For those about to Rock......We Salute You!

Well Dear Reader, once again it has been an absolute eternity since I added anything to this corner of the internet.

Call it writer's block, a hectic lifestyle, a fear of the blank screen, a lack of motivation or a complete inability to get off my fat arse and write anything of note, or anything for that matter.

To be honest it was probably due to a combination of all of the above.

Anyway, here I am and I am ready to go. It's nice to be back and I hope you enjoy reading my thoughts as much as I do spilling them out onto the internet for all sorts of weirdos to peruse at their leisure when they're finally done surfing 'special interest' sites.

So, as I sit here on the balcony of our wee apartment, flexing my fingers, cold beer by my laptop and a full pack of cigarettes just asking to be consumed and with the music playing in the background, I'm finally ready if you are?

But first a sip of beer.

And maybe I'll spark up a ciggy too.

That's better!

So what is it that has me back on the internet frantically typing at my keyboard lest I forget any of the sentences before I get them out onto the screen?

Tonight my friends, in less than 6 hours I will be privy to something very special.

Very special indeed.

Tonight, I will be witness to something that I never thought I would get a chance to enjoy in my life. Something that I thought I had passed up the perfect opportunity to indulge in, back when I was studying in Belfast, some 18 years ago.

But patience is a great virtue and fast forward 18 years (and my, how that time has flown!) on a journey that has taken me to the other side of the planet; I now have a chance to make amends on something that I have regretted for much of my adult life.

For tonight, Dear Reader, I am joining 50,000 other like-minded people to watch that greatest of rock and roll bands, AC/DC, perform at the QSAC sports stadium on the outskirts of Brisbane.

To say that I am excited would be an understatement of the highest order. Christ, I'm getting nervous just thinking about it. Yes, the 'Rock and Roll Train' that are AC/DC will be playing, tonight, in my adopted home town. Yes, it's a Thursday evening and I've got work tomorrow – but to hell with all that, for tonight I will be living and breathing all things AC/DC.

I am one of those 'about to rock' and yes boys 'you can salute me' all you like for I know I will be returning my own salute of sorts, arms raised against the balmy evening sky as I head-bang to some of the greatest guitar riffs ever dreamed of by mankind and I cannot wait for you to 'shake me all night long'.

Now I understand that some of you out there think that this kind of music is an awful assault on the eardrums but I am here to tell you that 'Rock and Roll ain't noise pollution' and I can safely say that 'There's gonna be some rocking' tonight.

But it wasn't always like this for your humble scribe.

Oh no – AC/DC and I have been on a long journey together and it's hard to believe that back when I was a not-so-troublesome teen that there was actually a stage in my life that, unbelievably, I didn't even like rock and roll.

So what was my seminal moment?

How did I change from being a spotty teenager going to my first ever concert to sing along with that Norwegian pop act, Aha, (oh the shame of it) to a spotty man in his 30's freaking out because he is finally getting to realise his dream of seeing AC/DC live?

Indulge me in a little walk down memory lane if you would please. It won't take long.

The school summer holidays in my home town of Ballyclare, Northern Ireland, were a frustrating time for a pre-pubescent boy. Yes, we had nine long, glorious weeks off from school and yes, it didn't get dark until after ten in the evening (a fact that is hard to believe, now that I am living in a country where it doesn't stay light much after seven, even at the height of summer.)

The thing was though – there wasn't much for us to do to entertain ourselves back in those days. The fancy leisure centre that now sits at the foot of the town was only a town planner's wet dream at that stage.

Although the new leisure centre must have been gratefully received by Ballyclare's previous leisure centre – the sheep tied to the lamp post at the Town Hall....

Auch – I know it's an old joke but we're indulging here!

The two tennis courts in town saw a helluva lot of action in the weeks before, during and after Wimbledon but 2 tennis courts and no booking systems meant for a frustrating day of waiting for all concerned in my hometown. For that reason alone, I can safely say that we're going to have to wait a while before a Ballyclarian graces the Centre Court.

But I digress.

The other thing that we all did as boys running about with long days to fill and way too much energy to burn was play football. And lots of it. We were always playing football. We would get up early in the morning (not surprisingly a lot earlier than if we were having to get up for school), make a picnic and then go down to the local park and kick ball.

All day long.

Every day of the week.

For hours on end we kicked a ball around, pausing only to eat our sandwiches and to lie in the grass telling silly stories, taking the mickey out of each other. They were great times indeed.

One day, however, the football picnic was rocked (quite literally) by a new addition to the experience. My best mate at the time, 'Browner,' had received a ghetto blaster for his birthday. It was a big behemoth of a beast that he would lug down to the park to play some tunes on as we played our football. No fancy IPods and docking stations back in those days.

On the first day, he brought two cassettes (Google it for those that are two young to remember) that his cousin had lent him. These were 'The Number of the Beast' by Iron Maiden and 'Back in Black' by AC/DC.

I can still remember to this day when I heard Back in Black's opening track 'Hells Bells' for the first time. The moody bell and then the haunting opening riff.....

I was hooked.

Completely.

To this day, this remains one of my favourite albums of all time. And I am not the only one who would seem to think like this. Back in Black went on to be the world's second-best selling album of all time, shipping no fewer than 45 million copies world-wide, a figure bettered only by Michael Jackson's 'Thriller.'

To say it had a profound effect on me is again an understatement that does not do justice to what happened. The rest of the summer was spent obtaining - by hook or by crook – everything that AC/DC and Iron Maiden had ever produced. Suddenly bands much heavier became 'must haves' in my small but burgeoning record collection.

Aha were confined to the annals of my own short history. So much so in fact, that the next concert I went to watch, just a few short months later were New York thrash metal band, Anthrax, at Bangor Leisure Centre. (Oh yes – la de da Bangor had a leisure centre.)

Incidentally, Saturday just passed, I got to see Anthrax again at a festival here in Brisbane. Strange how the world re-connects every now and then, isn't it?

Ever since that summer, I have been into rock and to be honest, I cannot see a time when the sight and sound of a rock band performing live on stage will not get my heart pumping and my blood racing. It is just One of Those Things.

So tonight, I am going to watch the daddy's of them all, AC/DC, playing to their 'home' crowd.

And therein lies a thing about this vast, great country that I now live in....

Australia unashamedly adopts anyone and everyone who Makes It and has anything to do with their country. What other country could seriously lay claim to a band formed by three young brothers from 12,000 miles away in Glasgow, Scotland and are now fronted by a Geordie from Gateshead in the north east of England?

Jimmy Barnes, Russel Crowe, Crowded House and don't even get me started on Northern Ireland born actor, Sam Neill.....they've all been claimed as home-grown Aussies.

In fact, the other evening, I saw a television interview with Colin Hay, the lead singer of Men at Work, (they of 'Do you come from a land Down Under' fame) and there he was 'Och Aye'ing' to his heart's content. The guy is from Kilwinning, North Ayrshire, Scotland for goodness sake!

But that's the thing about Oz. It is a complete melting pot of people from all walks of life and all nationalities all clubbing together to make this such a fantastic place to live. If only they could move it a bit close to Northern Ireland and then we'd all be a lot better off for it....

Rather fittingly, as I draw these musings to a close, 'For Those About to Rock....We Salute You,' has just come on the IPod and seeing as that's what I am about to do, I'll love you and leave you as I go to don my AC/DC 'Highway to Hell Tour' T-shirt circa 1979 and warm up my neck muscles for some serious head banging before I go to 'Beat Around the Bush' with AC/DC.

AC/DC – 'Have a Drink On Me'!!

This blog was brought to you by Pure Blonde Low Carbohydrate beer, a pack of Peter Stuyvesant Classics and of course the entire back catalogue of that finest vintage of rockers, AC/DC.

Paddy's Day - Brisbane Stylee!

Top of the morning to ye! Fiddle-de-dee potatoes! As the Aussies are very quick to say to me whenever they hear my accent for the first time, the reasons for which are still completely unknown to me...

It's been over a month now, but St. Patrick's Day has been and gone for another year. This year it fell on the Monday which must have been brilliant for the Irish pubs around the world, as they ripped the arse out of it for the whole weekend as people from all walks of life celebrated all things Irish in the time-honoured tradition of getting plastered.

I can't help but feel that as a race, we Irish should be insulted by this stereotyping of our people but sure, as long as the drinks flow freely, there's (to be) sure to be few complaints...

Brisbane actually has a St. Patrick's Day parade which I might have mentioned to you last year in this very corner of cyberspace and the city decided to hold it on the Saturday before the Big Day itself. Unfortunately, we were kind of locked in to a friends wedding that day, so I had to make do (on the Saturday at least) with a couple of hours and few (4) rushed pints of Guinness with a German, whilst Krissy was getting her hair done.

As you do.

(The drinking with the German, not Krissy getting her hair done.)

At least I drank enough Guinness to get the VERY silly hat though...

Anyway, I thought I would share an article with you that I actually got published in some of the papers Down Under. My career as a fully paid-up writer is still but a distant dream, but at least this was a step in the right direction! Sláinte!

(and yes - it is a bit of a kop-out. I'm hoping that I'll have some new material in the very near future!)

***

Top of the Morning to ye Reader!

As the dust settles on the recent Australia Day celebrations and the Big Day Out festivals draw to a close, the Irish – who themselves need no excuse to have a good party - prepare for their own Big Day Out, St. Patrick’s Day on March 17^th

Jonny Black, an Irish ex-pat, separates the facts from fiction about this great man and explains what it is like to be so far away from his homeland on this most important of occasions for the Irish.

The story of Patrick the man, is typically Irish in that it is a mixture of fact and myth, for as great storytellers, the Irish have never been ones to let the truth get in the way of a good story – and what greater story is there than that of Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland?

PATRICK - THE MAN

Born in 387AD, it may come as a surprise to some to discover that he was not even Irish but, in fact, depending on which account of his life story you read, England, Wales, Scotland or even France, can all lay a claim to be his birth land.

Kidnapped by pirates at the age of 16 and sold as a slave in Ireland, he worked as a shepherd tending to flocks on the exposed, rugged slopes of Mount Slemish, County Antrim, in what is now Northern Ireland.

Indeed, Mount Slemish is a mere 20-minute drive from Ballyclare where I grew up and the climbing of it was something that we often did during the summer as kids, oblivious to the historic importance of where we were treading.

The six years spent in captivity working on and around Mount Slemish, a dark and brooding place, with terrible weather the norm, seems to have had an enormous affect on the young Patrick and where, with much time on his hands to ponder life and its meaning, his thoughts turned to religion.

According to his own account, one night as he lay sleeping, he heard a voice that told him “You do well to fast: soon you will depart to your home country” and then a little later “Behold, your ship is ready.”

Having safely escaped, Patrick's experiences in Ireland made him driven by the idea of converting the Irish to Christianity and after studying religion in France, he announced that he wanted to return to Ireland as a missionary. His religious superiors, reluctant to acquiesce because of what they perceived as his inadequate education, eventually granted him permission after the first Irish missionary bishop, died in 431AD.

Because no one had ever preached Christianity there before, when St Patrick returned to Ireland in 432AD, he meant to sail up the coast to county Antrim where, for six years as a young slave, he had tended those flocks. However, strong currents forced him on shore in Strangford Lough 50 miles south of his destination.

Nothing daunted by this change of plan, Patrick set about his missionary business, starting with Dichu, the local chieftain. Dichu was quickly converted and gave him a barn (‘sabhal’ pronounced 'saul' in Gaelic) for holding services.

Over the next 30 years, he gained the trust and friendship of several tribal leaders and soon made many converts. Patrick founded more than 300 churches, mostly in the North and West of Ireland and baptized more than 120,000 people. He brought in clergymen for his new churches from England and France. Patrick preached in Ireland the rest of his life and was chiefly responsible for converting the Irish people to Christianity and became known as the Apostle to the Irish.

PATRICK - THE MYTH?

One of the best-known tales tells how he charmed the snakes of Ireland, supposedly from the top of Mount Slemish into the sea, where they subsequently drowned. As there are no snakes in Ireland today, one can only surmise that he did a pretty damn good job of it. Perhaps he could have got himself some contract work Down Under? Provided he met the necessary visa requirements, of course.

According to another legend, inspired by an abundance of them growing on the slopes of Mount Slemish, Patrick used a three-leaf shamrock to illustrate the idea of the Trinity, with each leaf representing The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit all joined as one.

Many people believe the shamrock came to be the traditional symbol of Ireland because of this legend. Throughout the world today, the Irish and many of those who are not of Irish descent (“Plastic Paddys” as we Irish affectionately refer to them), celebrate Saint Patrick's Day on his feast day, the day that he died and was accepted into heaven, March 17, 461AD.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY

Celebrations are generally themed around all things green and Irish; both Christians and non-Christians celebrate the secular version of the holiday by wearing green (even though one little known fact is that it was once blue that was the colour of this day), eating Irish food, and attending parades and of course, the consumption of Irish drinks. Lots of Irish drinks.

In Dublin, the St. Patrick's Day parade is part of a five-day festival but rather surprisingly, it was first held in Dublin only as recently as 1996. Over 500,000 people attended the 2006 parade which is nothing compared to the St. Patrick's Day parade held in New York City where an astonishing 2 million spectators watch it.

As well as being a celebration of Irish culture, Saint Patrick's Day is a Christian festival celebrated in the Catholic Church, the Church of Ireland (among other churches in the Anglican Communion) and some other denominations. It is because of this reason that up until the 1970’s, pubs were forced to close on March 17 - itself a fine example of the paradox of the Irish.

Another irony is that the day always falls during the fasting season of Lent. Thankfully, for those subjecting themselves to this period of abstinence, tradition dictates that it is ok to break it for the duration of Saint Patrick's Day whenever it falls on a Friday.

However, in my experience, whether it falls on a Friday or not, many people conveniently let their vows of abstinence slide for the duration of St. Patrick’s Day. Probably just as well, considering that the time-honoured tradition of celebrating ones “Irishness”, seems to involve imbibing copious amounts of alcohol, a tradition that I will undoubtedly be indulging in myself, cometh the moment.

Of course these days, the huge Diaspora of Irish immigrants around the world (an estimated 70 million people worldwide can claim Irish heritage), coupled with the advent of the ubiquitous Irish Pub, ensures that St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated in all four corners of the globe. I even read recently that the first Irish pub has opened in Afghanistan, so one can only imagine how the big day will be spent over there.

Having spent the last 12 St. Patrick’s Days in different countries, I now wonder what I can expect from this, my first Down Under?

Just a few short, enjoyable months into my Great Australian Adventure, the historical ties between Australia and Ireland are evident almost everywhere I go, from family names, street names to the names of businesses, so I am certain that there will be many people joining in the party with me.

The fact that it falls on a Saturday this year, will certainly swell the numbers, some of whom, I have no doubt will be bringing out long dead ancestry ties to the Emerald Isle as they sip on their pints of the Black Stuff.

I read with some interest that the Irish Premier spent a recent St. Patrick’s Day in Sydney. What a nice little jolly that must have been - leaving the Irish winter for the Australian summer to “Project, internationally, an accurate image of Ireland as a creative, professional and sophisticated country with wide appeal” - according to the manifesto of a group known as the St. Patrick’s Day Festival, which was formed in the mid 1990’s.

For my part, as an unofficial and self-appointed ambassador of Ireland on this most important of occasions, I shall be joining the party down in Brisbane, where I have been reliably informed that there will be plenty going on, with the party culminating in Dooley’s Hotel.

Therefore, with my first St. Patrick’s Day to be spent in Australia, just around the corner, I will leave you with this one, last thought.

The tiny island of Montserrat, known as "Emerald Island of the Caribbean" due to its foundation by Irish refugees from Saint Kitts and Nevis, is the only place in the world apart from the Republic of Ireland and the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador in which St Patrick's Day is a public holiday.

In Montserrat, the St. Patrick’s Day festival is a weeklong event, culminating in the day itself, so perhaps that is an idea for next year. In the name of research of course.

Sláinte!