It goes boom diddy boom diddy boom diddy boom diddy boom diddy boom diddy boom boom boom!

My heart is racing, I know this not because I'm struggling to climb yet another uphill stretch of road on my bicycle, but because my fancy new heart rate monitor is telling me so. It also tells me this particular hill is being climbed at a rate of 14 metres per minute and when I get to the top the inbuilt altimeter will tell me how high it is.

What was once a vague science involving judging the feeling in one's legs, measuring the difficulty of a cycle ride has become an exercise in analysing and interpreting the statistics provided by the vast array of data given by the increasingly prevalent heart rate monitors and the now standard presence of bike computers. My country rides used to simply involve looking at the scenery and worrying if I'd locked the front door on my way out.

The ante was upped with the addition of a bike computer and I found myself spending a lot of the ride watching the odometer creep agonisingly slowly upwards whilst simultaneously battling to keep the average speed up. There are even little arrows to tell you if you are above or below your current average, a tiny little icon that makes a big comment on your progress:

Arrow pointing down? You’re below your average speed. The computer is really saying you are slow, lazy and getting even slower and lazier as you go (an opinion recently countered by the heart rate monitor going through the roof as you puff away to drive the pistons).

Arrow pointing up? You’re above the ride’s average speed. You know it's only temporary right? You'll crack soon enough.

Now the latest gizmo to join the arsenal of technological warfare on my handlebars is my Suunto Heart Rate Monitor Watch, incorporating many other useful features like compass, barometer and altimeter amongst others. I can now fight back against my bike computer's measly stats (albeit stats provided by my legs) in a kind of high tech top trumps game.

Average speed of a pathetic10 miles per hour? Maybe so but my average heart rate was an encouraging 150bpm.

Distance covered a measly 20 miles? Yes but during that time I climbed an aggregate of 800m up horrible hills (curiously enough no one mentions the 800m of freewheeling descents that must entail)

So these days after a ride there is so much information judging my efforts that I can pick and choose whichever ones are the most encouraging and reward myself with a large glass of wine however I do. And if all else fails I can fall back on the fact that none of these gadgets take into account the awful state of the bumpy Irish roads that surely suck up so much energy it’s like riding with the anchor thrown out the back.. Plus I'm sure the wind was in my face for the duration of the whole ride anyway. Now where did I put that glass of wine?

Austria Oh Cast and Crew

This article was written by Go Bananas for the blog http://austriaoh.tumblr.com/ and is published here to spread the gospel according to Austrian Ski holidays far and wide. For a small trailer of their efforts scroll to the bottom of Go Bananas.

 

Name: Irmgard

Nickname: The Irminator

Style: 'Very very purty,' according to some guy in Colorado 15 years ago.

Trademark move: Chasing after and passing any man who dares overtake her

Alm Favourites: This one has a definite sweet tooth, what else to have with that 14^th coffee of the day than a Gamknodel?

Other Info: A co-founder of the Austria Oh movement, the Irminator had a dream and realised that dream by upping sticks from non-snowy England and building a mountain retreat in Austria in 2002. Then proceeded to educate devotees of the Oh cult from far and wide, Ireland, UK, Essex. Famously took one Australian visitor to a nude spa in a bid to get rid of him as he’d become institutionalised into the cult. In her own words, “the most dedicated parent in the world, who with infinite patience and no expense spared, ensured that Warren Bro#1 and Warren Bro#2 are the experts in the snow that they are.” Amen to that.

If she was a biscuit: A Manner Wafer; proud of her roots, resolutely not British and often found as the welcome companion to other mountaineers and snow sports enthusiasts across the Alps.

Name: Larry

Nickname: Larry

Style: Has worked hard on this over the last forty years, developing from hapless broken windmill to slightly more in control hapless broken windmill. Still manages to keep up though.

Trademark move: Struggles to shed the image developed in famous Rauris incident of many moons ago, the startled launch over a hidden kicker followed by the jettison of all equipment around the area and subsequent face plant. That ski pole is still up there somewhere.

Alm favourites: Spartan like discipline keeps this guy's diet simple and healthy. No sugar and no fatty products. Does then struggle to find anything on the menu to match these needs though.

Other Info: Nominally the co-founder of the Austria Oh movement but in practical terms more of a resident caretaker. Keeps the ship running smoothly year round by shovelling the driveway, washing the Oh-mobile, making the coffee twenty times a day and cursing Germans. Also extremely possessive of his self-designated parking spot in Dienten and should any foreigners park in it he will drive right up behind them and stare at them until they move, despite the rest of the car park being empty. Still can't believe he lives in Austria..... even after 9 years... begs the question where does he think he's living?

If he was a biscuit: Curly Wurly. The whirly pattern mimics the trails left in the snow by his wandering skis and independently minded legs. Like his jokes, the novelty value of the Curly Wurly wears off after a few repeats, leaving you to chew longer than you thought on a nougaty punch line.

Name: Nick

Nickname: Chamonix, Nickers, Bic

Style: Elegant carver who makes skiing fast look good

Trademark move: Double ejection face plant in the deep stuff

Alm favourites: Austrian mountain man at heart, often opts for classic sausage in soup, usually accompanied by a hunk of bread

Other info: Son #1 from the Warren family stable of skiers, paved the way in Canada and New Zealand. Often overshadowed by his more talented younger brother but would never admit it.

If he was a biscuit: Traditional ship's biscuit. Tough as nails and would survive up an Austrian Alp for months. Doesn't go soggy at the first sight of a blizzard.

 

Name: Grainne

Nickname: McGnarly

Style: Teeth gritted, dead set eyes, skis pointed firmly down the hill. This one overcomes her fears and conquers all.

Trademark move: Bouncing through the bumps in relentless pursuit of that elusive big air

Alm favourites: Same as every other food outlet in the world, lasagne all the way

Other info: Late shift in life from boarding to skiing has led to dramatic results, black runs mastered, smile fixed firmly on face and knuckles now not dragging on floor. A hot prospect on the apres ski scrabble scene.

If she was a biscuit: Jaffa Cake, quivering jelly on the inside but hides it behind a face often smothered in chocolate.

Name: Mark

Nickname: The Only Way is... Essex

Style: Tends to go sideways, feet planted roughly one foot apart, sticks to this formula like a limpet to a fishing trawler

Trademark move: Hovering behind Chamonix taking the piss out of him and trying to wind him up, usually succeeding.

Alm favourites: Like his attitude on the mountain, this guy will try anything and do it with a big smile.

Other info: Original member of the Whistler 99 crew he made Night Auditing sexy in the process. Has campaigned relentlessly against Stansted Airport development, usually through the unconventional medium of flying out of there year after year to go skiing.

If he was a biscuit: Hobnob. Is called Hobson, has a nob. Tasty.

Name: Katie

Nickname: The Garv

Style: Like the All Blacks, fast, furious and classy. Unlike the All Blacks holds her nerve when the going gets tough.

Trademark move:  Switch Rodeo 720

Alm favourites: Cooks better than most Alm chefs themselves, sweet or savoury she’s a true Austrian Fraulein

Other info: Spent the last season developing the new prototype of the next generation of skiers. Project Angus is well under way and with a bit of mentoring from the rest of the Austria Oh Crew his future looks bright. If Universal Soldier was about skiing, Angus would be Jean Claude Van Damne.

If she was a biscuit: TimTam, both celebrated exports from down under and after adding tea go gooey in the middle.

Name: Mike

Nickname: MickeyDogg

Style: This guy has it all, as comfy switching it up or pumping the knees in the bumps, versatility is his middle name.

Trademark move: Standing at the bottom of the piste looking back up the hill and waiting for the rest to catch up.

Alm favourites: A real Austrophile, loves anything most of the tourists can’t pronounce, Schnitzel, Krapfen, Kaspressknodelsuppe, ghoulasch, gamknodel. Does struggle to spell them though.

Other info: Warren bro #2 has forged his own way across the snow world, picking up a trophy Elf/Orc/Human whilst whizzing down the slopes in Middle Earth. Like fush and chups  Warren #1 and Warren#2 are pretty tasty on their own, but form an unbeatable combination when put together.

If he was a biscuit: Viscount, the King of biscuits. Oozing class this biscuit carries an air of sophistication with him wherever he goes, often found next to a steaming mug of lovely coffee.

Name: Jamie

Nickname: T-bone

Style: Never likes to steer his board anywhere his face hasn’t already been first, deep snow, trees or icy patches, his face acts like an insect’s feelers.

Trademark move: Has spent the last 5 Austria Oh outings pioneering his ‘two handed getting up after crashing’ move.

Alm favourites: Unlike a German vegetarian, T-bone doesn’t fear the Wurst!

Other info: As a rock and roll superstar this guy goes uses the goggles and ski mask as a disguise to escape the fans. Settled on boarding holidays after he tried a similar technique on a disastrous trip to Belfast.

If he were a biscuit: Wagon Wheel. The wrapping on the outside keeps all the insides in place after being thrown about the mountain. If you set him rolling at the top of a black run, prepare to see him go all the way to the bottom.

Name: Phil

Nickname: Gilleski?

Style: Skis perpendicular to the slope, this man knows only one way down

Trademark move: Hard to tell, usually a blur of flailing arms whistling past you followed by a loud noise and all too often a broken bone, either yours or perhaps someone's child.

Alm favourites: Doesn't eat, prefers to spend his time at the alms trying to smash nails into blocks of wood with the wrong end of a hammer, usually unsuccessfully.

Other info: Managed to escape NZ after assaulting the mountain manager's son with the 180cm weapons attached to his boots. The only member of the Austria Oh Collective to have imparted his knowledge to both Warren Brothers during consecutive seasons in Queenstown.

If he was a biscuit: Has to be a Kitkat, the biscuit perfectly recreating the regular position of his skis, always pointing straight down. Unfortunately, like a KitKat they are often violently separated.

Name: Patchy

Nickname: Patchy Baby. A nicknamed gained after Donnie the Scot had a weird dream and started murmering, 'Ooh Patchy Baby' in his sleep.

Style: A boarder this guy is often found with one foot out of the bindings and clawing himself along an uphill bit, happily cursing himself for following a skier down a dead end.

Trademark move: Has to be the high speed launch of a kicker immediately followed by the arse first landing, never the board first, always the arse.

Alm Favourites: Open to suggestion and eager with the language, translate 'toe-cheese sandwich' into German and he'll unknowingly ask for it.

Other info: Learnt his trade fully in the Whistler 02/03 class, this man has an enthusiastic eagerness for anything the mountain can throw at him. Famously competitive he launched himself off a 30foot cornice in Canada because his nemesis room mate did so first. Will be the first to tell you he wouldn't have done it if he'd looked over the edge beforehand.

If he was a biscuit: Jammy Dodger. Universally liked this one has fun all over the outside but inside bleeds red, Liverpool red.

Vote none of the above.

Once again the nation of Ireland is headed to the polls to vote on the instalment of a new head of state. Outgoing President, Mary McAleese, seems to be widely liked although trying to nail people down on specifics as to why she is universally popular leads to wishy washy prevaricating and comments touching on her contribution to community and charity and ‘things like that.’ If the ample array of photo shoots in the media is to be believed this seems to be achieved generally through the medium of visiting schools and shaking lots of hands. This leads us to the seldom discussed issue as to the point of the position.

Well the official website of the President (president.ie) is a visual sleeping pill, but after a splash of icy water and propping up the eyelids with matchsticks Go Bananas extracted one useful quote from the oath taken before entering office to, 

“dedicate my abilities to the service and welfare of the people of Ireland." 

This is obviously a load of vague and blurry, non-specific nonsense, a theme that continues through the campaigns from each candidate standing for election. From the debates on the telly to the forest of roadside posters boasting nauseatingly bland phrases, the whole affair is riddled with pseudo political buzz words and statements promising, ‘a better Ireland,’ ‘the people’s  President,’ ‘Pride at home, respect abroad,’ etc etc... ad nauseum.

How any of these candidates will achieve these lofty ideals from the generally ceremonial office of President is never quite explained but there are a few specific issues that Go Bananas really wants cleared up...

1) Will each candidate provide their own novelty sized scissors to open Supermarkets or do they expect the general public to fork out for one?

2) Is their time spent posing for photographers in schools more valuable to the kids than the 40 hours a week the teacher spends doling out structured lessons?

3) Do any of the foreign rugby players they shake hands with at International Test Matches have any idea who they are?

Presumably these demands will remain unanswered and the race will carry on plodding away at a pedestrian pace. So far the only noteworthy factoid is that it’s the first presidential race to feature two gays fighting over the most prominent position in the Aras (!), openly homosexual Senator David Norris and Gay Mitchell..... who is just called Gay. What this race needs is a Brewster’s Millions type intervention from an eccentric nobody to jazz it all up, someone to capture the public’s imagination. Well in the hope that a rich uncle dies and bequeaths $30m to a loved nephew in the next week (a la 80s film classic Brewsters Millions starring Richard Pryor), Go Bananas has its manifesto ready.......

1) Enforce the 5 a day veg/fruit rule... rigidly. I'd have teams of Fruit Enforcers to fire bazooka loads of bananas into peoples' faces if they fell behind schedule.

2) Shake hands with everyone in the stadium at rugby matches, not just the teams. After all the public have to pay to get in so should also get to meet the President.

3) Change all the roads into cycle lanes and all cycle lanes into roads, just so people realise how few cycle lanes actually exist and how utterly unusable those few are.

4) Ensure that car manufacturers change their car horns to make novelty sound effects such as a duck’s quack or a clown’s hooter so that when some nutcase starts swearing, gesticulating and beeping  at you for committing some minor error, all you can hear is the amusing sound of a swanny whistle. Your subsequent laughter will only enrage him further leading to more tooting, the opposite of a vicious circle.

Vote Go Bananas!

Standing for a better type of change in a progressive Ireland for the 21st Century in a European Society. 

Identity crisis

"A fresh take on the old formula," says Jeffrey Lyons from previously unheard of Lyons Den Radio.

"Takes the traditional body-switching movie, ties it up tightly and throws it off a cliff," claims the official website.


This blog has recently had its eyebrow arched by these grandiose quotes referring to newly released movie The Change Up, which are of course inflated nonsense to promote the latest below average comedy to be churned out by the Hollywood machine. But what seems to be slipping under the radar and seemingly has done for the past few decades or so, is the stealthy emergence of a whole new genre of film, the 'body switching' plot.

Since when did one go out on a Friday night to watch a good 'body switcher' or settle in at home with your microwave popcorn to watch the latest classic role reversal film? But a brief trawl of the net finds that the stable holds plenty of films like Big, Freaky Friday, 13 Going on 30, Vice Versa, Face Off and, according to Wikipedia, about 30 others that most likely all claim to freshen up the exact same concept that they and all the others are using.

This blog did not see this coming, not helped by the local Kinsale dvd rental shop, which arranges the films on its shelves by the colour of the boxes. This usually works surprisingly well as it seems 90% of rom-coms shroud their video cases in pink, whereas a good deal of thrillers and horrors are a more sinister black or blood red. Curiously indie films tend to pick yellow covers and there is probably a whole dissertation's worth of material to investigate this but we are veering from the point.

We all know the plot to these films, two people miraculously change bodies, usually facilitated by a lightning strike/gypsy curse/fairground slot machine/ancient artifact (delete as appropriate) and to skip a few steps discover what it's like to walk in another man's shoes, literally, for a while and after a few hilarious episodes everyone learns something. So to carry on this idea of rehashing the same old crap this blog offers the following plot lines for Hollywood executives to mull over.....

1) The Dud Factor. Simon Cowell is electrified by the microphone in the latest X-Factor USA series and changes into the body of a hopeless geriatric who thinks she's popped in to the shops for milk but finds herself on stage singing a Mary Poppins tune. Obviously she is ridiculed and publicly humiliated for being rubbish but the spirit of the geriatric finds a new lease of life having taken over Simon Cowell's body. The happy ending comes when the roles are not reversed and Simon Cowell is lost to us forever.

2) And & Dec & Dec & Ant. The Geordie presenting duo eat a poisoned croissant and swap bodies, discovering what it's like to be a little bit taller/smaller and how it feels to present a show standing on the other side of each other. This is a short film as nothing much else happens and apart from the height issue, the two are indistinguishable anyway.

3) Coalition Damage. Nick Clegg ticks the wrong box in the ballot box and is turned into an everyday voter, discovering in the process why the public all laugh at him. The everyday voter who turns into Nick Clegg doesn't learn anything.

4) Gaza Trip. A bit political this one but Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas and Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netenyahu swap bodies after peace talks get physical and a bout of fisticuffs leads to their spirits swapping vessels. Not a comedy in the classic sense but several mishaps arise, especially after Abbas really gets into his new role as Israeli PM, finds rocket in his salad and orders in 500 tanks to blow the infidels to smithereens, forgetting that the infidels are actually his own people.

Stieg of the bookshop

Time to raise the bar of culture in this blog, from the lows of new potatoes on to the heady world of literature. Well I say literature, what I mean is popular fiction and I say popular in the true sense of the word. I'm currently reading a thriller by Jo Nesbo, a writer from the all conquering stable of Scandinavian crime writers.

I'm reliably informed that he's the new Stieg Larsson, a fact of which I am aware of because it says so on a sticker on the front cover. In fact it's not even a sticker, it's directly printed on to the cover but made to look like one of those stickers the bookshop put on to promote sales of 3 for 2 or to alert you to the extra brilliance of the book.

Step into a branch of Waterstones these days and it is statistically very likely that you'll end up buying a book written by a Scandinavian billed as the 'New Stieg Larsson' as it seems every Anders, Sven and Henrik are being linked to the incredibly successful, but unfortunately no longer with us, creator of the Millenium series of novels. A google search for 'the new Stieg Larsson' turns up 9.8m results. Obviously this is a deeply flawed figure as this process is the lazy journalist's tool for judging the popularity of things. One would probably generate hundreds of thousands of results for something as obscure as 'Norwegian monkey finally types out entire works of Shakespeare,’ and the results would be just as meaningless.

And it seems your novel doesn't even have to be that good to ride on the wave of Stieg-mania that will push your sales through the roof. One flash on a book cover read, 'Has been compared to the likes of Stieg Larsson.' It doesn't take much probing to figure out that although this book has been 'compared' to SL but with what conclusion? The next line might read, 'and falls well short as it's total rubbish,'

Still this writer is thoroughly enjoying this surge of decent thrillers and is also learning a good bit of the geography of Oslo at the same time.

West Cork Ukulele Orchestra 1 , Recession 0

Apparently there's a recession here in Ireland but it's largely passing by over my head as I've been immunised by The Cure. Anyone looking for such a way out of the doom and gloom need only look up the West Cork Ukulele Orchestra and make a beeline for one of their gigs. This 10 piece Ukulele powerhouse has been sweeping aside all the nation's negativity before it, plucking it's combined forty strings like crossbows sending jolts of euphoria across the increasingly larger and larger audiences flocking in their droves to see them as the secret is now well and truly out.

Recession busting in action

In less than a year the WCUO, or 'Six Hot Chicks & Four Guys' as they were once dubbed, have formed an incredibly tight knit unit of complex and beautiful harmonies, sweeping melodies and an ever expanding eclectic library of songs that cover anything from A-Ha and The Band to modern day chart toppers such as self professed Ukulele lover and leading mega-pop giant of her time, Lady Gaga.

The latest culmination of this sensational gathering of talent and beauty came at Kinsale's Charles' Fort for an outdoor gig during the Kinsale Arts Festival. The glorious sunshine, the incredible setting and the mighty WCUO all combined to produce an unforgettable experience for all that were lucky enough to be there. As the sun set over the bay and the full moon came out from behind the stage the waves of happiness kept coming out from the Ukulele's humble strings and it was impossible not to be carried away with it all.

Kinsale's Charle's Fort

Amongst all the post-gig congratulations and positive reviews that have been aired, one conversation sticks out for me. Whilst chatting to a noted musical director, who's spent the last few years on the highly successful Riverdance tour, came the assertion that were he given 10 professional musicians and 3 months solid to practice, they still would not reach the tightness and harmony the WCUO have achieved.

The WCUO in their element, spreading the word

So the recession is old news, seek out The Cure (or the WCUO's spectacular rendition of Love Cats anyway) and make sure you catch these Ukulele wizards. This writer is a fully fledged citizen of Uke-La-La Land and it's a very joyful place.

Bye bye KP, here comes BQ.

It's about that time of year when housewives across Ireland start to feel something in their bones, an inkling, a nagging sense that something is about to happen, a change is in the air. This sixth sense will initially cause a trembling of trepidation throughout the body and ultimately culminate in rampant excitement at the realisation that the times they are a changing, the new season potatoes are coming.

The half finished sack of old season Kerrs Pink in the corner of the kitchen will be the last of its kind for a few months whilst the British Queens will soon reign supreme in the everyday lives of the traditional Irish household. Interestingly enough the humble British Queen variety of potato was rebranded as 'Irish Queen' in border areas to try and boost sales against any misguided patriotism or anti-British sentiments affecting purchasing patterns. But that's by the by. When it comes to getting the dinner's carbohydrates correct, politics goes out the window.



Working as an English insider in the Irish vegetable industry I have witnessed this uncontrollable desire that is built in to the very genetics of this proud nation. Only yesterday the local King of new Cork potatoes, the grower of the fabled Ballycotton British Queens, entered our office to the sound of a stampede of feet rushing to check out the first 10kg bag of spuds picked from the field that very morning. Picking myself off the floor and dusting myself down I was treated to a chorus of oohs and aahs and informed opinions such as follows...

"Grand size so they are"
"And with a mature skin too"
"Straight from the ground they are, it's a fine sample"
"And how are they cooking?"
"Well they're not balls of flour yet but sure tis early days you know?"
"Yes yes of course of course."

The next few weeks will see the price of this staple good driven down by more and more local suppliers entering the market and hitting up all the grocery shops in the country. Opinions and comparisons will be drawn between Irish shopkeepers and their customers before the treasured objects are carried home and cooked up for the family. Feedback will be quick and straight to the point as no feelings are spared when it comes to getting the potato supply just so. Get it right and they'll be flying out the door, get it wrong and it's the customers who'll be leaving in their droves.

All the fun of the fair

The Crane of Death, Miniature Garden on a Biscuit tin lid, Tunnel of Goats, Scarecrow under 5 feet.

Now can you tell which of these features and attractions are from classic fictional comedy Father Ted and which are bona fide rides and competitions in Belgooly's annual Agricultural show?

Yes it's that time of year again when housewives in Belgooly start becoming more and more withdrawn and start eying up their neighbours as they ponder how to break into the top 5 of the hotly contested "Bake 6 Plain White Scones" category or how they can possibly impress the judges with their "Homemade Sponge Sandwich (not iced)."

Some ladies are rumoured to buy their shopping in far away towns so as not to give away their ingredients, others find buying plenty of 'dummy' groceries will more deviously create a kind of culinary diversion for would be copycats.

This is what a miniature garden on a biscuit tin looks like

Whilst being loath to sound patronising, I am assured that everything I find quaint, slightly amusing and distinctly Irish about the Belgooly fair is exactly that by Irish friends of ours who had the pleasure of attending the event last year. Our first hint of what was to come were the vintage cars on display upon entering the field, which included a 1984 Ford Fiesta and a few moderately old tractors that I'm sure caused mile long tailbacks on the roads on their way to the show.

There are the regular horse trials and dog competitions (not quite sure how you win either of those) but the real gems are in the domestic classes marquee where people's creativity are tested to the limit in imaginative categories. The extreme specificity and limits of the categories really tickled me, three different stems of non-flowering garden foliage for example. I assume this is borne out of necessity as previous rogue entries might have included slight variations to get the edge, such as four different stems of non-flowering garden foliage, or a miniature garden on something slightly bigger than a biscuit tin lid, like a baking tray for example, acts of such sheer cunning and bravado that must have caused rifts between families that have yet to heal.

The classes for entry by Primary School students were some of my favourites and I can't help feeling that some were so good that parents must have given the odd helping hand.

Fruit and veg seems the perfect medium for a tortoise based on this evidence

 

Why the long face?

After an exhausing trek around the field and a somewhat worrying palm reading in Madam Mystic's grotty campervan, what better way to quench your thirst than in the tea tent, attended to by the most 'Mrs Doyle like' tea ladies I've ever seen in one place. I must have been away the day the great cutlery round up happened in the village but by some statistical miracle every single tea cup, saucer, knife and spoon is mismatched.

Seemingly everyone within a 10 mile radius must have donated one item each and a conjurer of the greatest skill has shuffled them all together so that not one piece matches another. The result is a mosaic of teacups and saucers on camping tables being tended to by ardent tea ladies who will not let your cup drain to any less than half full before appearing at one's elbow with a hot drop to top you up. It seems to be a point of honour with these ladies and I doff my hat to their efficiency, truly service of the kind that could not be bettered in the finest hotels.

Ever felt your spoon decorating talents needed more widespread recognition?

So if you're looking for a genuine Irish experience that is not put on for the tourists and one that hasn't changed in generations, you could do a lot worse than heading to the 67th Belgooly & District Agricultural Show on the 4th of June.

Small blog.... big impact.

Being live for barely a couple of months hasn't stopped critically acclaimed 'Go Bananas' blog having a widespread international impact. Originally set up as a directionless outlet for pent up creativity, founder Mike W has suddenly found himself thrust into the limelight as a major influence on none other than Vogue Magazine's Anna Wintour and consequently on global fashion trends.

Industry insiders have been watching agog as the notoriously fickle fashion world comes to universal agreement over the improvement Mike W's visions have added to not just novelty t-shirts but all types of clothing. In one of those 'I wish I'd thought of it' moments, sources close to Wintour have been quoted as being astounded at the huge improvement the simple addition of banana prints to t-shirts, dresses, jumpers and so on have had on sales.

The Guardian newspaper saw it thus.....

Slightly taken aback at the pace of developments Go Bananas' notoriously fashion forward Mike W has nonetheless kept ahead of the masses as can be seen in this leaked image from earlier in the year, which is rumoured to show the underwear habits of the man himself......

As the whole world joins in the hysteria and duly Goes Bananas, one can sense that this trend is not a flash in the pan and is here to stay.

The Schwartzels?

I don't want this blog to descend into an outlet for a good old ranting but recently I've been pushed too far by one certain annoying habit in today's media, such an infuriating intrusion upon my good nature that I was spurred into action.

This particular niggling little thorn in my side has seemingly crept into the sports media unnoticed by anyone but me and has now gathered so much pace that it is ubiquitous, constantly thrust into my face with the sole intention of provoking me into launching a frothy mouthed diatribe of bile and vitriol. One article by Richard Williams in the Guardian this week pushed me over the edge and not having a whole lot to do at work I took the dramatic step of writing a letter to him....

"Dear Sir,

Please can someone explain to me the seemingly recent penchant for sports pundits and writers to pluralise competitors' names? I quote as an example a sentence from your column today on Tiger Woods, "had he pulled clear of the Schwartzels and the Scotts, the Days and the Chois, you would not have bet against him closing out his fifth Masters title."

There was only one Schwartzel playing golf on Sunday, only one Scott, one Day and one Choi. Why is the image of an army of golfing clones, competing with the one Tiger Woods, put into my head unnecessarily? Is it too hard to say that Schwartzel, Scott, Day and Choi were chasing Tiger? Or Tiger was being chased by the likes of Schwartzel, Scott, Day and Choi? Who are the Schwartzels anyway? Germany's answer to The Simpsons?

This is a trend I would expect from half-witted ex-footballers on Channel 5's Uefa Cup coverage but from writers in The Guardian? Am I missing something? Did this suddenly become accepted English and accurate journalism? What's more annoying is that no one is ever described as being one of someone elses clone. You don't hear Andy Carroll described as being "you know ,he's a Les Ferdinand," by Lee Dixon on MOTD. Instead he'll have his own name pluralised and becomes one of a bunch of Andy Carrolls. So why are these masses of non-existent clones being written and talked about in the first place?

Please forward this on to the Sports Editors of this world to see if they can shed any light on this for me.

Yours sincerely,

Mike Warren
(I'm one of the Mike Warrens of the world you might have heard about if you follow County Cork's AUL league)

p.s. yes I'm having a quiet day and have a little too much time on my hands right now."

After a day's castigating himself Richard Williams sent the following reply the next morning, 

"OK. You're right. RW"  

Pathetically this little victory has perked me up no end and has given my campaign against this particular abomination of the English language new impetus, watch this space......

Household Heroes

There's a pair of new, moderately 'Super' Heroes on the scene. The picturesque village of Belgooly is mostly unaware of what talents are nestling in their midst but one certain house in one certain estate has certainly been reaping the rewards of the attention Domestic Mike and love interest Lawn Mowing Miss Macca have been bestowing upon it. This relatively unassuming semi-detached house has been transformed into a post-modern wonder-home since DM (Domestic Mike, not to be confused with Danger Mouse) and LMMM moved into the area.

Domestic Mike with sidekicks Emulsional Eimear & Mary Magnolia

Raised in the home counties of England, M (as he was known in those days) was brought up in a DIY disaster zone, floorboards were nailed to water pipes, dripping taps were solved by the turning off of the water supply, bayonet light bulbs forced into screw thread light fixtures (never publicly admitted but 20% sure this one happened). Unaware of M's potential, the Clouseau-like Patriarch put him to work in this ramshackle environment and set him the menial task of scraping wallpaper off the walls and worse still, the ceiling.

Frustrated at the time with this lack of household responsibility M was nevertheless the good worker and scraped those walls until his hands bled, or until Grange Hill started on telly, whichever came first. But after leaving home and wandering a few years in the DIY wilderness M finally landed in Ireland and after a few years took the final step that would see him later emerging into the Domestic Mike Superhero we now know him as. In partnership with love interest, Lawn Mowing Miss Macca, he purchased the aforementioned house in South Cork and the underlying household improvement potential in him finally surfaced and really started to wow people.

Hercules would have struggled with the tasks Ikea set but DM soldiers on admirably

The nightmares of wallpaper scraping were still bubbling under the surface but the joy of painting walls rose unexpectedly from the depths within his soul. Along with love interest LMMM and aided by long term sidekicks, Emulsional Eimear and Mary Magnolia, the lounge was freshened up with a lick of paint. So satisfied with the results the next target was the transforming of the previous occupants monkey room into the more sophisticated fuchsia room.

Monkey Room becomes.....

.....Fuschia Room!

  

The ball was really rolling now and the Master bedroom was the next area to be spruced up. Full of confidence DM & LMMM took on the task with gusto, painting walls, wardrobe doors and skirting boards like a zooming whirlwind of paint brushes, masking tape and rollers, all the while egged on by an authentically paint splattered radio.

DM & LMMM can turn cold blue.....

...... into warm and earthy green

It was at this point that DM was ready to take on the childhood demons of his past and launch himself back into wallpapering. Dipping his toes into this maelstrom of past emotions DM became reinvigorated and with the considerable help of LMMM the mission was a major success, the wallpaper was all hung straight, the patterns matched and any mistakes were covered up by the bed, never to be seen by anyone.

Again, cold blue but after a bit of magic......

......success! Wall papering demons pasted into oblivion.

Throughout this DIY odyssey the pair were busy developing their skills in other areas. Driven by the resulting hunger produced by painting and decorating, new recipes and meals have been mastered in the kitchen and any visitors to the house are likely to be treated to delicious stews, roast dinners and aided by the generous gift of a Kenwood Chef to the arsenal of kitchen appliances, crumbles, cakes and all sorts of baking goodies.

Where DM's delicous chocolate chip cookies would have been had they not been so amazing that DM & LMMM ate them all.

Fuelled by full stomachs our pair of heroes have ventured into the garden but the Wembley Stadium groundskeepers will not be trembling in their wellies just yet at the mixed results of their attempts to put stripes into the lawn. At some point the Flymo Mower will have to be upgraded into the kind of grass cutter Batman would be mowing his lawn with but for the moment they will make do.

It is this spirit of adventure that will surely see them  past any major obstacles (super fast growing grass, dripping taps and a thermostat in the shower that trips more than a crack cocaine addict) and continuing to make their domestic life an unadulterated triumph.

Five Star Skiing

Possibly the most important film to come out of Fuschl Studios since 'Angus Wrecks The Blocks,' #Austria011 has been wowing audiences across western Europe. Within the Adventure Cinematic industry the maverick director/cameraman/leading actor Nick Warren has been variously hailed as a genius, a visionary and a role model to all people in the young 'skiers with cameras' demographic.

After the worldwide success of his #austria010 efforts, a controversial masterpiece rumoured to have been fuelled and heavily influenced by a heady mix of sleep deprivation and baby milk powder, director/cameraman/leading actor Nick Warren has achieved the seemingly impossible by raising the bar yet further in the highly successful 'Austria Oh' series of films.

Warren's action/disaster films were described in some parts of the press as a moribund franchise as they saw no possible room for improvement after the supposed pinnacle of Austria Oh 10, the innovative and revolutionary fusion of two classic ski stories cut and spliced into one indestructible tour de force, like the fibres of an eight seater chairlift cable.

But director/cameraman/leading actor Warren surprised all comers by breaking down the production process to it's basics and most successfully expanding the crew. The inspirational castings of Mark 'The Only Way Is Essex' Hobson (credited as the best UK boarder to Rip the Kripp by Rob the Quirky Guide) and Wild Phil Coyote were crucial to the Fuschl Studios latest production.

The cast and crew of Fuschl Studios #austria011

Wild Phil Coyote has been struggling for years to shed his image as the crazy man of the slopes and has never shrugged off the dark rumour dogging his reputation that he once landed a huge jump on top of the Mountain Director's Son in Coronet Peak, New Zealand. His medical records would seem to support this, perhaps unjust, reputation but his presence in the tight knit crew of #austria011 certainly makes for compelling viewing and (***spoiler alert***) the hilarious blooper reel would provide a fraction of the entertainment in his absence. The scene of his failure to hit the nail into the block of wood with the thin end of a hammer is priceless and one can only marvel at his persistence at this seemingly impossible task in the face of impending failure.

Mark 'The Only Way is Essex' Hobson represents the cream of the boarding talent from the Anti Stansted Stable (ASS) of riders and his obvious talents at social networking thankfully translate perfectly into the real world, stamping his 'Like' brand of riding all over the stunning Austrian Alps.

Another warming theme that has been running throughout the 'Austria Oh' movies has been the development of McGnarly, the young, flame haired Irish starlet who has evolved from a relative novice in the early years to a bona fide powder hound in this latest triumph. Nothing seems to faze this girl and her future in the ski movie industry burns bright. It is these kind of human interest subplots that enhance the pulsating action of these films and which has led various outlets to heap praise upon director/cameraman/leading actor Warren and his crew as they continue to knock out the hits. One can only take a deep breath and look forward to the next instalment.

(at the time of writing the internet blogosphere is ablaze with rumours of a spin off sequel to 011 operating under the working title of #Austria011 Part Two, Christmas Feast on a Piste' using brand new cast members, but this is yet to be verified).