Author: Pierce

Rather be a tree

 

Yick, yick, yick, goes the Blackbird at the top of leafless Tree.  I wonder why it is leafless?  Clare say’s it’s dead. “Hmm, and yet it stands, way up high above all the living leaves, wonder why we don’t’ stand when we die?”

 

I start to imagine the possibility.  Where would we put us, would we still have graveyards?  If so, Undertakers would have to use different vehicles-stand up jobs-maybe like a Chariot, and of course there would be no reason to change the dress code that we now employ for our wakes.  A nice suit, shirt and tie, or her favourite dress , with full make-up of course, in both cases, as it is now.  Or we could return to the original shrouds, when death was gender equal.  Even big sturdy macho men adorned a gown for their trip to heaven, with nothing underneath of course, clothes wouldn’t be necessary in either of the supposed destinations.  The chariot would drive through the Town with him/me standing there in a black or purple smock (ecclesiastical colours) in full make –up, with the hair groomed back like Ronald Regan or Teresa may, and nothing but the wind underneath.  What if, like the Tree, we didn’t pong? Graveyards might not be necessary at all. We could be just stood in the corner, or sat in our favourite chair, to wilt away until we fall apart.  Sitting here at the Kitchen table with my morning cup of tea, as you can see, I have travelled to all kinds of crazy thoughts with my imagining dream-state.  The Blackbird continues to yick,yick. She sees Albert the Cat languishing in the hot sunny grass, but Albert has no intention of pursuing her Babies, he is a big softie.  Still the old Tree holds sturdy, would I rather be a Tree?

 

I have more than tree gigs coming up.  And if I don’t see you there, I won’t see you at all.  I have got my songs and my stories, and my love for all of you, only you and I can share what this is.  And no matter what happens, the memory will stand for a long time, just like the Tree.  Build your memories, they are our foundation for the present.  I am coming with fire in my belly, like a jumping jack flash!

And I love you as much as I love the Stones.  Dublin next week! Weeha.

 

Dublin-The Grand Social June 22 – 8pm 25  euro tix at Ticketweb

Cork City-Coughlans July 5th-9pm tix at Coughlans

West Cork Levis Ballydehob July 7th-8pm

Wexford Town-Greenacres Selskar July 20th-9pm tix at Greenacres

More dates to come.

 

 

 

We caught one! Joe’s Pub NYC Saturday April 28th-9pm

I was lying on the floor at the Gym, the Asser Levy, a public Gym, I like it because it’s cheap, and because normal people go there. No annoying music, and no perfect bodies preening themselves in the mirror. Was stretching away on the ground there, when a pair of huge flat feet went by in gum shoes. Atop those feet, a very big man was stuffed inside dark blue overalls with “Staff” written on the back. He walked with the ponderous gait of someone who was jaded with their job. He was trying to shake off a piece of white cardboard stuck to his foot, turned out to be a glue trap, a cruel invention covered in very strong adhesive. He shook his foot, no go, he tried to pull it off, his beer belly got in the way of his stoop, no go, he leaned against a machine and tried to rip it off, no go. He tried walking again, it was really getting on his nerves, he was stuck to it! A fellow staff member howled with laughter and shouted “Look everybody, we caught one!”
Pierce Turner Ensemble at Joe’s Pub Saturday April 28th 2018 at 9pm – box office 212-967-7555

I haven’t the time to write this

Photo taken at The Saint Asbury Park on Sunday March 11th 2018 (c) Kathleen Connally

I haven’t got the time to write this really. I’m rushing out to have breakfast with my friend Una Johnson, who is dropping off in New York for a few days on her way back to Ireland. It’s snowing like a whore outside. The weather-persons usually make such a big deal out of something small, but they did the opposite with this. The dog wouldn’t even walk in it, she kept trying to brush it off her face with a paw. I made sure she stayed out long enough to have a poo anyhow, God knows when we’ll be out there again today.

 

Una is coming from the South by South West Festival in Austin, she is one of its Euro rep’s for music. She used to live right next door to me here on First Avenue, literally my next- door neighbor. She was with Phelim O’Lunney then, he mixed the sound for The Major Thinkers (our Punk/new wave band) Una was a great help to me when I was organizing the Tour of Manhattan to go with my first solo album, sixteen dates in Manhattan within a month. This was 1986. Una and myself went all over Manhattan, up to its very tip and down below Houston, canvassing places that we liked the look of, almost never conventional venues. We even booked the New Amsterdam Brewery over on the West River. Philp Glass was there and that great filmmaker that he made the trilogy with, Godfrey Reggio. Standing up on that huge, tall counter with the massive beer vats at my back singing “How It Shone” was a great moment, thanks Una.

 

After that I toured America with the Smithereens one time, and Graham Parker on another-we had great shows at Toads Place in New Haven, and on April 8th I will play at Café Nine in New Haven, for the first time since then. Fred Parcells will be with me, as he was then. We’re getting in a car and driving all the way there, you better get in yours in you live nearby, twill be great. I am attaching a powerful photo by Kathleen Connally from our gig at The Saint in Asbury Park, trying to leave Manhattan!

 

And Next Wednesday March 28th we’ll be at the 11th Street Bar around the corner, that magnificent speakeasy back room with the piano. The last one was magic, they have been trying to get us back there since, this was the first and only chance. Twud be wise to book it now, we are keeping it down to 50 people. I love you more than my Dog hates the snow, and that’s a lot!

Pierce xxxx

11th Street Bar between A and B Wed March 28th – 8pm tix at brownpapertickets.com

Café Nine, New Haven Sun April 8th Matinee, doors 3 pm. Tix at Café Nine

Joe’s Pub on April 28th!

Ireland in the summer.

 

 

 

Manhattan in the 80’s. Pierce Turner blog

The front of my building.

Manhattan in the 80’s                                               Pierce Turner © 2018  

 

Philip buzzed me in. Buzzers were a luxury then. Some of us had them, but they seldom worked. Most of us kept our keys in a thick, knotted sock. Outsiders would shout up at the window, and we would pitch the sock down to them. Every day without fail, I heard the same voice shouting up “Yo Howie” outside the building next to me, he would shout it repeatedly in a thick booming New York accent. Eventually Howie would throw down the knotted sock. I didn’t know anyone in that building to speak to, but I knew some faces, and had supposed some of their stories. Twice, the building caught on fire and they had to call the fire brigade. On both occasions Howie had fallen asleep with a cigarette on the go. The second time the building had to be evacuated at two in the morning. I looked out my front window to see a woman being carried down the Fire Escape in her nightie. Down below on the street, the entire occupants of the building were looking up in anguish. I knew most of their faces, and took a guess at which one was Howie. The one with the frail skinny body that I had decided was an alcoholic, struggled on his gout ridden feet to angrily accost Howie, he swung a wild punch at his clueless nuisance of a neighbor. Someone held him back while he shouted angrily at the bed smoker in Italian. Eventually the fire was quelled, the army of fire engines went home, and we all went back to bed. The next day I heard it again “Yo Howie” And the knotted sock hit the ground.

 

Pierce Turner Parlour Performances in 2018

 

Greystones, The Hot Spot -Friday Feb 23rd at 8pm (last Irish date before returning to the States) This is a beautiful venue. Book here.

Tickets

 

Asbury Park N.J. The Saint (the legendary) Sun, March 11th- Afternoon session 4.30 start. (with Fred Parcells) And Avon Faire

https://www.ticketweb.com/event/pierce-turner-avon-faire-the-saint-tickets/8075875?pl=saint

 

Manhattan-Paul Muldoon’s Picnic-@ The Irish Arts Centre-Mon March 12th – 8pm

http://irishartscenter.org/event/muldoons-picnic-march

Manhattan The beautiful A.I.H.S Building – March 15th at 7pm (3D tour at thins link) https://my.matterport.com/show/?m=es26Y1iT9VT

For tickets visit the website here

www.aihs.org

 

Manhattan –(the luxurious) Joe’s Pub, one of America’s top 5 venues-Sat April 28th-9.30 Show.

January is a useless month

January is a useless month, steeped in disease and misery. It’s a terrible month to start the year with. We should shift it and start with a different month. Maybe July? That’s a pretty good month to start the year with. Just imagine, you have a New Years Eve Party knowing that the next day, day one, will be the 1st of July! Hang up the Parka, put on the shorts and sandals and head down to the beach with an ice cream in hand.

 

I woke up the middle of last night wanting to pee, a normal enough event in recent years. I burst into the sitting room, where our toilet is. Wanting to turn the light on so that I wouldn’t walk into the clothes -horse standing somewhere before last nights fire. But I didn’t want to wake Albert, cos if I did, he would demand immediate attention. So I resisted the light, and semi-sleep walked in the dark past the couch where he slumbers, he jumped up immediately with a delighted yelp “Good morning” said he, “forget it Albert” said I. As usual, he scooted out to the Kitchen expecting to be fed. I scooted back to bed, before he could catch me, he has been known to give me a little bite at times like this, or to jump up and grab my leg, with soft claws. Sounds cute, but not when you are trying desperately to hang on to the sandman.

 

The bed had all the warmth still intact, the covers wrapped around me, filling every cavity, snuggling up to the nape of my back where sometimes a pocket of cold can vex. But sleep seemed unnecessary, I felt done! Shit I can’t get up this early, the day will be useless. I should point out that I was in the spare room, right next to the main bedroom (everything is right next to everything in this little house) I have had a malady of some sort, they say it’s the Australian Flu, whatever the hell it is, it makes me cough all night long. So I went to the spare room, so that I could have the pleasure of coughing the night away without the added guilt of keeping Clare awake.

 

I hear Clare sneaking around and talking to the Cat, who was still pretending it was breakfast time. But then, remembering that it was January, I thought, what if it’s deceptively dark?

 

I reached down for my I- pad to check the time – 9;05 AM !!! I look out the window, and a woman is flying past on the opposite side of the street, she is pushing a pram with all of its weather resistant gear in full use, the rain, trying to get in at the Baby, makes sure to compensate for any failure, by drowning her and the green clad postman heading into the garden behind her, his glasses saturated beyond redemption. This is the morning?

January!! It’s enough to make you believe in God.

One week to Jan 16th at the National Concert Hall, an elevation over the hump, Come for a huge hug.

https://www.nch.ie/Online/Pierce-Turner-16Jan18

Life on Mars, January 16th-Dublin

Before I start-something urgent needs to be brought to your attention if you are in Ireland-On January 16th I will be at the National Concert Hall (JFR Room) what else could have to do on a Tuesday night? I want to see all the sausages there, or what is the point? book here https://www.nch.ie/Online/seatSelect.asp

Life On Mars

I walked into the spare bedroom and reached to turn on the light, but the light was already on. Strange discovery, but it happened before, recently enough. It’s not that I couldn’t see, I just wanted it to be brighter, even though I was only looking for a piece of cardboard to write a sign on.

We were having a New Years Eve Party, the musical theme was 1940’s. Having had several NYE parties in the past, I had no ambition to struggle through my music collection to find something fresh and contemporary, yet familiar, not too racy or noisy, that would suit a generational melting pot of all age groups and taste groups. The1940’s felt like a way to avoid all these issues, the music would be before everyone’s time, so therefore beyond debate. Yet, it was good fun, bopping along stuff – Glen Millar, Benny Goodman, and all that jazz.

 

As I was compiling the music, it began to feel a bit samey after a while. So I decided that it would be ok to stick in a bit of David Bowie, The rationale being that Bowie died in 2017, and that he was born in the 40’s. Just a couple of Bowie tracks “life On Mars” as a sing along “Let’s Dance” as dance along. But how many people know the words of “Life on Mars”? I don’t even know them myself. So I googled em and wrote the chorus out on a big yellow card board with a black sharpey. This part; Sailors fighting in the dance hall – Oh man, look at those cavemen go . I was a bit surprised, it turns out that I really didn’t know what the song was about myself.

 

New Years Eve. The kitchen table was pushed into the corner, the lighting all sexified, packed full of friends all swinging and swaying. When I produced that yellow sign everyone sang, even older people whom I’m sure had little or no knowledge of the song.   What a great party, how was yours?

 

I won’t pull that sign out at the National Concert Hall on January 16th-but there will be other signage. By the time we get to the 16th – January will be trying enough, and God knows Tuesday will be as dull as …….Tuesday. Except for where we will be, beneath that beautiful Chandelier in the company of Tuesday giants.

This is what a great friend wrote to his friends, please pass it on to yours.  I told my main muse Pierce Turner I would promote his gig in the NCH on 16/1/18 as a way to elevate spirits  early in the week early in the new year. details at

Home

 

Reach for the light and make it brighter in 2018

Happy New year.

I love you more than sage stuffing.

Pierce xxx

 

 

Back in Ireland

  With Cillian Vallely and Fred Parcells at the 11th Street Bar last month in the East Village.

Got the fire going, the shed is falling down, but there was half a bag of coal in there, went out there in the dark last night with the flashlight, the moon was at a quarter and the sky was clear and northern, I picked the green sack up and poured the coal out of the cut off corner, even at half full, it’s heavy enough! My coal man is an ex priest, how the hell does a Priest get to be strong enough to throw these sacks around? When the bag is full, I have to take a deep breath and run at it- to lift it over the lip of my sheds door frame. He just throws it over his back effortlessly, and drops it gently by the back wall.
Now the fire is blazing, a rich red core with jagged amber flames curling up around the chimney path. My Sister Dolores was just here, as she warmed her arse by the fire she declared

“Oh that fire is gorgeous!”

Cork coming! Coughlans Dec 7th
Greenacres Wexford Dec 29th
The National Concert Hall Dublin, Jan 16th
England in between.

New Yawk New Yawk

The National Concert Hall 2015- back to that beautiful chandelier room with the incredible Steinway Piano on January 16th, 2018-ideal Christmas present, to wipe away the January blues-for you’s. Tickets on sale now at the NCH.

It’s a crazy morning in New York, I can feel the vibes in the air already. Walking in to a restaurant, I changed my mind half way through the door, when I noticed that the tiny place was full. Pulling back from the door, I backed into a woman who was right on my heels “Oh sorry” said I, she threw me an impatient look and was about to say something, but withdrew after the first syllable, a vague sound-but not a vague suggestion, the message was clear she considered telling me off-so what would she say? “Why didn’t you put your brake lights on?” Or “ You are a stoopid human being?” Anything is possible in New York.

I have always said that being here, is like living with a large dysfunctional family. This woman acted like a Sister who is sick to death of her Brother, I mean what stranger would think of telling off another person for changing their mind to enter a restaurant?

Once when I was at a very boring Tom Stoppard Play on Broadway, having not eaten since breakfast I picked up at Kit Kat in the foyer to give me some sustenance, sugar in other words. Clare and I sat in our tiny seats made for tiny people eighty years ago, way, way up in the Gods. Squeezed between strangers on both sides, winter anoraks underneath us, handbags in between, scarves, gloves and hats filling every cavity. It was claustrophobic and vertaphobic, and it was hot! Really hot! The Play was on its way and it was pretentious and strained-my eyelids became heavy “ Oh God I can’t go asleep here” I know, find the Kit Kat! There are so many pockets in that blasted Canadian Winter coat, will have to do this like an FBI spy, slippery and slowly I felt my way down the rough weatherproof exterior of my coat, feeling around almost every pocket before I found the right one. I pull the paper wrapper off it very carefully, so far so good, I’m now down to the silver, it makes a soft crackle. This play is excruciatingly quiet, I break off a finger, and let it melt in my mouth without chewing. All was going well, I think it’s ok to go for another finger, a little less gingerly this time. They are in a boat now with an oil lamp, it’s beautiful looking, but what the fuck are they talking about? I reach for a third piece, thinking nobody cares what I do…… SMACK!! A woman sitting a couple of seats away from me slaps me on the hand with her glove, like lighting, without even looking. What?? I mean, is she my Mother? I tried to get her attention to express my astonishment, but she didn’t seem to even give it a second thought. See what I mean?

So back to the Restaurant, after leaving I went around the block to another place that I like, but there was a line outside the door. So I just walked back to the scene of the crime to see if things had changed, sure enough it had, there was plenty of room. So I sat down, read the paper and had some Italian coffee with a Caprese sandwich, delicious.   As I finished my breakfast, I notice the woman across from me is nasty with the waiter. Pointing at her empty plate she snaps “ Just take it away!” dismissing him with the back of her hand. He brings her the check book and she starts foraging around in a small crumpled white envelope, she pulls up a five dollar bill and a few ones-with her coat off and seated I hadn’t recognized her-it was yer one who almost told me off for changing my mind at the door, while she was so close she could have run me down. The waiter brought back her check in the black plastic book. She opened and removed the three dollars and put them back in the envelope-picked up her Sunday Post-pushed it into her bag, and chinked a few quarters on the marble table top.  Yikes.

I leave for Ireland soon, might be good timing. I love you more than Mozzarella.

Dec 7th Coughlans Cork

Dec 29th Greenacres Wexford

January 16th The National Concert Hall (JFR)

These last two would make great Christmas presents don’t ye tink?

Pass the hat….NOT-back in New York

The first time that I came across a venue that didn’t pay its artists, was Sine over on St Marks Place. Shane, the owner, was an expert at socializing, at spreading his charisma. I had enough of a following to demand payment for a gig. But Shane had been building a name by getting all kinds of famous people to play in Sine for fun. Sinead O’Connor was hanging out there, and Jeff Buckley had been a regular. Shane came to one of my shows and said that I would be welcome to play at Sine any time. I (like most people) can only play so often in one area, if I want to maintain my drawing power. So playing at Sine for nothing meant risking my income for that period. But I also was drawn towards it, like a Lemming to the cliff. So I did it, Shane said it was most that he had ever seen in the passed hat, I Think it was around $280 (for Fred Parcels and I)-he also said that it was the most beer he had ever sold, they had to keep going to the Bodega on the corner. I couldn’t even get Shane to pay for Fred’s taxi from four blocks away, he used an amplifier, Fred wheeled it over on a trolly. Afterwards I wondered why I did it. I knew that the spirit of it was wrong. For young artists who can’t find anywhere to cut there teeth, this kind of thing is important. But for anyone who has done all that, and established a hard earned following, it’s insane. The only one who really benefitted from this was Shane! from a business point of view he deserved it. But, he started something horrible, for musicians, as far as I can see. Now, everywhere you look in Manhattan, there are places presenting free music, being played by high quality, mature musicians.
In the 1970’s and 1980’s (pre Sine) Venues paid musicians to do that, it might not be a whole lot if you weren’t a draw, but $300 or so was the common fee. Now they pay you a compliment by allowing you to play. I have volunteered to do one of these new places recently, for the same reason that I did the insane Sine gig, some kind of peer pressure. They said yes, sure, and offered me a gig next March 2018 !! It’s not even impromptu. Needless to say, I ain’t doing it, get stuffed!
Please remember when you are in the audience at one of these places, that what goes in the hat, is all the musician gets. I have seen great artists blowing the audience away, and watched people either putting nothing in the hat, or just one dollar! We are supposed to leave 20% tips now for being waited on in a restaurant. If musicians play for 40 minutes at the minimum wage, you should be putting $8 in the hat.
Thanks to initiatives like Sine, exploiting musicians has become so normal, we don’t even know it is happening.

Pierce Turner performances in the NY area.
Beal Bocht Riverdale Oct 14th – 8pm Tickets at The Beal Bocht site.
Staten Island Maritime Museum October 20th

The Little Greek Basil Plant-Pierce Turner- Monday Morning Milk blog

The Little Greek Basil Plant.

 

Clare takes the Greek Basil plant out of the car and apologizes to it, it’s been scrunched in the back seat behind me from Brighton to Pembroke Bay. She waters it and baby talks the plant in its pot.

“I. ….sorry baby”

 

Then resigned.

 

“I want to go to bed early!”

 

We awakened this morning at 5 am – didn’t want to drive all that way and be late for the ferry like twice before. The last time it sat there on the other side of the gate just looking at us, like all stuff that we are punished for missing, it seemed to wag a self -righteous finger at us, sitting there, after a white knuckle ride, we had literally missed the boat. No, this time we would get there ahead of time, us and the Greek Basil plant. We would tare down the M4 and get there well before the check in time of 2;45 only stopping once for a coffee and cardboard sandwich to go.

 

The Ferry between Wales and Ireland has been a mainstay travel connection throughout my life, the Rosslare Port, twelve miles from Wexford Town, is our Airport in the South East. Waterford, forty mikes away has had an on-off romance with the metal birds, I did use it once to fly to Luton just north of London, but upon return from there the Pilot announced some dissatisfaction with the weather conditions, and threatened to land in Cork, nearly a hundred miles further away from our destination. This was with a clear summers day! Never bothered with Waterford Airport again.

 

At two o’clock the boarding began, they appear to have a haphazard system at Irish Ferries, the men and women who work there act like it’s not their normal job. I never feel sure that they are addressing me, and they use sign language a lot, a cupped hand with bending beckoning fingers, obviously means “come towards me” but when the face above it is deadpan and is looking absent mindedly to the left, you find yourself looking around to make sure that it’s not another car they are addressing. The women tend to work at the early stages, like checking your ticket, or beckoning you towards the check-in kiosk. We were there early, and chose to stand on the wrong line by proxy, with no signs or instructions of any kind, I wondered out loud about the dividing white lines with up side down faded numbers at their head in the distance.

 

“Which should we take, I wonder?”

 

“I would go over there behind that red SUV”

 

And so with absolutely no solid reasoning, I drove up behind the SUV with the silver spare tyre holder attached to its rear door, and the bicycles on the roof. It was somewhere in the middle, I would guess out of ten parking lanes, we might’ve been on lane five. So even if we chose wrongly, we should have been in the middle. I think Clare’s logic was based on the fact that we were right in front of the check in kiosk. Anyway, when the woman arrived in her peak cap, sharply pressed dark blue uniform and aluminous yellow waist coat, she casually beckoned the last row to our left, barely bending an index finger on her right arm which was hanging down by her side, where it would be resting if she was doing nothing at all. Off they went, the people who had arrived long after the Greek Basil plant and ourselves, and then the next line, and the next, until finally she arrived at the red SUV. All in all it would be about fifteen to twenty minutes before she go to us, still barely moving, but conceding a side ward step, and a glance in our direction. After we identified ourselves to the mature woman with a wry smile in the Kiosk.

 

“What’s your last name?”

 

“Turner”

 

“Clare?”

 

“Yes”

 

We both laughed as she stooped to see Clare in the passenger seat.

 

“You’re in here, we’ve got your information all prepared, off you go”

 

She handed me a boarding card and we drove through a roofed inspection area, this was the customs and excise area, a plump fifty year old man in a peak cap and the same aluminous vest, leaned down and smiled.

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“Ireland”

 

“Ok so”

And into the belly of the great beast we drove.

Here all the commands were imparted by men. A sturdy fella with a grey five O’clock shadow, seemed to be directing us towards him with a reluctant cupped fist. He looked like he was there by accident, like he happened to be in the pub having a pint between shifts in the Engine room, and someone said;

 

“You better go up above Tommy and tell them cars where to park when they board”

 

I looked at him and gestured

 

“Me?”

 

He gave a careless nod, and I followed my common sense to a lane, driving in a state of total ambiguity, thinking “If I am doing the right thing, it’s nothing short of a miracle”

An announcement came over the PA.

 

“Please turn off all the engines before going to the upper decks”

 

Noting that we were on Blue Deck 5 we stepped into an elevator with a merry red haired man and his female friend, he started talking to us in German.

 

“Ele-vaw-torr, das iss de elle-vaw –torr, no? tee hee”

 

I expected that he would break into fluent English soon, as most Germans in Ireland usually do, but no, he got more into his native tongue, and looked at us with the open faced assumption that we understood. Now the short heavy- set woman who accompanied him was joining in with the same joviality. I know a few words in German, but by Jasus, I wasn’t going to encourage them, they seemed to already assume we were German. We were starting to feel over whelmed when the lift halted at God knows what floor, we ran for it and left them giggling on their merry climb.

 

Up above, Clare laid down with her head on my back pack and fell asleep while I read the New York Times on my I Pad. Eventually I found a corner to lie down and fall asleep myself. It was a bit startling to see myself in the mirrored ceiling, I was a bit red from the heat wave we had experienced in England. When I awakened there was an elderly woman seated and facing me, she was blocking the only way out of my corner, I felt boxed in. She looked like like a friendly old Irish lady, she was smiling in a giving fashion. Wiping the sleep from my eyes I offered some confused pleasantry.

 

“Das iss shlavvin und %*#..??”

 

What! She’s German too? And she’s talking away to me like I am German. I just didn’t know what to say and tried to offer up a silent pleasantness as I squeezed out between her and the corner table. It was hard to even explain to Clare, who was annoyed that I woke her up.

 

Getting off the ship was the same as getting on, we were inexplicably last, the man beckoning us was equally ambivalent, his fat hand equally covert.

 

When we got out of the car up here on Davitt Road North, the Greek Basil Plant had it’s face scrunched up against my back seat where I had pushed it back to its furthest point, befitting my legs. I shushed the little plant up a bit and put it on the Kitchen table where Clare discovered it. I suppose the Ferry will be on its way back to Wales by now, I can still smell it’s taste of oil and salt water.

The next gig will be in New York, right now it’s October 14th at the Beal Bocht in Riverdale, and there will be a Staten Island gig (a first) don’t know the date yet, something in Manhattan of course also, Boston? Will be back in Ireland for Christmas. Coughlans of Cork on December 7th….Wexford Arts Centre Dec 23rd?

Who knows what else.

Send your love out like the seeds for a rose garden, the world needs those, to fight the pleather of weeds threatening to strangle our wisdom.

 

Love will protect us all, my lovely sausages. Pierce xxx