How good can Cork Comedy Festival’s organisation be when I hadn’t heard about it until Marcus’ post, less than two weeks before it starts? And when they can’t spell the name of the only act I actually recognise, Kevin McAleer? (Ed Byrne doesn’t count, near as I can tell he’ll do kid’s birthday parties if you pay for his travel expenses.)
However I’m into comedy and it’s my birthday the night Kevin’s playing, so I reckon I’ll catch an Improv session and himself in the Savoy on the 28th, if anyone would like to help me celebrate my – gasp – 35th. You won’t have to worry about my usual drunken routine, I’m on Lipotrim at the moment so I can’t drink anything bar water.
(I have to drink gallons of that, so at the very least you’ll get to laugh at me going to the toilet every 30 minutes, what with me having a bladder the size of an orange and all.)
Post a comment below if you’re coming. Good clean fun. It won’t be like you’re going out with me at all.
It’s rained every year I’ve been there, including the torrential rain and thunderstorms two years ago, but it was just too much this year. There were hours when it didn’t rain, in fact we had a full half day when it was really quite nice; but the mud had zero chance to harden so even when the weather wasn’t too bad, it was a major slog getting anywhere.
On top of that we plonked our tent on top of what became a puddle and while that shouldn’t have bee a problem, the youngfella didn’t take care of it like he was told, so we ended up getting a big soggy. Luckily Sista brought a spare, but even that leaked a little bit so we weren’t madly miffed when Stena texted to say that the Express was cancelled and could we make our way to Fishguard, pronto.
And let’s be honest, the line-up wasn’t great either. The Killers were good but way, way too quiet; and although we thought that was the wind, apparently it wasn’t, they really were quiet for some reason. The Manics were good fun, but I spent a good half an hour of it trudging through mud trying to get to a toilet. Shirley Bassey was fun, as were the Marley Brothers, but it wasn’t… Glastonbury, you know?
So no Glastonbury for me next year, I’m taking a fallow year to see if Sista’s theory that I’m a jinx is true. If it’s not, I’ll go back the year after. With a camper. It’s a cop-out, but I get to bring as many clothes as I want. And it’s dry.
We saw lots of interesting things over the weekend – notably the Browne-Clayton Column, which so intrigued us we had to go back to Wexford to figure out – but the things we saw most of were Nolan Transport lorries. We knew we were going the right way on the road to Rosslare because there they were; ditto Fishguard on the way back.
You know the ones: white tractor with Movin’ On on the sunscreen, red trailer with www.NolanTransport.com in massive letters on the curtain. You thought you were seeing the same one over and over again, right? No. See the key facts on their website: 420 tractors, 900 trailers. They’re no Eddie Stobart, but by god they’re not far off.
Well done to the lads and lasses in Nolans for building such and impressive fleet!
By Thomas Mangold. Click for full size and explanation.