“Burke shows again that he’s not just a comic genius, but also a fine dramatic writer and storyteller.” – Booklist. “Prose both scabrous and poetic.” – Publishers Weekly. “Proust meets Chandler over a pint of Guinness.” – Spectator. “Among the most memorable books of the year, of any genre.” – Sunday Times. “A hardboiled delight.” – Guardian. “Imagine Donald Westlake and Richard Stark collaborating on a screwball noir.” – Kirkus Reviews. “A cross between Raymond Chandler and Flann O’Brien.” – John Banville.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

“Such A Perfect Day / I’m Glad I Spent It With You …”


Not that you’re particularly interested, but a rather fine day was had yesterday by your humble host. Saturday morning, up early, a nice bit of writing done. Marvellous. And then The Mighty Pool went and stonked Der Filthenfuhrers 4-1, at Old Tatford. Now, I know it’s important to be a good winner and all that, but seriously – 4-1? I was laughing so hard with three minutes to go, I think I lost a testicle.


  After that it was off with the family to the Lambert Puppet Theatre in Monkstown, for ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ and Lilyput’s first excursion to a theatre. I have no idea of what the wee girl thought she was looking at, but she was thrilled skinny by it all. A lovely, lovely way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Incidentally, those Irish among you of a certain age may or may not be glad to know that Judge and Mr Crow are alive and well and still bantering.
  Mind you, I’m not entirely sure about the moral tone of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’. It’s size-ist, for starters. And apparently it’s okay, if you’re poor enough, and so stupid you’ll sell your last cow for a handful of ‘magic’ beans, to storm some guy’s castle and half-inch his magic harp, golden egg-laying chicken, and stash of loot. And then, when he has the temerity to want it back, to kill him. It’s an anarchist’s manifesto.
  Anyhoos, after the ‘Property is theft’ lecture, it was home for a quick-change and into the Batmobile and hence to town, and The Gingerman, for your humble host’s 40th birthday celebrations, at which far too many dry sherries were consumed.

(L-to-R): The Dark Lord of All Evil, Chico ‘Chicovich’ Morientes, Random Drunk Guy
  I’m not actually 40 for another week or so, but even at this early stage it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever consume alcohol again.

(L-to-R): Random Drunk Guy, The Organiser of All Goodness
  And so to the Bat-taxi, and hence to home, and a quick check on the obligingly sleeping Lilyput, and bed, to sleep and perchance to dream. God bless us, every one!