Why I was in a church...

Himself was at me the other week for not writing enough about what's happening in my life. "You need to write more on what's going on around you, not just post clips from YouTube all the bleedin' time," he says. So, with that in mind, Wednesday night myself and the three miscreants I share this house with are sitting in watching telly. Stinky Magee (the waster) is tuning his guitar and Laura (the Kiwi) says to him,

"You're always tuning that thing, but we never hear you play it."

"That's because he can't," I say. "He only knows how to tune."

"Feck off," is Stinky's reply, "I've been playing for years."

"What grade are you?" asks Sean (the obnoxious banker).

"I don't even know if they do grades for guitar. I'm self-taught."

This rings true to me. Stinky claims to have never had a job. His parents are rich and pay his rent each month, leaving him plenty of time to wank around and teach himself to play guitar.

"Play something then," says Laura.

"Play what? The feckin' Beatles?" Stinky is getting riled. "I'm not a busker."

"What do you normally play?" I ask him.

"I'm working on an album at the moment. Urban folk music mainly"

"Me bollix," says Sean, "mainly."

"You should come and play at my church," says Laura. She's ostensibly religious, but I think it's social networking dressed up. "We have musicians in on Thursday night."

Stinky doesn't need much encouragement and Sean and myself don't want to miss what we know will be train-wreck entertainment of the highest order, so the four of us head off to Laura's church (don't ask me which denomination, but I've a feeling the mother would call them "left-footers") on Thursday night. Which is where I see the sign which read:

...or words to that effect. Speaking of carpet-eaters, I looked it up and apparently, apart from the obvious meaning, it's also a slang term for Hitler. Weird, huh? Anyway, their penchant for pithy slogans was evident from the outset, as out front they have a large sign reading 

"GLOBAL WARNING: THE SON WILL RETURN". 

Well, yes, that almost makes some sort of sense. I pass by it every day on the way to work and it bugs the shit out of me. So we go inside and I sneakily take the picture of the word collage (why couldn't the others see it?) and before long, it's Stinky's time to shine.

The vicar (or whatever) invites Stinky up on stage. Stinky it seems can indeed play the guitar. Here's what he sang. (I asked permission to print some of his lyrics. He hasn't got back to me yet, but I'm sure it's all right.)

Signin' on the dole

There isn't any craic

When me burd is up the pole

And me ma is on the smack

Northside born and bred

But there's no chip upon me shoulder

Me ma earned givin' head

Me da a deafened soldier

I didn't go to school

Just bunked off playin' pool

Coz there isn't any craic

When yer ma is on the smack.

Stinky was not issued a return invitation. Also, until last year, he lived with his parents in Foxrock. To my knowledge, his mother has thus far resisted the temptation of heroin use. His album is coming out later this year and will be called "Folk You, Mother-Folkers".

And another thing, Laura dissuaded me from suggesting a replacement for their "global warning" sign. But if you're reading, vicar, here it is: