Summer Drummers (in a non-Northern-Irish culture)

Posted on May 29, 2008 by Hails

Tonight, I dined at the Embassy of Pure Food. The restaurant’s real name is Aed, which translates as ‘garden’, but I much prefer the impressive description on the menu. It was a delightfully weird sort of meal. Really, really good food, but in the most bizarre combinations. My duck (cooked to perfection) came with cauliflower mousse, for example. And the sauce was not only something I’ve never heard of, but also a flavour of ice-cream on the dessert menu. Riho’s fish was served with foam. Honestly, foam. In a jug. It was all a little confusing, but delicious nonetheless.

The restaurant experience itself was, as the name suggests, rather like eating outside. Rustic, I suppose you’d call it, with an odd array of plants in a window box by our table. Riho seemed a bit distracted. “I’m a little frightened by the art,” he confessed in a low voice, looking nervously over my shoulder. I glanced round and saw the paintings on the walls. The were, in fact, plasma screens. And the ‘art’ was moving. Sort of like the photos in the Harry Potter stories.

Feeling a need to return to the Real World, we skipped dessert and stepped out on to the street. I looked at Riho, unable to disguise my alarm at the loud wailing noises that greeted us. “I think the world might be ending,” I said fearfully. “Don’t be silly,” said Riho, “It’s obviously just an air raid.” It really did sound like an air raid siren, and it became louder and scarier the closer we got to the Town Square.

And so it was that, as I walked home tonight from my meal at the Embassy of Pure Food (in a barn), I stumbled upon a concert by Stroj Machine, a group of about 10 dreadlocked drummers with several varieties of airhorn, performing in Tallinn Old Town in an apparent act of celebration of the Slovenian EU Presidency.

Erm. What?!

Particularly impressive was the spraying of sparks over the audience. “Oh, look,” remarked Riho, taking the whole thing in his stride, “live welding!”

The crowd loved it. The were going mental, and I couldn’t help joining in with a bit of dancing around. I couldn’t compete with the guy in red on the left of my photograph, however. Despite having his foot in plaster, he danced like no one I’ve ever seen before, occasionally waving his crutches in the air. At one point he then had to remove a layer of clothing, clearly over-heating, and his girlfriend held his crutches as he balanced on one foot and de-jumpered. It was at this point that the group did something that clearly entranced him, for he launched into an enthralling dance on one foot, with no crutches, as I watched in awed wonder.

Having grown up in Harryville, I can’t claim that it’s a culture shock to be wandering through the town and find myself in the midst of a large crowd of locals jumping around and cheering as some men blatter away on big drums. You’ll forgive me, though, when I confess to getting a great deal more pleasure from the Baltic version…

Filed under: band, Concerts, confusion, drumming, Estonia, food, fun, restaurants, weird | 2 Comments »

Hails In Eesti-land

Posted on May 15, 2008 by Hails

I went out for my first unsupervised wander last night.

I only went to find something to eat. In the end, I failed and returned with only a tube of crackers and some decidedly odd cubes of paprika-covered cheese, as these were the least frightening of the items that I encountered in the little corner shop I eventually found. I almost bought something that could reasonably have been a rice salady thing, but decided against it as a result of not being able to have complete confidence in it not containing large chunks of seal meat.

As I walked happily through the quaint and quirky streets of Tallinn Old Town, I found myself in the middle of some kind of security operation surrounding the Three Sisters Hotel, where it turned out that Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands was staying during her visit to Estonia. Nervously, I started to back away from all the uniformed politsei, and was cheerfully beckoned forwards by one of them, who saw no problem at all with letting me walk not only past the building, but actually across the red carpet. If I’d done that in Belfast, I’d have been shot and/or imprisoned for life as a suspected terrorist. It’s a different world altogether, over here. I nodded amicably at Queen Beatrix as I passed through.

This is a little odd, I remember thinking to myself as I strolled along a little cobbled street and found myself having to stand back to make room for several Scandinavian guys, who were dancing along with Extremely Large Beer Glasses lifted high above their heads as they waved them around and sang heartily. No sooner had I had this thought than the sound of chanting echoed quite alarmingly along the alleyway, and I turned the corner on to the town square to find myself in the middle of what was presumably a rehearsal of a traditional Estonian music performance for the queen’s entertainment, but what had apparently turned into quite a merry hooley for anyone who had happened to stumble upon it in the midst of their boozing. An incredibly diverse choir was singing/chanting a weirdly wonderful theatrical piece, as the afore-mentioned revellers danced around the square with their oversized drinks. It was completely unlike any scene I have ever witnessed before. I just stood there in delighted silence, occasionally ducking to avoid a shower of beer from an overly-enthusiastic toast in close proximity to my head.

I got completely and predictably lost on the way back, but it was worth the sore feet and momentary panic. I love this city. It is old, new, quiet, bustling, peaceful, noisy, traditional, modern, and a million other things in between. If every city I visit turns out to be even half as fascinating as this one, I’ll be one happy traveller!

Filed under: casual security, Concerts, confusion, Estonia, fun, police, royalty | 9 Comments »

Uh-huh…huh?

Posted on January 28, 2008 by Hails

This year, I need to spend more time with my family. I have not been a dutiful daughter in recent years, and am feeling a little guilty. For this reason, I found myself sitting in the local Pensioners’ Pub on Saturday night, one of only four people under the age of 50, watching an Elvis impersonator with a comb-over and an alarming case of angina.

To give the man credit, he was absolutely fantastic as a soundalike of The King. Unfortunately, in terms of looks, he bore more of a resemblance to a used car salesman who wears fake leather jackets and spends Friday nights drinking pints and eating Scampi Fries in the Queen Vic/Rovers Return or similar before stopping in for a pasty supper on the way home. Once again though, great singer.

I must admit that despite my desire to be lofty and condescending about the event, I had a really good night. ‘Elvis’ was thankfully totally self-aware, and had no qualms about pointing out his lack of resemblance to The King. Following a particularly energetic dance routine, he paused to get his breath back and staggered, gasping, over to the railing behind which we were sitting. “I’m gettin’ too old for this,” he wheezed to one of the surprised-looking elderly ladies who made up the majority of the audience. “I was 73 last week ye know.”

His humour and ability to sing salvaged what could have been a completely disastrous evening, all circumstances taken into consideration. I was suitably amused by his occasional references to Northern Irish politics throughout the performance. “Won’t you please surrender…” he crooned beautifully. “NEVER!” he concluded in a sudden unexpected roar. Sister, Becs and myself got into the swing of things, and sang along heartily, arms waving etc. There was something quite ironic about being caught singing “Just one Cornetto…” to the tune of “It’s now or never”, and being caught on by, erm, Elvis.

Things were equally hilarious when I found myself in the queue in the Ladies’ at the interval listening to a completely unscripted but Oscar-worthy dialogue between several batty oul’ weemin. One old dear was slightly annoyed that the random stranger she threw her arms around couldn’t quite remember the solitary occasion on which they had previously met, 32 years ago. After lots of “Wullie’s aunt’s best friend’s sister-in-law” type of descriptions (“No, no, no! That’s Wullie Greer the postman, I mean Wullie Greer the plumber, Elsie’s daughter’s second husband!”), realisation finally dawned. “Aye, ye remember me now! I’m the one that ate the whole pavalova at thon party at Vera’s house in 1976!”. I bit my lip and stared desperately at a small stain on the ceiling. “Och, aye!” came the priceless reply, “Is that how ye got the nickname Pav?”

Speechless, I looked around for anyone else who might find this remotely funny, and caught the eye of the only other Under 50 (besides Becs, Sister and myself) in the building, a young girl with goth-style clothing and scarlet streaks in her hair, who looked about as at home at this event as a gospel hall member at a death metal concert. She looked at me in utter confusion and I felt a sense of solidarity as we made eye contact in the mirror. It took me a good 10 minutes to regain my composure when I returned to the table.

Best £7.50 I ever spent.

Filed under: Concerts, conversations, Elvis, family, friends, fun, laughter, singing | 4 Comments »

A Lesson In Forward Planning

Posted on October 15, 2007 by Hails

Cleaning In Progress says the annoying yellow sign.

I’m not against cleaning, per se – I’m actually quite appreciative of the fact that staff are employed to clean public toilets, as I generally find them totally repulsive. The toilets, not the staff.

However, let me set the scene for you. Imagine, if you will, the cleaning staff of a large concert venue. They are planning their cleaning rota. “When,” they ponder, “would be a good time to clean the ladies’ toilets?” Some discussion takes place as all factors are taken into consideration. Like, for example, the fact that there’s a concert on at 8pm. That the doors open at 6.30pm. That the band in question is a very popular boy band from the nineties, and therefore almost the entire audience is female. That 6pm is probably going to be a peak time for last-minute toilet visitation, as girls leave their friends holding their place in the queue and “just nip to the Ladies’ before the doors open”.

Having taken all of these factors into account, they decide that the best thing to do would be to close the toilets for cleaning at 6pm. Oh, bravo.

A large queue of disgruntled and impatient concert-goers forms outside the one solitary available toilet. I dance around on the spot, hopping nimbly from foot to foot. Mop, mop, mop goes the little cleaning lady in the Ladies’.

Days pass.

We are still in the queue. A bolshy girl in front of us takes control of the situation. “Will the toilets be open soon?” she asks the cleaning lady. “When the floor dries,” says the cleaning lady, without looking up from her laborious mopping. Mop, mop, mop she goes. Bolshy Girl has had enough. “Right,” she says determinedly, “there are hardly any men in the building. We’re going into the Gents’.” Becs and I look nervously at each other. “There’s no one in there,” continues Bolshy Girl, our leader. “Let’s go, ladies. Go, go, go!” One by one she waves us in. It is like a military operation.

It is unsuccessful, as it turns out that the Gents’ only has one cubicle, and we are not equipped to use the urinals. The queue for the Ladies’ is now longer than the queue for the actual concert. The occasional male sauters casually past, glancing at the endless line of dancing, hopping, angry and impatient females as he walks smugly into the Gents’. Death stares are shooting like poisoned arrows into the cleaning lady’s back. Mop, mop, mop she goes, drearily, with all the get-up-and-go of a hungover hippopotamus.

Why? Why?

Filed under: complaining, Concerts, decisions, hippopotamus, sheer silliness, toilet | 6 Comments »

Inspired By You (#5)

Posted on October 5, 2007 by Hails

McBouncy suggested: Talk about going to the Take That concert (sometimes I just summarise for her).

_42376648_takethat_pa203b.jpg

So, I have been ‘outed’ to the blogosphere as a Thatter. Before you judge me, let me plead my case:

1 – I was 11 when they first came on the scene. I was in the target market, I was vulnerable… in other words, I was a goner.

2 – I did play some of their early stuff a couple of years ago and confess that it really wasn’t as “fab” as I insisted it was in my pre-teen years. However, it evokes happy, innocent memories, and that’s a legitimate reason for listening to it.

3 – When they re-formed  after 10 years, it was like re-visiting my childhood. I couldn’t not go to the reunion concert last year, could I?

4 – Their new music really is quite good. Honestly.

5 – They are touring again this year, and I had a blast last year, and I’ve been having a rubbishy couple of months… if seeing Take That is my one spark of fun to look forward to, you wouldn’t mock me for it, would you?

364407324a4047616862b249966491l.jpg6 – I stand by my claim that Mark Owen will marry me eventually. Logically, therefore, I need to be in the same room as him as much as possible, in order for him to catch sight of me and realise that I am The One. This means it is a positive thing to be going to see him in concert again this year…

7 – … twice.

We’ll discuss this matter further at a later date, my friends. For now, try to focus on the fact that I love The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Simon and Garfunkel.

Try to have a little Patience with me, and Never Forget how happy it has made me to have them Back For Good.

Filed under: Concerts, Take That | 8 Comments »

Inspired By You (#3)

Posted on September 29, 2007 by Hails

Mother BonBon suggested: Daniel O’Donnell. Why?

This comment prompted an intensive training session for The Housemate, who, being from America, has led the blessed, carefree and happy existence of one who has never heard of Wee Daniel. Several anecdotes, two jokes, and one visit to YouTube later, she seemed to have a much clearer understanding of why it’s quite traumatic to grow up in Ireland. I do feel, however, that issues like Daniel O’Donnell really promote cross-community unity. It’s something that brings us all together, from all different backgrounds and denominations, to empathise with and share in each other’s despair.

It was the sight of him, dressed snugly in a jumper hand-knitted by one of his elderly fans, telling an interviewer that he could be “a bit wild” that really got me. After this, he probably invited several pensioners round for custard creams, and fell asleep in his rocking chair.

Q: What has 50 legs and no teeth?

A: The front row of a Daniel O’Donnell concert.

For those of you who have the fortune to be from a different country and have never experienced this Irish phenomenon, Daniel is a “singer” (to use the word in the loosest possible sense) adored by grannies up and down the country. He has a reputation for being very kind to his fans (the afore-mentioned grannies), and thinks nothing of inviting them into his home and “entertaining” them. He has dressed like a pensioner since he was a lad, and he “sings” (again, please do not take me literally when I say that) a variety of “songs” (I’ve never felt such a strong compulsion to quote, unquote myself) that make Coleraine Extra Strong Mature Cheddar seem like a mild form of cheese.

One of my favourite episodes of Father Ted pokes fun at Wee Daniel with a genius of a character called Eoin McLove*, who wears jumpers knitted by his elderly fans (all of whom use zimmerframes and mob him in a hilarious parody of Night of the Living Dead), sings songs about his Mammy, sits on a rocking chair, and rescues a little puppy with a broken paw, all to the admiring coos of the OAPs.

[*Absolutely no relation to any of my blog  characters.]

If you’ve got a strong stomach, have a go at this video of Daniel being “wild”. I laughed, I cried, I sat with my hand over my mouth. I tried to watch it the whole way through, but something deep within my spirit prevents me from doing so.

So, Mother BonBon, in answer to your question: I don’t know. I simply do not know.

Filed under: Concerts, humour, sheer silliness, singing, songs | 12 Comments »

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