I’ve always had Shane down as simply drunk as a brewer’s fart.
This book, a chat over drinks with his wife Victoria, brings out some of the kind, human, down-to-earth, honest and very Irishly funny qualities of the lead singer of The Pogues (and former member of the Nipple Erectors).
Lynn Barber, in The Observer, says of the book, ‘One of the freshest, most original biographies I’ve ever read.’.
Some morsels for you on sex, drugs, marriage, and definitive Irish nurturing.
Your favourite bit, aside from O, she doth teach the torches to shine bright! and But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
(I love Willy when he does the puppet word shadow order thing – okay, okay, I’ll keep practicing – remember that delicious Though hast by moonlight at her window sung from A Midsummer Night’s Dream a couple of posts back?)
Mine’s got to be the nurse dealing with the big sleep. But first it would be unfair not to bow to the boys who land some lovely love lines. Take Mercutio.
With the prolapse a little less livid, I’m able to sit still long enough to do something I’ve always wanted to do.
Don’t worry, you can open your eyes.
Take a deep breath.
It’s an OCD’d glossary bringing together the Looking-glass book containing Jabberwocky that Alice finds when with that wacko the White Knight, and the compelling definitions of the words in the first verse of the same poem given later on by that cocky fancy-pants Humpty Dumpty. (I think he was pushed.)
Your favourite bit, aside from knowing a bank where the wild thyme blows, Methought I was enamoured of an ass, and My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones?
Mine’s got to be, apart from Oberon’s joyfully puerile And loos’d his love shaft smartly from his bow, pissed-off and indignant papa Egeus whinging about his daughter Hermia being courted by the relentless Lysander.
Sit back and enjoy wonder boy Lysander in action. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Better than illicit sex. Honey on toast. Chocolate and beer.
Maybe not chocolate and beer.
Sweet is the unputdownable book in which sod all happens.
…life was like that for most of us – the small unpleasantnesses rather than the great tragedies; the little useless longings rather than the great renunciations and dramatic love affairs of history and fiction.
Thriller writer Raymond Chandler said if you’re ever stuck on what happens next, get someone to walk in with a gun in their hand.
Well, Pym’s self-effacingly unattached protagonist Mildred Lathbury does it with a pot of tea.