Dancing feet? Blame it on the boogie...
Thursday: Today the young lad asked me if Bouncy was having a baby. 'Who's Bouncy?' I asked him, thinking that there was a mammy in the community whose nickname I hadn't been made aware of.
'The lady in the newspaper,' he told me, pointing towards the kitchen. I hopped from my seat and took hold of what he had just been reading. Sure enough, the rumours circulating about pop singer Beyonce's pregnancy featured in the page's headlines – the only word he had misread was her name. And I realised that we have entered a new stage of child-rearing – the 'watch what he reads and censor it stage'. Surely easier said than done in these scandal-riddled days.
Friday: When it comes to the world of culture and the arts, I often feel like I'm sat on the fastest moving underground train you can imagine and countless stops are whizzing past in a kaleidoscopic blur of streaks. Head spinning, I protest that I want to get off here, no there, no here, no there, etc. And I end up being a Jack of all cultures, yet master of none.
When I do reach where I am under orders to get to, I absorb the details of a single book, or CD, or play, or film and I eventually nod my head and think 'that was, or wasn't, worth my time and effort'. But by the time I'm done with that particular offering those countless stops that I have missed have had their titles painted over and the next batch of gifts from the artistic gods will have taken up their position.
Only the exceptional few will have captured the public's imagination enough to bully their ways onto all our radars – for example Forty Shades of Grey, the latest Tom Cruise movie, the latest Dan Brown novel, the Best of the Beatles Volume 2,000 and so on – privileges that come with being in the 'bestseller brigade'. Confused? Me too. And that's the way I feel practically every weekend, when it comes to trying to keep up with the world of culture and the arts. Ever-willing, but always one step behind.
The good woman mentioned tonight that Disco is back en vogue. She added if that is the direction in which music is going then she welcomes it with open ears. Evidence for the defence comes with Daft Punk's Get Lucky, the biggest selling single in the UK this year, and the new Bruno Mars (suspend disbelief and he is the reincarnation of Michael Jackson, no?) single, Treasure. Both are buoyed by a Disco beat; both will get the feet tapping.
For the moment, then, I stand stubbornly on the Disco platform, attempting to rake up further evidence to prove that the good woman is correct. I hope she is and that we'll have reason to go to nightclubs again, and actually feel like dancing, yeah! We just have to leave the big collars and flares in the attic where they belong; some things don't deserve to be part of a musical renaissance.
Saturday: I was out tonight and missed the Eurovision Song Contest. The good woman kept me up to date with proceedings via text, and while I expected Denmark to walk away with it, I was a little surprised that Ireland finished last.
After the special Late Late Show held to choose the Irish entry I felt the ballad, Crashing Down, should have gone through but having seen Ryan Dolan's performance in the semi-finals on Tuesday night I thought that it might tick a few boxes for those that vote – enough maybe to earn it a mid-table finish.
The drummers brought a lot to the performance and I was left wondering that even if Ireland had gone out and performed the Danish entry the voting would still have worked against us. Again the question will be asked – should Ireland keep entering the Eurovision? Or would they be better to keep the millions, cut the price of the TV licence, and have a national song competition once a year instead.