A vintage year for pop, I hear

I don’t think all of you really understand about Johnny Haliday.

The man is beyond my ability to come to terms with. Or rather, his immense popularity and fame in this country as opposed to his absolute anonymity outside of it.
Hardly a day moves on without my being updated on another little Johnny factoid or glimpse of his puckered age-defying fizzog via some medium or other. If he’s not blasting out in power chords about the virtues of getting two pairs of lunettes for the price of one or having a ‘secret’ emergency blood transfusion, he’s , in some other fashion – there.
The thing is, Paris, and France largely, is far, far more working class than many people suspect. Which would account in some way for the pre-eminence of this Belgian (originally) beefheart. His videos are a disgrace. And, not just suggestively, but ACTUALLY pornographic. His age is beyond reckoning, some paleontologists have put his origin somewhere between the Cambrian and Metazoic eras. His wives many, and distinguished, it is a great boon to be a Johnny cast off. Talk shows and book deals to see you into your dotage. And of course it is here, and esteemed position, that of spurned Madam. His children innumerable, he has the fecundity of, well, a frog. His music speaks straight to the heart of every miserable, skiving wife beater or white van driving kiddy fiddler. He is almost impossible to fathom in 2006. He is an anachronism in his tight jeans and somewhat rascist views. (He is actually a part of Nicolas Sarkozy’s carnival for May’s Presidential election; of course)
If Bruce Springsteen were an action hero in a movie then Johnny would be his evil counterpart, his old buddy who turned to the dark side.

He is a terrible cunt altogether.

And still, I’d take a hundred of his kind rather than go back to hearing about Pete Doherty.

Here are a summary of things that have been going on since my last entry.

- I made one of my students cry by failing her and asking her to re-do a class. She later apologised but this served to remind me that some people actually take life seriously. Beats me why.
- I failed to get my Carte Vitelle due to Birth Certificate written in Irish. The Irish Embassy failed to aid me in any way whatsoever. But a woman at the gate cheerily told me, “I had trouble with that too. Sure you know yourself” Unfortunately I do know myself. I’ll have to find a solicitor to verify my ‘existence receipt’ Fuck you once again Irish government.
- My moustache has gained admiration and applause wherever I wander. I’m getting invited to all the exclusive gentlemens clubs and have even been challenged by Old man McGuinness at the Reform Society to circumnavigate the globe in just 80 days.
- The leaves are starting to turn brown. It’s magical.


I had a funny feeling the other morning though. It was a queer sensation, and I realised what it was after a few moments frowing at my feet and scratching my neck – I wasn’t too hot.
Now don’t get me wrong, I won’t be reaching for a coat any time soon. But there’s a strong possibility that a light jumper might be brought along to work, just in case the unthinkable happens.

Good day to you.