I should of known when I saw Twink coming out of Chadwicks with a bag of cement and a pesticide sprayer that it was awards ceremony time. Bumping into Hughie (formerly of Fair City) outside Spar in Rathgar should also of alerted me, although when you consider that he was half dressed and could only say 'Help me... Please', you could forgive me for not spotting the clue there. No, despite all this it was the fact that every celebrity in the world was in Dublin this weekend, for a weekend of awards, that drew my attention. The IFTA's and the Meteors respectively.
Dublin's singing photo-fits, Aslan, sensationally won Best Irish Band at the Meteors and in a modest gesture, sent up a homeless guy they met outside Thomas St Social Welfare office to collect the award. He rattled on for a number of minutes with immense vulgarity, but it was a touching gesture nonetheless. Another of the highlights was the reunion of Boyzone, who were reunited on stage, under the name of Boyzone. A visibly pregnant Stephen Gately bellowed out all their hits, in such an impressive display of campness that was so camp, it would not of been surprising in the least for him to suddenly turn into a huge tent. There was endless other jaw-dropping displays on offer. The Saw Doctors proved why Ireland is at the cutting edge of modern music, with a high brow and literate performance of 'N-17', that was only a fraction better than being repeatedly sexually assaulted by a drunk relative. Security were lax when a group of drugged wasters, calling themselves 'The Coronas' got on stage and slapped away at what were once musical instruments, but had now become 'horrible noise makers'. Truly dreadful stuff.
Dublin's singing photo-fits, Aslan, sensationally won Best Irish Band at the Meteors and in a modest gesture, sent up a homeless guy they met outside Thomas St Social Welfare office to collect the award. He rattled on for a number of minutes with immense vulgarity, but it was a touching gesture nonetheless. Another of the highlights was the reunion of Boyzone, who were reunited on stage, under the name of Boyzone. A visibly pregnant Stephen Gately bellowed out all their hits, in such an impressive display of campness that was so camp, it would not of been surprising in the least for him to suddenly turn into a huge tent. There was endless other jaw-dropping displays on offer. The Saw Doctors proved why Ireland is at the cutting edge of modern music, with a high brow and literate performance of 'N-17', that was only a fraction better than being repeatedly sexually assaulted by a drunk relative. Security were lax when a group of drugged wasters, calling themselves 'The Coronas' got on stage and slapped away at what were once musical instruments, but had now become 'horrible noise makers'. Truly dreadful stuff.
Of course, as with all awards ceremonies, the real action starts after the show, and Friday was no different.. According to Hughie, when I met him again yesterday outside Spar, 'Just a few bob... for a cup of tea?'.
Saturday night was the IFTA's turn. I'd spent the whole evening looking for Hughie, but somehow ended up in a skip with Kathryn Thomas. She was an able replacement and thus I duly missed Mel Gibson's entertaining speech about nothing whatsoever. Pat Shortt obviously won best actor, but it was his display when accepting the award which I will always remember, particularly as he was taken away by 'mental men' after the ceremony. Again, as with the previous night, the post-awards was where it was it at. According to Hughie again, who I met this morning as I waited for a bus
'Me leg....me bleedin' gimpy leg!'
2 comments:
Peanuts eh? So you were going for salt poisoning? I myself was hoping to catch CJD from the jelly babies somehow and get the night over with quickly.
And not just the night!!
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