Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
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KISSING IN THE WIND
As interviews go, it’s not your typical scenario. I’m seated on a barge on Dublin’s Grand Canal. In my hand is a list of handwritten questions. On the bench opposite are sitting the two young stars of Lance Daly’s highly acclaimed new feature film Kisses. My Dictaphone is lying on the table between us switched on. So far so good, you might think. Well yes, except that at some point in the last five seconds World War III has broken out.Read the rest of this article here.
CAN’T TELL ME NOTHING (2007)
Babysitting my three month old niece Lola today. We went for a walk to Kilmainham Hospital and sat down and I sang her songs from my iPhone. Her favourites? Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, The Kinks’ Lola (obviously, although if she grows up to be a promiscuous, transvestite man I may have to accept some of the responsibility), Danny Kaye’s Inchworm, and the Velvet Underground’s I’m Sticking With You.
She absolutely hates Kanye West and cried every time I put him on. But her favourite song by a country mile (as I was later to discover)? Read the rest of this entry »
THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT “THE BUTLER”…
A little manoeuvre I invented where I approach an attractive girl, stumble, fall and headbutt her in the crotch… Read the entire article.
A HARD RAIN’S A-GONNA FALL (1962)
On the evening of September 11th, 2001, as the initial shock of what had happened that day began to abate, my thoughts turned to what would happen next. Events were still very much in flux, but it was already clear that whatever would transpire after the dust settled in New York, it wasn’t going be pretty.
I remember going for a drink in a pub that evening with some friends. It was Slattery’s on Capel Street. In the corner, Sky News was showing night vision pictures of the skyline over Kabul. The Northern Alliance were shelling Taliban positions. No one was quite sure what was going on exactly, but I remember people – punters, barstaff, everyone – staring at the television screen in grim silence. And this ominous refrain began playing over and over in my head… Read the rest of this entry »
EMBRACE SATAN
Here is the first in a series of commercial features (i.e. articles that look like real articles but are actually just a mutant form of advertising.) This month, we’ve teamed up with His Satanic Majesty, the Archangel Lucifer, to suckle upon his fiery teat and drink deep of his molten liquids.
The forces of evil have never been as hip and youth oriented and we want you to get involved. Below you will find details of a fabulous offer open exclusively to our readers. But first here’s a personal message from Satan himself: Read the rest of this entry »
COME PICK ME UP (2000)
HERE COMES THE LILT MAN…
I must say that I’m really fascinated by the road traffic switchover currently underway in Samoa. This is the first time such a move has been attempted in my lifetime, although similar switchovers have apparently been done in the past in Nigeria, Ghana, Yemen and Okinawa.
The rationale behind the decision seems sound enough (cheaper car imports), but the logistics are mindboggling: Read the rest of this entry »
“THEY WILL LOCK YOU UP IN THIS TOWN, MATE. TURYSTA OR NO TURYSTA…!”
“I punch him hard in the mouth. But it’s like he sees it coming before I do, because he lands two blows in retaliation before I’ve even realised I’m in a fight…” Read the rest of the article here.
THE DICK CAVETT SHOW (1971)
Spectacular chat show bust-up between Norman Mailer and Gore Vidal from 1971. Cavett’s account of the fracas, published in the New York Times in the wake of Mailer’s death in 2007, is here. If you haven’t time for either, let me synopsise in five words: Read the rest of this entry »
FREE THE CHIP SHOP FIVE!
A grave injustice has been done. Five young men have been punished for a crime they had very little to do with. Barred for life from Marco’s Take Away in Stoneybatter (the fast food outlet of choice for a new generation), tut-tutted at by every pain-in-the-hole auld one in a two mile radius, and for what? The muddled testimony of a henpecked chip shop owner? The palsied lies of his stubby-fingered wife? Read the rest of this article here.