Author: Damien Ryan

Venice in Peril

Rondo Veneziano - Odissea VenezianaHave you ever had an image in your mind’s eye? An image so real it has to be a memory, albeit a memory whose origins are lost in the haze of youth.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve recalled an animation of Venice’s final moments where the watery city falls into the sea while a string quartet with smooth faces of reflective glass played a classical piece. Thanks to the magic of last.fm radio I’m no longer haunted.

A piece by Rondò Veneziano reminded me of the Live at 3 theme tune back from old school RTÉ. When I went searching about the band, I found out that my memory was a video for one of their songs.

Nice to know I wasn’t hallucinating.

SMS… even for monkey shaggers

Looks like Tom Baker is going to be the voice of SMS on U.K. telephones. The veteran of Dr. Who, Little Britain, and insane voice over fame has recorded his voice to be used when a text message is sent to a B.T. landline.

This doesn’t mean that he’s sitting on a reception desk waiting for texts to come in, as Wrangler thought, but he has recorded 11,593 phrases which will be combined by the magic of computer.

Cottaging Germans

From a friend:

So this 17 year old German boyband member was involved in a bit of a controversy. He was at a nightclub, disappeared into the toilets with another bloke and started sucking his cock. This came to light because some guy in the next cubicle took pictures, and then blackmailed him (he’s since been arrested).

Here is a picture of him on the cover of a magazine for an unrelated story. It has an… unfortunate caption.

Boomerang

Remind me never to think a 9.15pm flight from Dublin will get me back at any kind of sensible hour. Remind me to always make sure I book a day off work after a holiday. Remind me to put toiletries in places where they can’t explode.

So I’ve made it back from Dublin in one piece, although I didn’t get in till 2am due to late flights, late bags, and late buses. Nothing has changed in two weeks apart from the fact that my house looks even more untidy despite the fact that no-one’s been in there for two weeks.

Ho hum. My Andrew Vincent album I ordered from Canada arrived and reminded me why I love independent labels. Not only did I get the CD I paid for, I got his earlier album, a badge, and a hand-written note expressing their hope that I enjoy. Not bad for what was only a fiver including postage.

Rumours of my demise…

I’m not dead. I’ve been back home in Dublin for the past week as I have to be in the bosom of my loving family every Christmas or the Air Corp would be sent to rescue me. So for it hasn’t been the Bachanalian orgy of wine and turkey that it normally is, rather a sedate, sensible drinking, a fair amount of food, and lots of telly watching.

Obviously it goes without saying that The Christmas Invasion was the highlight of Christmas Day and, having watched it a number of times, I think that David Tennant is going to be even better than Christopher Ecclestone.

Time to brave the Winter Sales now so happy Christmas to those of you who haven’t had it wished you and see you in 2006.

Kinky Serenity

A while ago I sawKinky Boots, a very British comedy set in the north of England about a shoe factory saved from bankruptcy by changing their product line from quality mens’ brogues to womens’ boots that could hold the weight of a man for transvestites.

While the film was very simple and had some quite sweet moments, it was made all the more odd because the transvestite in question was played byChitwetel Ejiofor, who had previously played the Central government assassin inSerenity.

It’s not every day where you see someone as an assassin one week and a very convincing transvestite the next.

As if that weren’t strange enough, Stephen Hawking was in the front row and appeared the enjoy the movie quite a lot.

Only in Cambridge.

Driving Home for Christmas

Continue on Dun Laoghaire-Holyhead – go 59 mi

It looks like I need to get a Jesus attachment for my car.

L-plated no more

As of Monday the 4th of October, I am no longer called Maureen. On the fifth attempt I’ve finally passed my driving test and am legally able to vroom on my own.

I didn’t create the best atmosphere in which to take it, however. I arrived at work at 9am to find that my Micra had some water in its left headlamp, making it look as it it spent the whole weekend crying. After trying to prise the lens off and realising that it wasn’t going to happen I called several garages in Cambridge to find out nothing can be done. I decided to say a rosary and, if the subject came up, to tell the tester that my car was only nervous.

Next on the list was to renew my tax disc so once Panda arrived we went to Bar Hill (via the dreaded Girton Interchange) as there was a post office there which did tax shennanigans. Unfortunately someone stole the post office. Cue some almost bub bubbing from a very stressed Damo.

Finally there was a post office in Longstanton which fixed me up. I had a quick fag and felt better.

Then test time.

I thought I fouled up the reverse bay park again so I drove as if I’d failed and spent more time thinking about booking the next one. When I heard the words, “I’m please to say you’ve passed.” I had to ask three times if he was telling the truth.

Damn your Ears

I’ve just been listening to a Flaming Lips cover version of What a Wonderful World and remembered a silly thought from when I was a child.

I used to think that the line The bright blessed day/The dark sacred night was The cats say good day/The dogs say goodnight.

Oh dear, indeed.

Tweed jacket and leather elbow patches

I must be mad. They’re sending out an application form and I’m going to do it. Expect fewer stories of carnage and more of head shrinkage.

So, tell me about your mother.