What makes a celebrity?

It’s been three days since I vowed to make friends with a celebrity.  (See #9 in post below).  Although I have seven months to make this minor miracle happen it is proving very difficult to get started.  Questions crowd in on me concerning the best plan of action; a possible shortlist; geographical location; gender and so on.  But my biggest quandary is trying to define a ‘celebrity’.

Having consulted a few trusted people in my life we have decided that a celebrity is someone who, if invited to ones wedding or birthday party, would be recognised by most people.  But doesn’t this vary depending on ones friendship circle?  

More than all the rest, this challenge causes me the most angst.  Unless I have a finely honed strategy; I could be arrested, locked up in an asylum, shot by an undercover body-guard, run-over by a motorcade, punched, followed and threatened, beaten to a pulp… the list is endless when you think about it!

Therefore I have decided that a minor celebrity from the emerald isle may be the most achievable and certainly more possible than an international movie star or rap artist.  Suggestions so far have included William Crawley, Shane Lynch, Ian Paisley, Gerry Anderson, Hugo Duncan, Christine Bleakley, Fanta Clarke, Eamon Holmes and the current Presbyterian Moderator.  So I now shamelessly make my appeal to any A, B or C list, Irish/British celebrity, who by chance reads this blog, to get in touch with me… thanks. 

All other suggestions gratefully received.

Things I should do before I’m 30 (in no particular order!)

At the time of writing this post I am a single male aged twenty-nine years and six months.  I have no regular job although my future seems to be taken care off so I’m not worried.  I’m assured. 

However, I can’t help but feel like there’s something terribly grown-up about being thirty something.  When the twenties have passed we no longer have the right/freedom/excuse to be irresponsible, fool-hardy and adventurous.  Therefore the time has come for me to write down some achievable ‘tasks’ which may enhance my life experiences over the next six months.  This list of ‘things to do before I’m 30′ helps to legitimise some of my hankerings and challenge my comfort zones.

Thank you to my friends for your helpful comments and suggestions.  I have decided to omit: shooting something; sleeping rough; speed-dating; parachute jumping; buying a PHD and getting married.  These suggestions were - after much contemplation - either too expensive, too desperate or too uncomfortable.  But thanks anyway!

Hopefully this ”to do” list will generate enough material to keep my blog alive for a bit longer!

1. Do some overseas travel by myself
2. Go to a ballet
3. Learn a second language (excluding biblical Greek and Hebrew)
4. Grow vegetables
5. Ride a motorbike
6. Play guitar in church
7. Own a pet
8. Test drive an expensive car that I have no intention of buying
9. Make friends with a celebrity
10. Climb a mountain
11. Take up a sport
12. Start a society
13. Become a volunteer in an organisation
14. Apply for a T.V. show
15. Cook dinner for a stranger
16. Sell something on ebay
17. Organise a street party
18. Go busking for an afternoon
19. Send flowers to a girl who’s not related to me
20. Go on a road-trip in Ireland and camp somewhere which isn’t a campsite and cook breakfast in the morning on a trangia stove
21. Broaden my friendship circle to better represent the cultural and religious differences in society
22. Lead someone to Jesus
23. Go to a music festival
24. Eat at a Michelin starred restaurant
25. Read “Cloud Atlas” (I chose this at random from a list)
26. Record my family history
27. Watch the “Star Wars Trilogy”
28. Get something published
29. Visit London
30. Sing Karaoke

A pigeon, some wasps and a cup of coffee…please!

What do you get if you cross a black and white pigeon with two wasps and a mega-large americano?  A cosmopolitan coffee experience in Portadown!

Whilst my trusty Rover 25 was getting a nice new pair of brakes I decided to do coffee and sermon prep in a pleasant non-threatening environment.  After a 5 minute dander with my laptop strapped to my back I decided on the new “O’Brien’s”, just beside the church.  After avoiding the unfortunately placed dog poo at the front door I wandered inside and over to the counter.  I ordered a large americano and fumbled in my pocket for a couple of pound coins.  Something moved, behind the big red sofa to my right.  I glanced at the girl behind the counter and she shot me a nervous, slightly flustered, glance back.  Eventually a black and white pigeon tottered out from behind the sofa.  “Do you know there’s a pigeon in here”  I said helpfully.  “Yeah” she said with a sigh “we’ve been trying to get him out all morning”.  I took my coffee to the other side of the cafe and opened my laptop.  Apparently it takes 2 O’brien’s workers, half a loaf of bread and 25 minutes to tease a pigeon out of a coffee shop.  It only takes one ministry student and a second-hand newspaper to kill two wasps.

Rubbish-Dump Spuds

this is a potato

 Tuesday is the first day of my working week and what a day it’s been.  I went to bed yesterday evening (Monday) feeling very pleased with myself for laying a 5ft path in my back garden, and I vowed to “kill dead things” when I woke up today (Tuesday).  I woke up late and subsequently very peed off.  Sporting my new pyjamas I crawled to the kitchen in agony feeling like i’d done ten rounds with Mike Tyson and looking like a geriatric. 

No milk.  Black coffee.  Bah!

Showered, shaved and feeling much better I shuffled to the study and discovered that I had lots of incredibly important face-booking, blog-reading and e-mailing to do.  2 hours later and my afternoon entertainment had arrived at the door.  I greeted them, we drank coffee and went book shopping.  Now it’s 4:30pm.

Heading home I console myself that there’s a good 2 hours before heading out for my dinner invitation.  One mile from the house I randomly bump into my mother and her mate who have been out shopping for wedding outfits.  “Who’s wedding?” i ask.  “Oh no-one in particular, its just good to be prepared for every eventuality”.  If they’re holding out for my wedding they’d better have supplies!

6:30pm and my Mother and her friend head off home and I head for my dinner.  Its a lovely, good, wholesome dinner which contained three of my ‘five-a-day’ portions.  We ate potatoes that had been grown in the garden.  I - all of a sudden - became terribly and genuinely interested in the art of growing potatoes.  I asked my hosts lots of questions and they patiently told me that I could grow my own potatoes in a half barrel of soil and mud if i wanted to.  If I plant in February I can harvest in June and I’d get dozens of potatoes for my efforts.  “You can’t go wrong” he said  “After the harvest thanksgiving last year we threw some leftover potatoes into the rubbish dump at the church graveyard.  We had a great crop of potatoes in June, and without even trying” he told me proudly.  “Did you eat them?”  I asked.  “Oh no, sure they grew in a rubbish dump in a graveyard, why would we eat them?!”  I blushed.

I’m going to get a half barrel of mud and muck and chuck in a few spuds in February.  I’ll be a farmer by June!       

It’s 10:30pm… I really ought to do some work!

Doing the Lambeth Walk…Oi!

“Any Time you’re Lambeth Way 
Any Evening, any day
You’ll find us all (well…most of us)
Doin’ the Lambeth Walk”

The Lambeth Conference is a decadel gathering of bishops from the Anglican Communion, who assemble at the invitation of the Archbishop of Canterbury.  During this 2 week conference they deliberate, debate, discuss, drink coffee and cause controversy.  However there is one bishop who is walking his own version of the Lambeth walk: Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, USA. Consecrated whilst wearing a bullet-proof vest in 2003, Bishop Robinson is the first openly gay Anglican bishop in the Communion.  880 bishops were invited to Lambeth this year yet Bishop Robinson was not on Rowan William’s guest list.  He came anyway - (I assume he had his flights booked in advance).  Out of the 880 bishops thought to have been invited, approximately 200 have declined the invitation.  Although not obliged to comment as to their reasons, it is speculated that they are not attending because of the recent decisions and resolutions made by the liberal wing of the Anglican Communion.  Women Bishops in England, Gay Bishops in America, and the blessing of the marriage of two gay priests in England are contributing factors to the tension within the Anglican Communion.  But will this be enough to break the back of this Anglican Camel? 

Bishop Gene Robinson is a complex figure.  A struggling homosexual; ordained as a priest; married then divorced; involved in a monogamous same-sex relationship; consecrated as a bishop; and a recovering alcoholic.  Is this same man single-handedly capable of causing an irrepairable schism within the Anglican Communion?  or is is he a sinful man, saved by grace, sent to challenge our interpretations of biblical texts regarding homosexuality? 

One one hand, Bishop Robinson is claimed to be a trouble maker, showing up where he is not invited.  On the other hand he claims to come in peace asking ”how can we hold onto one another while we figure this out?” (Andrew Marr show, BBC) 

Although not invited, Gene Robinson is at Lambeth.  Would you talk to him?  All comments gratefully received!

“Ev’rything’s free and easy,    
Do as you darn well pleasey,
Why don’t you make your way there,
Go there, stay there,

Once you get down Lambeth way,
Ev’ry evening, ev’ry day,
You’ll find yourself doin’ the Lambeth walk.”

Beards

If beard growing became a national sporting activity, I strongly suspect that the organisers would soon find themselves in the High Court amidst accusations of sexism, and ageism.  It is true to say that hair is a fussy commodity which only grows on the chins certain specimens.  Those challenged in this way include; babies, pre-pubescent boys and pre-menopausal women.  Everyone else sprouts hair freely.

I do not fall into any of the above categories yet I am beardless.  Why?  Because I choose to be.  I make an effort, spend money and take time to be able to unashamedly call myself a beardless man.  Don’t be fooled with phrases such as “I’m thinking of growing a beard” or “I’m trying to grow a beard” or “It took me ages to grow this beard”, because essentially anyone who has a beard has only succeeded in one thing… doing nothing.  Yes, a beard is the nasty side-effect of non-activity.  Now I am aware that some of you may be donning a beard and perhaps even stroking it fondly as you read these words.  So before I am accused of beardism, let me categorically state that I have no problem with your beard (or what you do with it).  Just don’t expect me to congratulate you for gaining a growth on your face which, quite frankly, takes about as much effort as gathering dust in an empty house.

The top five “beardoes” - as voted by the British public - are: (in reverse order)

1. B.A. Baracus - “Pity the fool”
2. Papa Smurf
3. Catweazle
4. Uncle Albert
5. Gandalf
6. Hillary Clinton - This look didn’t really work out for you did it Hillary?!

Carla Bruni and me

I have recently been converted to the sweet and folky muses of Carla Bruni.  I even went as far as to purchase her album “quelqu’un m’a dit”.  Most of the time I’m blissfully unaware of her lyrics but It doesn’t stop me from enjoying the listening experience.  In fact I often make up my own titles for the songs.  Perhaps you too will be converted to her wonderfully intoxicating voice.  Click on the link below to hear her dulcet tones.

(Also check out link opposite)

Loose translation  “It tells me that our lives are not worth much, they spend a moment to fade as the roses. It tells me that the time slip is a bastard that our sorrows he made coats, however, someone told me … (refrain)… whether you m’aimais again. This is someone who told me that you m’aimais….”

All translations of “m’aimais” greatfully received… don’t be shy now

Won Ton Soup

So it’s a blustery Tuesday night in a strange town.  (Strange as in ‘unfamiliar’ not strange as in ‘hello-nice-to-meet-you-have-you-met-my-wife-who’s-also-my-sister!’).  I have just spent 3 hours of my evening in a mildly interesting meeting.  I spoke once at the meeting only to say thanks to the person on my left who picked up my pen from the floor.  I accidently dropped it and it had landed under my seat out of my eye range.  I kept bending down to find it, then shifting position and bending down again, achieving nothing except a very red face.  The person to my left – who had been equally silent – reached down with little effort and returned it to my possession.  I muttered ‘thanks’ whilst raising my eyebrows slightly for some unknown reason.  Not only was I the only mute in the room but I now had a beetroot coloured face and appeared to be hitting on the middle-aged pen-finding lady on my left. 

By 11pm I needed a drink!  I couldn’t have a drink so instead I decided to treat myself to a Chinese take-away – hence being in a strange town on a blustery Tuesday night. 

The pleasant Chinese lady behind the counter asked me if I was ready to order.  I was, on one condition:  “Is your honey, chilli chicken sticky and crispy?”  The answer was affirmative so I ordered. 

“Anything else?” she replied. 

“Emm, yes can I also have one tin?”  This is where it all went wrong. 

“Wonton?”

“eh..” I laughed nervously “no…sorry, just one tin of coke”

“Ok so it’s a honey and chilli chicken with chips, wonton soup and a coke, that’ll be £9.25 please”

“Em, actually I was saying ‘one tin’ not ‘wonton’.  I just want one tin… of coke”

Slight hesitation

“Yes that is all right” said the server with her unflustered smile, “that’s £9.25”

I gave her a tenner and she gave me 75p.

I got home, ate my honey and chilli chicken, drank my coke and poured my wonton down the toilet.  

By 12.25am I still needed a drink!

Lilac and yellow clash!

Exactly 2 weeks ago I was attending an annual conference in Belfast.  A cocktail of laziness, sunstroke and a visitor from Kilkenny prevented me from seeing sense and taking the Metro into the capital.  Instead I chose the speedy and luxurious option and drove the Rover.  My lovely car comes in for a lot of criticism from many people who can be heard scoffing behind the steering wheels of their overpriced Renaults, Volkswagens, Peugeots and Fords.  They mock the subtle lilac/blue tints and the chrome trim of the Rover.  It may look like the choice vehicle for every suburban granny, but appearances can be deceiving! 

I can forgive these aforementioned philistines but what truly offended me was our involuntary receipt of a big yellow parking fine, issued on 3^rd June 2008 at precisely 15:22.

 

 My immediate annoyance at the sight of this ticket on my windscreen ebbed away over the course of a few days.  My annoyance was soon replaced with joy and laughter when I was informed that I could easily pay my fine online at www.roadsni.gov.uk.  In addition to this convenient and hassle free payment method, I was overjoyed to learn that if I paid within 14 days I would receive a discount!!  How generous!

The cherry on the cake however, was being able to view photos of my illegally parked Rover on the government website (see above).  The traffic attendant had taken 5 photo’s altogether including an artistic shot of the big orange sign I had obviously not seen earlier that day.

So I suppose every cloud has a silver lining after-all.  For a mere £30: I travelled to and from the conference in luxury; I learned how to pay a parking fine online; I got a 50% discount; realised that the colours lilac and yellow should never go together; and obtained some rather fetching photos of my stylish Rover (all included in the price).

Snow to Eskimos?

Sunny Saturday at an Irish car boot sale - What a Job!

(And they look so smug!)