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!)

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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!

Go Lions, Go! - Aussie Rules (Quite Literally)

Well folks,

I've only gone and dabbled in the "dark side." Not content with pledging allegiance to the Brisbane Broncos Rugby League Team (Go Broncos, Go!), the Queensland Reds Rugby Union Team (Go Reds, Go!), and of course the Queensland Roar "soccer" team; I can now add The Brisbane Lions AFL team to my ever-growing list of favourite teams.

A list, for those that are interested, looks a something like this (and yes it is in descending order - of course!):

Ballyclare Comrades F.C.
Liverpool F.C.
Rangers F.C.
Wigan Rugby League
Royal Antwerp F.C.
Ebbsfleet United F.C. (of which, I am a part-owner!!)
Queensland Roar
Brisbane Broncos
Brisbane Lions
Queensland Reds
Torquay United F.C.
Miami Dolphins
Boston Red Sox

All the above clubs have a special place in my heart. As you all know by now, it's the simple pleasures in life that keep me amused...as you can see by this video clip - or maybe it was the Boags Premium that I guzzled greedily in the pre-match build-up!

Incidentally, the Lions lost in, what was according to a guy I met in the pub afterwards, quite possibly the best game of AFL played. EVER! And we all know how wise complete randoms full of booze in a pub are...

Final Score: Brisbane Lions 118 130 Hawthorn Hawks

On the Hunt for "Brangelina"...

Well folks,

It's been a while and I know I've been very quiet but I thought you'd forgive me the indulgence of this wee post, for you see, my job has taken me to the USofA for a couple of weeks.

Thanks to a horrendous journey from Brisbane to Atlanta via a long stop-over in Los Angeles Airport, I found myself taking the opportunity to find those most sexy of people, Brad and Ange, out and about doing some shopping around Beverly Hills.

Unfortunately, I arrived as the shops were closing, so I had to make do with driving about in my rented car - or as I referred to it, "The Pimp-Mobile":

After a couple of hours driving about Santa Monica Boulevard...

...Rodeo Drive...

...and of course Beverly Hills...

...star spotting really did start to get a wee bit tiresome, so it was back to the Hilton Hotel, LA airport, for some dinner and drinks before heading off on the next leg of the trip.

Gosh, those paparazzi have got it tough, eh?!

Shame that the shops were closed. You can see how disappointed I am outside Tiffanys. Phew - that was close!

Next up: Going deep, DEEP South. South Georgia stylee.

Y'All come back now, y'hear?!

ROOOOOAAAAARRR!!!

Well Folks,

It’s time to come clean with you all.

This blog (as well as my previous one: www.belgiumisboring.blogspot.com) have in the past often provided a cathartic medium for me to vent my spleen, to bare my soul, to share my thoughts with the unseen masses out there in Internet Land and this entry is no exception.

For you see, I've only gone and sold my soul to the devil....and went to watch a live "SOCCER" game.

Having bought the Foxtel Platinum package and further lined the pockets of Rupert Murdoch’s bulging pockets, I am facing up to the harsh, cold, reality of a lifetime of watching Liverpool and Rangers matches in the wee hours of the morning, on my own, lying on the couch with the volume turned down, so as not to awaken Krissy from her sweaty, snoring, slumber.

Ironically enough, I now see more of my beloved football than I ever did in the past. Even more games than I saw when living 20 minutes from Anfield.

OK, so I’ve maybe had to sacrifice many hours of much needed sleep to do so, but thanks to the digital revolution, Liverpool and Glasgow Rangers are now being fed into my living room on such a regular basis that sleep – or indeed the lack of it – is such a part of my “Australian way of life” these days that it’s become second nature to me.

But my life still lacks the live experience of cheering on 11 heroes as they play The Beautiful Game on the smooth, green, baize of a pitch in front of a packed stadium roaring my team on to ever greater and greater achievements.

In the absence of all this, I’ve plumped for supporting my local soccer team, The Queensland Roar, in Australia’s A-League.

Now don’t get me wrong – the standard isn’t too shabby and the stadium is fantastic but “soccer” is very much the poor cousin in relation to Rugby League, Rugby Union, Australian Rules Football and Cricket. With a capacity of 50,000-plus, Brisbane’s Suncorp Stadium is a great place to watch FOOTBALL (no more soccer for me). Unfortunately, however, crowds barely trouble the 17,000-mark, which results in a lot of empty seats, much to the detriment of the game’s atmosphere.

OK – so perhaps I’ve been spoiled by watching games at Anfield and Ibrox – nay, I know I have - and with that in mind, I am quite enjoying the experience of “Roaring on the Roar”

We’re sitting pretty in second place and this Sunday, we played host to the top-placed Central Coast Mariners and we turned them over 2-1 to come within one point of them. So things are looking up for my adopted team. With a bit more success, who knows? Perhaps one day in the not too distant future, I’ll be proudly sitting cheering on my team as they pick up their league winner medals.

It’s been a while since I was able to do that.

Click on the video link to sample some of the “atmosphere”…

PS – A big shout out to my REAL home team, the Ballyclare Comrades (www.ballyclarecomrades.co.uk), as they play in their first major final for over a decade – the Steel and Sons Cup on Christmas Morning. This is an opportunity for a very young team to play in the biggest occasion of their lives. Usually, a very well-supported game (as the menfolk run from Christmas Dinner duties), here’s hoping The Wee Reds pick up the trophy and do my home town proud!

One day is not enough

Having spent a lot of my life in Belgium, there were constant reminders for those of us fortunate to share in the experience - lest we forget.

Indeed, at the Menin Gate Memorial in the Belgian town of Ypres, every night at 6pm a bugle sounds and everything stops, as the people of Ypres stop to pay homage to a group of young men who changed the course of history and the very nature of the world as we know it.

The Menin Gate Memorial at the eastern exit of the town of Ypres (known as "Ieper" in Dutch) in Flanders, Belgium, marks the starting point for one of the main roads out of the town that led Allied soldiers to the front line during World War I.

Designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield and built by the British government, the Menin Gate Memorial opened on 24 July 1927 as a monument dedicated to the missing British and Commonwealth soldiers who were killed in the fierce battles around the Ypres Salient area who have no known grave.

The names of 54,896 British and Commonwealth soldiers, who gave their lives in the First World War are recorded there. And this list does not include those missing in action. It is of course only one of many memorials around the world. People I did not know, have never met, will never be even remotely acquainted or familiar with, have laid down their lives for me…for my children…and my children’s children.

They sacrificed their hopes, their ambitions their dreams, in order that I, and thousands of others could realise our dreams. That we could enjoy the freedoms, which alas many of us, take for granted without a second thought. Freedom of association…of worship…of political persuasion to name but a few. The vast array of uncensored books in our libraries - encouraging freedom of thought and expression without recrimination or persecution.

And as the dark shadow of Fascism and Nazism rampaged across Europe and Africa with its ethnic cleansing policies, laying waste to all before them, it seemed our world stood on the precipice of its darkest age.

But from that darkness was born an inextinguishable light, a light which shone as a beacon to the rest of the rest of the world and for generations yet to come. Where did it come from ? From the glens of Scotland and Ulster, the valleys of Wales, the dales and the shires of England, from a Commonwealth of people from around the world, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, India, united in their stand against tyranny, oppression and persecution.

Determined, resolute, steadfast, and courageous unto death – driven by a desire for good and to protect the values their fathers and forefathers passed down to them.

They were the light that brought an end to the darkness which threatened our world.

The bible tells us there is no greater love than a life laid down for friends. But what of thousands of lives laid down for complete strangers ?At the going down of the sun and in the morning….we will remember them. But not just on the 11th of November.

But yesterday…today and forever.

Glenariff Forest Park

Waterfall heaven!

The traveller returns home

A couple of months ago, we were lucky enough to get home for a couple of weeks. To say I was a happy wee bunny, would be an understatement of epic proportions.

In this clip, I show off the jewel in Northern Ireand's crown, The Antrim Coast. A two hour drive which often appears in the top ten drives in the world, it is my favourite place in the whole world.

It was great to be home!