Paddy Duffy2013-05-18T10:59:40-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=paddy-duffyCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Paddy DuffyGood old fashioned elbow grease.What Kind of Week Has It Been? 17 May 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32802152013-05-15T13:37:06-04:002013-05-16T08:11:04-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/Elizabeth Mitchell is filling in for Paddy Duffy this week
This week has been dominated by various exits, whether desired, dreaded or downright dozy.
Once more, the seemingly ugly head that is the monster issue of Britain's EU membership has been raised. With Cameron away in the US, the little, trouble-making kids came out to play. Like an over-excited teenage boy in charge of the gang, Michael Gove jumped into the lime light first, clearly very eager to have his tuppence worth. How anyone can understand the spluttering of a flabby goldfish shall never quite be understood, although maybe it is similar to children who don't speak a common language being able to communicate with one another. Yet understand they did, with the bandwagon being leapt on at the speed of a disgruntled child spying a sandcastle to stomp on.
You'd have thought that the current Defence Secretary Philip Hammond would have refrained from joining in the goading, given his Department of Transport past. For the exit will doubtlessly resurface the century-long feud between Britain and France, whose final act of retaliation will involve blocking the Channel Tunnel with mouldy camembert. This fact is known by approximately 52% of British teenagers, just as is the fictional nature of Sherlock Homes.
The Lib Dems have been noticeably absent from the fray. This is not surprising: being the equivalent of the squat, ginger kid in the playground of politics, survival instincts must have finally started to kick in. On the other hand, it could simple be that Doddery Vince has attempted to steal Nasty Nick's paper crown again. Will we ever know? Unfortunately the kiddie chant replies: "Will we ever care?"
This all has, of course, given Labour a brilliant angle of attack. The gang-leader from the local comp next door, Ed Miliband, can claim for the first time ever that the Tories are a bunch of monarch-hating cowards. Slightly less excitingly, he's also been using this as the typical party-splitting jibe. This could be construed as the pot calling the kettle black with my personal favourite, the Prince of Darkness, having gone against the grain by re-emerging from his black hole to give Miliband a cheeky slap on the bottom.
Alas, these children have yet to learn their lesson: all this messing about has led to the first ever simultaneous drop in the opinion polls for the three major parties, whilst Mr Farage is somehow managing to look evermore like the cat who got at the cream. Let us just hope that these statistics come from a more reliable source than our dear Secretary for Education's.
The bickering between them all has been so loud that even the Most Important Man In The World has felt the need to get involved. Wise words (or should that be telling off?) from the Principal Obama seemed to have a slightly cooling effect on the situation. Once he'd been allowed off the naughty step of neglect, Cameron finally got his act together; offering the rebels a big bag of sweets if they held their tongues, whilst promising the others an ice cream when summer finally hits Britain...
Elsewhere, the Most Important Living Brit has finally stepped down from his throne after a 26 year reign, taking the Trophy with him. On the other side of the fence, Mancini has been sacked after Man City lost to Wigan (although the official line appears to be "poor communication"). This writer greets both of these exits with as much enthusiasm as she did the opening of the ABBA museum in Stockholm.
To top it all off, Chris Huhne and Vicky Price have been let out of prison, having spent 62 days of their 8 months sentence behind bars. Huhne described the experience as humbling, whilst simultaneously yelling at reporters to step off his front drive. The question remains of whether Huhne will quietly limp into the graveyard of disgraced MPs. Or will he manage to make it on to the ultimate adventure playground for spent politicians in as little time as his jail experience?
Elizabeth Mitchell is a Politics, Philosophy and Economics student at the University of Manchester. She writes for their student newspaper, The Mancunion. ]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 10 May 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32442892013-05-09T08:46:59-04:002013-05-10T06:12:53-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/Dan Colley is filling in for Paddy Duffy this week
Biting the postman of news
This week's news was defined by the gaffers and their subordinates. Be they defiant, waning or retiring it seems that there has been some leadership shifts and mask slips this week in UK politics.
The Queen's Speech, the British parliamentary tradition whereby the Government of the day feeds the reigning Monarch a series of words to say in a particular order to an audience of people who know the script, while wearing her very best hat, put me in mind of a very posh vaudevillian ventriloquist act. Everybody knows the dummy is inanimate, that the man with the reddest face is making the words happen, the whole experience is absorbed by trying to hear the puppeteer's voice in the things the puppet says while watching to see if his lips move, and yet it's such fun to see the enchanted piece of wood say such incongruous things. "[My Government will] ensure that this country attracts people who will contribute and deter those who will not", said the sixth generation German immigrant who has never had a job and who lives off the British exchequer with her Greek husband and children.
In announcing the legislative agenda for her new Parliament, the Queen character in this piece gave us some insight into her priorities for the coming session including "helping people to move from welfare to work" and promoting "a fairer society that rewards people who work hard" and of course enabling the state to investigate "crime in cyberspace" delivered with all of the ease and familiarity with the issues that this writer has with the legacy of Alex Ferguson.
With UKIP eating into the Tories' share of the steak and kidney pie, Nigel Farage thumping about the place drinking British litres in English versions of cafe-bars, enjoying his moment as the thinking man's Nick Griffith, while having weight added to his side of the rocking boat by Tory heavies like Nigel Lawson, Boris Johnson, Michael Portillo and zombie Thatcher, it hardly seems surprising that the agenda for the new Parliament should veer toward the right with Cameron saying he'll try harder to be harder. It's just disappointing that the Lib Dems continue to just make do with the scraps that fall from the Tories' table, with Vince Cable somehow turning his response to the anti-immigration legislation into an explanation about how immigration is a good thing.
Speaking of Britain's immigrants, we go to Ireland now, where the Head of State caused upset with Euro-sceptical remarks that did not get run past the Cabinet. President Higgins said in a speech to the European Parliament and followed, this week, by an interview in the Financial Times, that there is a "hegemonic" economic model being propagated by the EU leaders and calling for a "radical rethink" of a problem that is not just economic, but moral. Nobody expected Michael D to be a wall flower president when he took office. Like Mary Robinson, he knows that his official roles are mostly ceremonial but also knows that microphones don't know that. A debate was stirred about whether he was over stepping his brief as Lord High Chief of Stamping and Dining but Vincent Browne urged him to say it like it is. Why hide your true thoughts behind cloaking language? With all of the Government and main opposition parties falling over themselves to be the best boys of Europe, and glowing with pride when they're told they're the model of a modern major disaster State, perhaps the President, precisely because they are a figure above politics, has a role in freshening debate. And better it come from a friend in Higgins than foe in Farage.
Still though, I'd rather be Eamonn Gilmore this week, clambering to claim that his Chairman is actually, despite appearances, supporting him, or even Prince Charles at the Commonwealth Meeting, than I would like to be David Moyes in a few weeks time. If anybody will have trouble answering the question "Who's the boss?" it's the players and fans of Manchester United. As Ferguson, after 27 years, retires and joins the board of directors it's probably fair to say that it can get pretty chilly in the shadow of the most successful manager in the world. Manchester United is, as I understand, a billion pound hairdressing franchise.
Dan Colley is a writer and theatre maker based in Dublin. dan@dancolley.com or follow him on twitter @NeoNancyBoy]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 3 May 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.31970052013-05-02T08:25:56-04:002013-05-03T10:16:47-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The joyously casual rally co-driver of news
The UK and Ireland has been festooned with talent shows this last decade, and have completely permeated (or is that punctured?) popular culture in that time. But it's got to the point where it seems the Irish government is using Britain's Got Talent as the template for abortion law. The legislation, a mere twenty years in the making, is finally filling the mould the X Case created. But, on the contentious issue of whether suicide should be grounds for an abortion (I say contentious, the Irish public have twice voted that it should be), a bloody panel of three bloody doctors will rule on whether there are sufficient grounds or not and another three for an appeal process, which couldn't be more macabre or pathetically ridiculous if Louis Walsh and yer wan from Shakespeare's Sister were on the panel. Well, I say it couldn't be any more macabre, on Thursday morning Health Minister James Reilly has admitted that, while it wasn't the intention of the legislation, a woman could end up seeing out her pregnancy in a psychiatric ward..But hey, as long as it wasn't the intention, eh?
One man who'd probably love to be the casting vote in ant abortion judging panel is Peter Matthews, backbench Fine Gael TD and, after his performance this week, destined to stay that way. In the latest battle on Irish TV between logic and unicorns, he was asked if it was an acceptable risk for a woman to have to carry on with a pregnancy that could seriously damage her health, he replied "sure we're all going to end up dead anyway". And this is the pro-life guy.
Over across the pond UKIP's leader Nigel Farage is still talking up an electoral breakthrough that's been promised for nearly as long as abortion legislation has in Ireland. It looks like this time he may have a point, with UKIP showing 22% in some polls. This is despite the fact that Comedy Nige's party appears to choose its candidates through promotional token collections in racist crisps packets. One candidate, Alex Wood, was suspended after pictures surfaced on his Facebook of him Nazi saluting and clenching a knife between his teeth like he's Gob Bluth. In a stupefying series of excuses, it was variously claimed he was "reaching for a camera" to stop his girlfriend taking pictures of him posing as a plant, although he reverted to more mainstream excused when he told the BBC that his Facebook was hijacked and taken out of context. Don't you hate it when someone de-contextualises your Facebook?
Elsewhere that other notorious racist, comedian Reginald D Hunter, caused an hilariously overblown reaction to a gig he did at the PFA on Monday. His terrible crime was doing his routine because he was asked, and the people who asked him appearing to have never seen his uncompromising and thought provoking shtick. Amidst a blur of hand-washing, hand-wringing and hand-back-the-money-ing, Hunter, responded unusually, creating a Facebook photo album of searing genius. Referring to the gig as "irony's annual night off" he posted photos of "the horrible aftermath", replete with Hunter's manic grins with obviously well-disposed audiences and captions like "This man approaches Reginald D Hunter to ask him to explain the plot of Django Unchained". Even if he does have to give back the money he was apparently paid as part of a verbal contract (?!) with the PFA, I'm sure given the The Passion of St Tibulus Factor his upcoming concerts will recoup the money handily.
Meanwhile in contrast Barack Obama's normally hostile audience was a lot more sanguine for the White House Correspondents Dinner, where he cracked jokes about his days as a strapping young socialist Muslim and Daniel Day Lewis playing him in the movie of his life. If he could get Gitmo closed as easily as he could get laughs, he'd be landed.]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 27 April 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.31496472013-04-25T12:57:43-04:002013-04-26T11:02:48-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/Biting The Chelsea Defender Of News
It seemed for a while there that Mondays had struck up some kind of deal with the rolling news stations. A few weeks ago Margaret Thatcher died, forcing 24 hour news to get out their Latin incantation book and summon forth the Tory's eminences grises for interview after bloody interview. Hell, even David Mellor was asked.
But just when they started to wonder what news event they could pore over obsessively next, seven days later along came the Boston Marathon. 24 Hour Grand Guignol was all of a sudden back at it's wildly speculative , foaming-at-the-mouth best. Social media wasn't much better, with gruesome pictures and quite right (but often much too self-righteous) compare and contrasts of the loss of life in Boston as compared to those in Iraq, Syria or anywhere else that doesn't speak English basically from the minute the bombs detonated. After that, it became a veritable jamboree for the news stations: Late night raids!Manhunts! Chechnya!
Of course the whole Chechnya thing, with its high prominence in the 1990's followed by relative quiet since making it the Gabrielle of geopolitics, has been quite a confusing factor. Distressingly so.
Making casually daft comments about them immagints is much more the purview of UKIP, although this week Nigel Farage has confessed to supporting continental business. Namely, going to a strip bar with a French Presidential candidate, that he stressed "wasn't Sarko". He also admitted he may have gone the odd time back in his City Boy days.Which is almost hard to believe.
But if you need to vigorously scrub the image of Farage in a nightclub, that other lapdance aficionado Pharrell Williams has just the ticket. He's collaborated with Daft Punk, the best French machinery since those lovely Citroen Xsaras and dreadlocked music boss Nile Rodgers, who has made basically every song worth listening to in the last 35 years. The result, Get Lucky, is surely destined to be the most played song of the year everywhere. Including, come to think of it, Franch lapdancing clubs. Oops.]]>Want To Know Thatcher's Legacy? Look Around Youtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.30809822013-04-15T18:24:16-04:002013-04-16T06:30:54-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/
It's fitting then that Thatcher's journey would end there because, love her or hate her, for better or worse, Margaret Thatcher's legacy too is all around us.
It was all around us from the hour she died. The online reaction, such a predictable set piece as it was, proved it: even in the immediate aftermath of her death she polarised dramatically. Visceral rejoicers were anticipated and tut-tutted by high-handed acolytes, with potshots about her corrosive effect on British society and a hypocritical lefty lack of empathy and respect flying back and forth all day. It seemed at points as if so much time and energy and preparation had gone in to the social media thrust and parry that it would almost be rude not to.
Apart from those either toasting her death or getting ready to chisel her face into the White Cliffs Of Dover, one of the more bluntly comic reactions to her death was that of some businesses. One restaurant used her death as a perfect time to let the world know that their mixed kebabs were "fucking delicious", while a bar in Belfast, where Thatcher was always a touchy subject for obvious reasons, had a promotion on Argentine beer, and offered free milk with every coffee. On some level, she'd probably approve of the small business innovation and initiative.
Even her very funeral arrangements - and the associated public costs - caused controversy. Although it's probably better the likes of G4S aren't handling it, as it would probably cost three times as much and the cortege would get lost on Waterloo Bridge.
There too were hints of her legacy in the fact none of Harry Styles' fans knew who the hell she was, nor would any of them have likely cared only for Harry tweeting about it. No such thing as society indeed. Her legacy was definitely felt in a sphere where Mr Styles is a lot more comfortable, the UK charts, where the whole "Dong Dong The Witch Is Dead" debacle led to a ludicrous BBC fudge that infuriated pretty much everyone in some form or other.
But whatever the reaction,the crucial thing is that everyone reacted. People always did. And yet the paradox is that while Margaret and indifferent reactions never went together, the society (for want of a better word) she left behind is riddled with ambivalence.
Thatcher's Britain was one that lauded individualism, conspicuous consumption, and the fetishizing of creature comforts. It unitised the world around us, and made a virtue of economic hubris, cleverly rebranded as "freedom', no doubt with the help of an advertising agency.
We've seen this very clearly in recent times, to give but one example, following the Occupy Movement. They were regularly scoffed for their economic naïveté, their lack of a mission statement, and apparent hypocrisy because some of them still drank coffee. That we lived in such a bottom line world in which it's impossible to evade the reach of capitalism and a system wholly based on planned obsolescence being precisely the point seemed lost on these people.
There's a certain "ends justify the means" deferential attitude to industry still knocking around that owes a great deal to Thatcher. Amazon are up their necks in ethical problems, Vodafone don't pay their tax, Starbucks were embarrassed in to paying theirs. That's just a few examples, but for every person protesting it, there's probably another one saying "that's awful" but still downloading and drinking lattes away, and another rolling their eyes at the bleeding hearts who reckon we should be lucky we live in a world of free texts and second albums for less than a pound. Margaret Thatcher did great damage to the social fabric by simply rejecting its premise. The writer Aaron Sorkin is very fond of the phrase "More and more we expect less and less of each other". He's right.
Then of course there's the legacy she left the opposition. In many ways they were the keenest disciples. With some on the left languishing in the kind of doctrinaire denial we see the free-marketeers displaying now, and the social democrats, liberals and centrists hamstrung by the lunacy of the electoral system, personality clashes and bad luck, 15 years of kicking their heels made for impatience. The likes of Tony Blair burned with a very Thatcherite ambition, and as such rather than carve out their own definition of the era New Labour followed the market trends that they thought was the Route 1 to the power and the glory; a carefully packaged commodity to sell to an increasingly consumerist, obsessively demographied public.
And yet in spite of her absolute dominance of the era (indeed, *her* era), the other important part of her legacy was the fact she regularly failed to do what she actually intended. She was an arch-patriot yet she basically cut the regions and the nations loose, to their perpetual resentment. She was a woman of staunch Victorian values of thrift and sobriety, yet oversaw unprecedented and lurid profligacy. She spoke of the freedom of the individual, yet decried and legislated against "the inalienable right to be gay". She blasted the Soviet Union in the most stringent and absolutist terms, yet found no problem with Apartheid South Africa, Pinochet or Suharto. She's been presented now as the pre-eminent statesman since the war, yet she showed remarkable lack of finesse on the world stage. She cited St Francis of Assisi pledging to bring harmony from discord, yet she became notorious in Ireland for her "Out, Out, Out" response to the New Ireland Forum, and her "No, No, No" response to Europe, a reaction that ended her premiership.
She was a woman of her time in many ways. Had she faced an election in '76, '77 or'78, she probably would not have won. Had she gone for re-election in 1982, Roy Jenkins could very well have been Prime Minister after. But she was lucky, and she hung on in there in office for 11 years. Her influence hung around much longer. And that is a great shame.]]>How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Threesomes and Love SpunOuttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.29563512013-03-28T09:12:38-04:002013-03-30T15:09:58-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/ the menace of threesomes.
Don't laugh, it's desperately serious. Soon this menace will spread and before you know it, the whole of the British Isles will be overrun with sexy pairings cornering poor impressionable others to fulfill their unquenchable threesome lust. I haven't been able to leave the house since the story broke, for fear I'd go out for a carton of milk and be jumped by two women desperate to have sex with me. I won't lie, it's been hell.
It's a well-worn old trope, but Ireland's Passion of St Tibulus Sydnrome has relapsed in a big way. The more Government backbench TD Michelle Mulherin fulminates with "Down with this sort of thing" impotent outrage, the more the Minister for Health goes "Careful now", the more people flock to Ireland's national youth website SpunOut.ie to see what the hell all this threesome fuss is about. And in spite of the surreal, archaic, narrow-minded backlash, people of all ages logging on to SpunOut.ie can only be a good thing, because it does so more than give TD's with vulnerable seats a soapbox to sound off on.
In the interest of all cards on the table, I am incredibly biased. Not just ideologically, but personally. I've actually been involved with Ireland's national youth website before it was even a website before becoming a writer, editor and eventually one of its directors. In 2004 I met Ruairi McKiernan, activist, social entrepreneur and now a Counillor of State to the President of Ireland. He had an uncompromising vision of how Ireland could be made a better place, and an unshakeable belief in Ireland's young people ability to be a vital part of that. He was planning on starting a website that would be a haven for young people, that would be a place where they could find information about whatever they wanted or need that was 100% factual, reliable and most importantly non-judgemental, and opinions from like-minded people, and indeed the perspective of those that couldn't be more different. And I knew I wanted to be a part of that.
In the time since SpunOut.ie has helped thousands and thousands of young people in so many ways. I know this because the site is consistently festooned with tributes from the young people who actually use it. Some of them have found the advice and support they provide on mental health issues a godsend. Some of them really appreciate the focus the website puts on positive mental health, to say nothing of positive physical health with healthy eating and exercise drives. Some of them have found a cause they really care about through SpunOut, and now influence others through activism and advocacy. Some of them found it an oasis of calm from exam pressure. Some of them have found their inner artist through writing articles or opinion pieces for the site, or writing poetry, or making videos. Some have found the site's work and consumer consumer advice and tips on how to make an attractive CV infinitely useful. And some have just been glad to have a place where they feel they belong. But whatever the provenance of their use of the website, the invariable common denominator phrase is "I don't know what I would have done with SpunOut". And all the while SpunOut has done this with relatively little money, but incredible heart and character.
The last few days we've seen people castigating SpunOut who had, to their compelling shame, never heard of or looked at the site hitherto last Sunday. Bizarrely, some of the critics hadn't even seen the website after they criticised it. Among the main charges were that "orgy tips" are "normalising" behaviour that isn't normal. Firstly, a) What exactly does the tip of an orgy look like? and b) The implicit notion from detractors that young people and their opinions are so hopelessly malleable that any sex education is tantamount to license to do anything they want is exactly why SpunOut needs to exist in the first place. There were too suggestions that the site was too "right on" and "down with the kids" for its own good. Fair enough, but SpunOut has always valued above all else that their actual audience of 16-25 year olds be the ultimate arbiters of their content.
But for all the wrong-headed hand wringing it's been gratifying to see that many many more people have spoken up for SpunOut, defending their openness, their value to 16-25 year olds and their resolution that facts and information for all to see is an inherently better starting point for discussions than creating a vacuum for surreptitiously bad role models to fill.
In spite of the hoopla, in spite of the fuss, in spite of the BAN THIS SICK FILTH! histrionics, there is a positive to be taken from it: people are talking about sex. We've been terrible at that in Ireland for a very long time, and that reticence has been a comprehensive disaster. In a world where rape is still apologised for, where gay people are treated like partial citizens (if acknowledged at all), where teen pregnancy and STI rates are staggering (especially where abstinence is law) , Ireland and indeed everywhere else really need to grow up when it comes to tackling big issues around sex and sexuality. It's striking that it's our young people, and their services providers like SpunOut, have the most mature attitudes of all.]]>What Kind of Week Has It Been? March 22 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.29319172013-03-22T11:57:16-04:002013-03-25T08:06:21-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The penny off a pint of news
Yeah, it's probably either pouring down or snowing wherever you are (unwanted snow; I used to think that could only be an oxymoron), but as you lurch home into the teeth of the oncoming gale, you may think to yourself "At least it's not Cyprus. Sunny, warm, catastrophically-stricken Cyprus." Then your cries echo towards the very welkin itself as you're slammed into a wall by a rogue gust. Poor Cyprus. They've got Ireland coming up with ideas to help them with their own banking meltdown. Which gives the whole thing more of the feel of an AA meeting than one would expect. Ireland isn't going to be a great sponsor for you, Cyprus. Not unless being on the 'right path' by crippling several generations with debt is something that floats your boat. It appears that with the clock ticking down, a form of bank levy is inevitable, if not at the higher levels mentioned previously. This is likely to annoy many, erm, legitimate businessmen in Russia, who have large amounts (if not quite the figures emanating from Germany) deposited on the island. What Cyprus needs now is a rebirth of the fin de siècle UK Garage scene, when Ayia Napa played host to the summertime revels of any number of So Solid Crew members and young English footballers. It's your duty as Europeans, Oxide & Neutrino, Lisa Maffia and Kieron Dyer.
In Britain, Chancellor George Osborne's budget was a plaintive appeal to Top Gear fans to halt their vroom-vrooming away from the Tories to UKIP. "My advisors tell me you people like beer, owning your own home and cars, sorry, 'motors', therefore come and have 'a butchers' at these lahhvly, lahhvly measures", he failed to say at the dispatch box. But since every economic growth forecast his government makes seems to end up being revised downwards, he appears increasingly embattled as he waits for his austerity tactics to bear fruit. And if I were him, I'd read my brand new twitter feed through my fingers. Or have my butler print out and iron the more positive comments, before delivering them to me at the breakfast table.
Turning to matters of a kick-ball nature, this weekend sees the meeting of Serbia and Croatia in a World Cup qualification match. These matches will always carry the ghosts of the charnel-house and Tophet that was the Balkans of the early 90's and the part that a football match played in its outbreak. Even more so when you consider that the managers involved were once friends, until their paths diverged. If these two men can shake hands on Saturday night and lead their teams through a game free of flashpoints on the pitch or in the stands, it may well stand as a marker for personal forgiveness and the letting go of old wounds.
News reached us this week from Canada about the daring and glaringly-obvious-when-you-think-about-it prison escape of two inmates of the Saint Jerome correctional facility near Montreal. I'm a little surprised this doesn't happen more often, either by coercing some innocent pilot as happened in this instance, or by paying top dollar to some Jean-Michael Vincent gone over to the dark side. A similar jailbreak (somewhere in that town) led to an Irish number one hit single, I'd like to see being smuggled out in the laundry inspire similar high-quality balladry. The only way I can see to stop further helicopter escapes is to shackle all prisoners' hands high above their heads in the exercise yard. Then it's a freedom/having hands choice. Most would choose the later, I feel.
Kevin Ward probably has many more penal reform suggestions here]]>'Rock n' Roll President' Invites Ireland's Best Musicians to His House for Paddy's Daytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.28919462013-03-16T14:56:07-04:002013-05-16T05:12:02-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/
President Michael D Higgins, a former Minister for Culture and dubbed "The Rock n' Roll President" because of his love of music, got some of Ireland's best and brightest musical talents and poetic powerhouses together to perform. Below are a couple of teasers of what to expect, and the live show will be available here from 9:30pm tonight.
Hall of Famer and Voice coach Danny O'Donoghue and The Script with a candle-waving moment in the President's house. Thankfully, the candles stay where they are:
Oscar winner and Dr Cox from Scrubs lookalike Glen Hansard performing a full version of "Falling Slowly" with Mercury Prize-nominated Lisa Hannigan, whose harmonies could cause shrubs to grow in the desert:
Loveliest woman in showbusiness Imelda May channels Shane McGowan and recounts her time living in London with her song, The Kentish Town Waltz: " target="_hplink">
Nobel Laureate and mainstay of Irish literature exams Seamus Heaney recites one of his poems. He really should narrate a feature movie or something.
And finally, the High King of Irish music, the daddy of them all, Christy Moore. Also, some gratuitous pictures of the President's lovely doggie.
" target="_hplink">]]>What Kind of Week Has It Been? 15 March 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.28674572013-03-15T18:47:03-04:002013-05-15T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The "My, what a lovely chimney" of news
'I was Popeless when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray', is what I feared I'd have to open with, since the college of cardinals was stubbornly refusing to reach consensus on the new Pope. But then, in time for my hunt-and-peck typing, there came a lusty shout of "Habemus Papam. Otherwise, I was going to throw the type of epithets that make "former Sheffield United toiler Curtis Woodhouse start the car. You have to wonder how names get floated about within the conclave, and also how one reacts to one's name being put forward. "I'd be a great Pope, me" would seem to be fairly prideful, really. Perhaps the situation calls for a cardinal to lapse into footballer-speak, "It's always nice to be recognized, but we've got a great bunch of lads here and we're all doing our best for the gaffer, the supreme Creator of all things". I'd elect that man to head the world's largest organized group of woman and homosexual haters (and, bizarrely, the owners of Europe's most happenin' gay bath house).
Elections are probably the furthest thing from Chris Huhne's mind, as he and his ex-wife Vicky Pryce settle down to do their bird in "the Big House", as per Jim McDonald's description of choice. The situation would be funny, if it weren't so sad. Well, even more funny. In ireland too, we've got a transport-troubled TD whose attempts to bluff his way out of being cast as a hypocrite for attacking the entitled political culture that allows parliamentarians to basically go all 'Lethal Weapon II' and claim immunity from things like driving laws while availing of the same privileges have added much to the gaiety of our nation this week. Luke "Ming" Flanagan, a colourful peat-cuttin', joint-smokin' was elected in 2011 and seemed to represent a comingforce in Irish politics, the Peter-Finch-in Network type that was going to stand up against the interests of big business and old politics. But in his frankly whack-a-doodle explanations for how the points on his driving licence disappeared, the Mingster has proven himself to be not dissimilar to giants of Irish public life like *shuffles papers* Liam Lawlor TD, Ray Burke TD, actual sitting TD Michael Lowry yadda yadda and lamentably, yadda. While Huhne is finished in British politics, condemned to present himself as a changed man in the Jonathan Aitken mould after leaving prison, Flanagan will have no trouble getting re-elected. we're a sophisticated lot, we Irish.
This week's news that sent a shudder up my spine came with the revelation that the Mid-Devon District Council is to take a vote on whether to remove apostrophes from street signage to avoid perceived confusion. When the fools and greengrocers are wrong, and please note I have separated them, the correct response is not to drop standards to their level. Otherwise, we shall find ourselves at the mercy of gun-slinging pandas and possible communism, as without the apostrophe possession will be rendered meaningless. While you digest that chilling version of things to come after the Mid-Devon opening of Pandora's (see, see?) Box, here's 'Breaking Bad' as a happy mid-90's family entertainment to lighten your mood on the road to hell. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFjsOZDjnJA
Kevin Ward complains about modern confectionery at https://twitter.com/WildState.]]>What Kind of Week Has It Been? 8 March 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.28074982013-03-06T17:29:44-05:002013-05-06T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The moonwalking pony of news
You would nearly feel sorry for the Tories. Almost. In a parallel dimension maybe. But the point is, things are not going well for them. They came third in the Eastleigh by-election which, to use the technical term, is bloody awful. Worse yet, they finished behind their yoghurt eating liberal bedfellows, and the granny privatising xenophobes of UKIP, who are starting to take Tory votes like them Polish are supposedly taking our jobs.
So with Nigel Farage's comedy troupe on the rise and George Osborne unable to charge the economy with triple A batteries anymore, backbenchers are urging Cameron to take action and repeal the Human Rights Act, a move only hardline Tories could think is an election elixir.
Meanwhile in Dennis Rodman Diplomacy latest it seems that the NBA's enfant terrible possesses the western world's greatest insight into one of geopolitics' great mysteries, North Korea. According to The Rod, Kim Jong Un doesn't want to do war, and just wants Obama to call him. By this logic, Vinny Jones may succeed where the Oslo Accords didn't.
Over in that other secretive state, the Vatican, the brightest stars of the Catholic world are convening for a few long nights of smokey rooms, arguing and Chinese food (I assume) to replace Pope Benedict XVI. Unless, of course, he does some kind of James Brown-style shrug off his retirement cape. And even though he won't be going ex-Cardinal Keith O'Brien finally put his hands up this week, which makes a change from where he'd apparently been placing them numerous times in the past.
The new Pope will have to contend with how to drag the Church's attitudes to Them Gays, and the Boy Scouts of America have provided a cautionary tale to sorting themselves out early. Dismayed at their anti-gay policy, Carly Rae Jepsen and the lads who sing Hey Soul Sister pulled out of their Jamboree. It's also good to see Carly Rae hasn't let that unfortunate case of mistaken sexuality get in the way of her moral compass.
And finally this week, mere hours after reading a Wikipedia entry on Simon Bolivar (cos that's just how I get my kicks) their modern LibertadorHugo Chavez died at just 58. Bolivar once said governing Venezuela "will require an infinitely firm hand" and for all the left wing hero worship his methods in cleaving to power were hardly beyond reproach. Which is a desperate shame, because his mission to better provide public healthcare, education and treatment of the poor was a refreshing change among a world leadership hypnotised by free marketism and paralysed by equivocation. The reaction in the streets of Caracas has been mournful, but their reaction in the ballot box some weeks from now will be one of the key crossroads of the decade.]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 1 March 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.27666732013-02-27T18:35:07-05:002013-04-29T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The nipply Oscar dress of news
When it comes to this week's news, basically nobody knows anything. Nobody in the Lib Dems certainly seems to know anything about Lord Rennard's alleged perving, not least Lord Rennard himself. Nick Clegg doesn't seem to know anything, nor does Simon Hughes (although you get the idea the Deputy Leader of the Lib Dems has an office somewhere like here) nor Vince Cable. That said, Jo Swinson seemed to know, but just didn't sort it. All this heat and light focused on the Libs at the minute though at least gives the embattled Chris Huhne a breather, who last week had his wife's court case thrown out because the jury had never so much as seen an episode of Boston Legal.
Meanwhile Keith O'Brien, the erstwhile Cardinal of Edinburgh and St Andrews, doesn't seem to know much of what is going on either, but he's apologised and is resigning anyway. In his resignation statement, he apologises in such a way that the first glance reader thought he'd left milk out in a warm room or something, and not "unwanted behaviour" and "inappropriate contact" with other priests. He's pledged to not attend the conclave to choose Benedict XVI's successor (my plans to call it Pope-a-palooza have so far fallen on death ears) but given how other Cardinals are under pressure not to show up either, it could end up being as sparsely attended as a Northern Soul night organised by Nick Griffin.
The Vatican and Lib Dems may be struggling with their reputations at the minute but America is going for a bit of a diplomatic lovebomb of late, as opposed to the other kind. In a move that so out there it makes a full logical circuit and almost makes sense, Dennis Rodman is travelling to North Korea for some "basketball diplomacy". I've always maintained that there was no problem in the world that the principles behind Space Jam couldn't fix. Meanwhile new Secretary of State John Kerry was in Berlin this week, talking to students about his time there in the 1950's and discussed the American concept of individual liberty, saying "everyone has a right to be stupid".
Which brings us on beautifully to the Italian general election. Predictably enough given Silvio is still mucking about, the outcome has resulted in a bit of a Three Stooges Syndrome, with three distinct blocks (Bersani's centre-leftists, ex-comic Bepe Grillo's anti-austerity brigade and eternal comic Berlusconi's right wingers) doing basically the same. Market confidence is wavering like the test pilot of a car made of matchsticks driving through an Evil Knevil fire ring, but at least one thing in a very uncertain week of news is clear, this notion of circumventing the voters to let a consultant come in and advise on cuts has resulted in the firing of Mario Monti. This is a democracy for god's sake, not the movie Office Space.]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 22 February 2013tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.27318032013-02-22T16:55:55-05:002013-04-24T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The shop-window mannequin, with no personality of its own, of news
First of all, the media interest in the lonely death of Reeva Steenkamp is understandable. Genuinely world-famous, hitherto inspirational 'iconic' figures aren't often implicated in the violent deaths of their romantic partners. So when such a young woman as beautiful as Reeva Steenkamp is found dead at the home she shares with her Olympic and Paralympic trailblazer athlete boyfriend, the world's press is bound to treat this as more than "just" another desperately sad violent death. Pistorius, let's not forget, spent the latter part of the summer receiving much warmer media coverage for his athletic exploits in London, being the first double leg amputee to compete in the able-bodied Olympics and then, by dint of these exploits, becoming one of the poster boys for the following Paralympics. Those games marked a coming-into the mainstream of athletes with disabilities, due to the awe-inspiring performances of Pistorious and others, married to a savvy marketing campaign that encouraged the public to think of the athletes as not being in anyway inferior to their able-bodied counterparts, just differently brilliant and admirable. The late Ms Steenkamp and Pistorius earned their living from the media, the latter to a lesser but important extent, so it stands to reason that the media would cover the current awfulness. That's not to excuse the prurient interest certain publications took in the deceased. Yes, she was a model, but is what we do all that we are? I'm sure there are many, many photos of Ms Steenkamp available where she looks beautiful, but is clothed. Now why would any newspaper not use these instead of scantily-clad shots? Rhetorical question, obviously.
The current circus around Pistorius's bail hearing (three days and counting? It takes two minutes in every single episode of Law & Order I've ever seen) must not be allowed to obscure the reason for the hearings and cheapen the memory of Ms Steenkamp. This is something that Ireland has only just apologized to the former inmates of the gulag Magdalen for, through the Taoiseach, Enda Kenny. Such an apology has been overdue since the first time one of these fetid hell-holes opened its doors to provide some sickening facade of a "shelter for fallen women". The shocking fact that the last of these Fascist institutions closed its doors in 1996 makes me wonder how the hell we can merit being deemed a caring country. Sure, we donated to Live Aid in huge amounts and to "the black babies", but there were labour camps operating under our noses. Nobody of the wretched era can claim ignorance, just like no German of the Nazi period can claim they didn't know what was happening to the Jews, the homosexuals, the disabled. Who did they think were in the many work camps? Quit looking for a fool's pardon on account of being purblind. How many women died behind the walls of the Magdalen Laundries? How many children never met their mother, thanks to their original sin of being born out of wedlock? Did the martyrs of these institutions cry out for God. Where was he, sorry, 'He'?
If I were Hilary Mantel, two-time Booker Prize-winner and regarded as one of the finest writers in the English language today, I'd stick to the day job for a simpler life. Especially if I were to make some accurate comments regarding the Duchess of Cambridgeshire and her role within the Royal Family. The crux of her argument was about the media's treatment of the former Kate Middleton and of others similar to her, which led to predictable point-ignorance on behalf of the fourth estate in order to do the writer down. This media snarl-face generally comes into being when it itself is being criticized, be it when phone-hacking comes to light or there is any suggestion of press regulation to which the newspapers will have to pay heed.
This week also saw the death of the quintessential English comedy actor, Richard Briers. His face and manner brought to mind a pipe and slippers, his voice redolent of biting into a juicy apple. In The Good Life, he and co-star Felicity Kendal made tv hippies likeable. I swear to God, actual hippies. One notes with sadness that one of his last onscreen film role took the princely sum of £747 at the box-office last week. Or it's £602, depending on what you read. I'm sure that had he heard, he'd have laughed, shook his head, said something about "twin imposters" and gone back to sorting out the pig-pen before Tom and Margo come over, talking us through what Roobarb and Custard are up to now or planning his next meeting with meticulous detail in Ever Decreasing Circles. Because that's how we remember the actors who deserve remembering - fondly.
Kevin Ward does not comment on the 'Harlem Shuffle' phenomenon at www.twitter.com/@WildState]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 15 Februarytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.26812162013-02-13T18:31:31-05:002013-04-15T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/The 500/1 outsider for Pope of news
No one has any sticktoitiveness any more. Where once the man in the Vatican hot-seat would have held on until the Camerlengo gave him a doink with a hammer, now some Popes seem to think that being God's spokesman on earth is something you can walk away from, be it for a dicky heart or the shame of being an accessory after the fact to acts of depravity committed by members of the Catholic clergy. Taking a leaf from Queen Beatrix of The Netherlands's book, Pope Benedict XVI announced this week that he was jacking it in and retiring to spend more time with his best buddy, playing golf, raising hell and chasing tail. It was in Latin, so that's a rough translation. There are those who claim that Benedict is stepping down to head off some potentially catastrophic revelations about to emerge about child abuse within the Church, but is there really much more that could be considered shocking in that regard? Which sounds horrific to say, and rightly so. The cynic within me feels that Vatican insiders could have 'taken care' of the Benedict problem, had there been a pressing one, in much the same way they handled John Paul I. Everyone loves a bit of trutherism once in a while, especially me. More prosaic a suggestion is that an elderly man with heart trouble decided he wasn't physically up to Popery, having seen his predecessor spend at least a decade with the words "the ailing Pontiff" never far from his name. And so begins The Pius X Factor of a Papal Conclave. Remember kids, canvassing will disqualify.
As the Pope was walking away without even announcing a farewell tour (he's still smarting after the disappointing turn-out for last year's Eucharistic Congress), Barack Obama was delivering the first state of the union address of his second term. He performed all the hits his adoring liberal fans love, with gun control, immigration and a new deal for the middle classes being key points. President Obama wasn't heckled by a Xander Berkeley look-alike this time, which is always a bonus. In place of Joe Wilson going off on one, the Republican in the limelight this year was vehement gun afficionado Ted Nugent, who claimed last year that he'd be either dead or in gaol in a year should Obama be re-elected. Instead, he's invited to the state of the union speech as a guest of a Republican politico. That's Obama's fascist America for you. Ted went predictably doolally because, y'know, you don't ask Ted Nugent to your party and expect a douce evening of backgammon marked by the ticking of a grandfather clock.
Meanwhile, all across Europe the horsemeat scandal trotted on, with Findus frozen meals turning out to be filled with the type of 'beef' at which even Adam Richman would baulk. There is a large amount of commentary around putting forward the idea that people who buy cheap, frozen meat products almost deserve to be hoodwinked. Piffle. Would anyone seriously claim that buyers of Mercedes's A-Class deserved a car with serious stability issues, because they were buying a cheaper Merc? Not likely. But apparently it's okay to scoff (not meant as a pun, but like Jimmy Greaves netting from one yard, they all count) at wanting foodstuffs associated with lower-income diets to actually be truthful about what goes into them. That's some nice foodie snobbery right there. Whoever's to blame for beef not being beef is basically a case of picking one's prejudice, as a French MEP this week claimed that it's all due to Romanian laws forbidding horses from travelling on the country's roads. Yeah, those pesky Romanians, forcing major meat manufacturers to put Buckaroo into their burgers.
Kevin Ward is available as a write-in candidate for Pope, contact him here.]]>What Kind Of Week Has It Been? 8 Februarytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.26263612013-02-06T17:18:02-05:002013-04-08T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/Falling asleep half way through the Superbowl of news.
On some level, you have to feel sorry for Chris Huhne. He was one of the first Liberal cabinet ministers since the BBC branched out in that new-fangled televisual malarchy, but he lost that. He held a constituency that the Tories have been hovering around like Dick Dastardly trying to catch the pigeon for years, and he's lost that too. And, very poignantly, his relationship with his son is all but lost too. And all because he applied too much pressure to a piece of metal a decade ago. Well, it wasn't so much the speeding as the crack spiral of lies he spun to cover himself that done him in, or the affair that prompted his ex-wife to blow the whistle. The upcoming by-election in Eastleigh should be a Tory slam dunk even a middle aged white square could make, although expect UKIP to try their best to upset that. Meanwhile, the Lib Dems and Chris Huhne should probably be wondering about the fact an election deposit is significantly costlier than a speeding fine.
Speaking of parties saving money, Nick Griffin said something a bit mental this week, although in his case that is an impressively high bar. Know what Nick Griffin reckons is a great way to make money? Scrap metal and eating roadkill. He's starting to sound like Carl Weathers in Arrested Development. But, you know, an arse.
Huhne and Griffin have done quite a job when a Shakespearean villain is getting better press than them, but Richard III has enjoyed a bit of a media honeymoon this week, after being found at a car park and having technology done to his face. While all this was going the current leader of the land David Cameron was trying to put a new face on his backward old party by passing a gay marriage bill. He did, and even though marriage albums up and down the land haven't spontaneously combusted as feared, a significant number of Conservatives voted against. Peter Bone, a backbench MP, said it was his "saddest day in parliament", which rather puts his parliamentary career in perspective. I'm not sure what Richard III would have thought of gay marriage (I'm going to guess broadly against it) but the reaction of some of the more troglodyte Tory MPs makes pertinent a quote from the play Shakespeare named after him: "Conscience is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe". Except, nobody's even that impressed.
Nor is anyone impressed with the handling of the report into Magdalene Laundries Ireland, described by an opposition spokesperson as "A very Irish kind of slavery". The report found that a quarter of the 10,000 women sent there were referred by the state, which you'd think would be cause for a full and frank apology. But it wasn't really forthcoming.
See, they never mention those cases on Law & Order.]]>Clive James: A Tributetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.26114742013-02-03T18:11:55-05:002013-04-05T05:12:01-04:00Paddy Duffyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/paddy-duffy/Ronald Reagan's favourite Bruce Spingsteen track and ladies wearing stars and stripes bikinis. Canada Day normally involves 24 hour references to their syrupy-sweet temprament and Bill Shatner. As for Ireland, well...
For this year's not-long passed Australia Day, though, I dodged the corked hats and Fosters promotions and found myself instead revisiting the back catalogue of that most pre-eminent Australian, and a personal hero of mine: Clive James.
He gave an interview a few months ago saying he was nearing his terminus (thankfully he's nothing of the sort), yet it seems odd somehow that it's only when someone is beyond the terminus that full tribute is paid to them. So, working under the notion that a it's a shame that the subjects of heartfelt tributes and profiles of an influential character often miss them by just a few days, I thought I'd take leave from usual service for a week and write one now.
Since landing on the UK's shores from Sydney over half a decade ago, Clive James has been a cultural colossus. He writes a lot, for starters. Poetry, columns, essays, criticism, books, the whole shebang. He's made his mark on two of the crown jewels of British life, Cambridge Footlights and University Challenge. He even dances tango for god's sake. And, for over four decades, he's reviewed television, been on television and, at least as far as I'm concerned, been everything television should be.
This interview with Stephen Fry is a case in point. As is this scintillating monologue from "the greatest TV show in the history of rock and roll", where he appears to be possessing a Scottish Munro for shoulders. Or, indeed, this one, featuring his atonal partner in crime, Margarita Pracatan. Or maybe this, the style of topical news roundup he made his own. Or an extract from his thoughtful, atypical Postcard travelogue series. While all showing a different part of his on-screen oeuvre, they all show the same qualities: the ability to be wry, illuminating, clever and profoundly silly, yet esoteric and popular all at once.
I remember as a child, and particularly between the ages of about nine and 12, I seemed to see Clive on TV quite regularly. Watching his show on ITV I was exposed from an early age to grown-up but funny chat about politics and the news that has served me in good stead ever since, and his interviews with comedians the likes of Eddie Izzard and Dave Allen, which I still remember vividly, were heavily influential for pre-secondary school me, and crystallised the notion that had been in my head already that this might be a good way to live a life. We also shared a love of motor racing in common, and have a very clear memory of watching a documentary about his attempt to drive a car in anger himself. My dad, who was watching with me, said "He's a funny get, isn't he?". I couldn't but agree.
Since then, when pondering some big media issue or crisis like the BBC high command debacle or Murdoch's megalomaniacal linen being washed in public, I often think "What would Clive James think?". I found his thoughts on Murdoch to be particularly interesting, especially the bit about the onyx toilet seat.
A decade and a half after I first came into contact with Clive James his influence has become all the more pertinent. When people ask me what I'd like to do with my career, the phrase "a bit like Clive James" is invariably my opening salvo. When I was offered the Huffington Post gig, initially to review and discuss TV, I had just finished reading Clive's Unreliable Memoirs, and felt I just earned myself some kind of literary Easter Egg or hidden track. When I record topical review columns forDrivetime on Irish national broadcaster RTE, two questions come to mind: the first is "Am I just aping Clive James here?", and the second is "If not, shouldn't I be?"
Tributes are all very well and good and maybe feel more pertinent when someone is unwell, or worse, but when someone influences what you do day in and day out (and would like to do more of in the future) to the extent that Clive James has influenced me, fine timing as a concept seems pretty arbitrary. So here's to you Clive, you big inspiration. Just because I reckon it needed saying.]]>