names like Houlihan and Olohan. Because we're violent and disorderly. Irish people. Compared to...???
This would still be weird even if Irish football fans HAD a reputation for violence. But we don't. We're almost professionally sound. To the point were nearly sick of the mildly patronising coverage of us as happy, smiling chimps who are shit at football but make everybody smile.
Here. Since @EmmetKirwan and @dave_tynan's unmissable DUBLIN OLD SCHOOL has now dropped on Netflix, anyone wanna hear how a small part of it is based on me, very high, mending a hole in a wall at a birthday party using only newspaper, plaster, an XtraVision card?
APRIL 2010. TEMPLE BAR, DUBLIN. Ordinarily the part of Ireland used to keep the geordie hen parties and American football fans away from the rest of us, tonight it is host to young Emmet, celebrating his 30th in a simple but spacious apartotel rented for just the purpose.
It was a weird time. The economy had shat the bed but we were still too numb to really deal yet. Everyone was either minimum wage or on the dole, and all social expectations on young people collapsed, and since we were stupid, this freed us instead to get extravagantly high.
Jesus. It's been a year since I told you about my worst ever workday. Which, eventually led to enough writing work that I quit my job and begin writing full time. It's not an exaggeration to say it completely transformed my life, so thanks be to Ketamine, Mary, and you all. xx
I will say there’s something very nice about being able to credit practically every good exciting thing in your professional career to this one very stupid thing. That I might not have posted. That might have sunk without trace. I can't take it for granted. It's liberating.
Also, and I know it is a horrific teasing kind of a thing to do, but anyone who might like the idea of a star-studded visual treatment for this story might wanna WATCH THIS SPACE for v exciting news ok thank you please no follow up questions at this time