A couple of weeks before Easter, I noticed this robin hanging around our garden acting a bit suspiciously. Every time I came out she froze and eyed me, usually with a bit of moss or hair in her beak. After a few days I figured out where she was building the nest. Beside our back patio door there is a water butt, on top of this the resident gardener had left two full bags of compost and an almost empty one that was split down the side. The robin was building her nest inside the top compost bag. At first I begged of Twitter what should I do? This wasn't as clever a place for a nest as the robin seemed to think. What about our garden hose and our trowel? Then I stole a peek. She'd obviously worked really hard to build such a spectacular structure. I hadn't the heart to move her on. I negotiated the loan of the gardening equipment to the robins for as long as they needed it and we did our best to leave them to it. After about a week, I noticed the male bringing food to the female robin. In the evening time he came to her and they both flew out together for about an hour. We slyly stole a pic to see what was going on. Four eggs! A couple of days later - a fifth was also there. Then everything went very quiet. The female spent all day in the nest for about another ten days, only leaving for a bath and a bite in the evening. The male came and went a bit with worms for her. It was intersting that they never flew directly in our out of the nest. They always perched on a tree on the opposite side of the garden, or the back of a patio chair first. Then they would duck in and out when they were sure nobody or other birds saw them.
One evening I thought I heard a tiny chirp from the nest. it was hard to tell though, there were loud nesting martins and sparrows all around in the eaves of the houses but the next day both robins were very busy coming and going with bits of worms and taking out bits of shell. We were desperate to look but didn't want to disturb them. Then the big wind came. The top of the bag, or 'the roof' kept blowing up, the entire bag looked at risk of flying away. I pulled over the patio table and taped a refuse sack between the parasol and the table to create a type of windshield. The robins watched me closely and seemed to figure out that I was creating shelter even if they thought it was accidental. They were still flapping about worried though, the bag was still looking precarious. George came home, saw my construction which was blocking the backdoor and grabbed a few tentpegs. He stuck them through the corners of the bag into the one beneath. While he was doing that he managed to stick his phone in and get this:
Four baby robins!
After that, other than the parents flying in and out with food and debris, everything was quiet. Robin chicks are surprisingly unchirpy. Up above in the eaves, the young martins were busy being schooled in flight. making ever increasing circles in and out of their nest. Then two days went by and I saw no robins at all. I grew concerned. On the third or fourth day we looked - they were gone. All of them. All that was left was the one unhatched little egg at the bottom of the nest. I was worried that a cat or bigger bird had gotten to them but the nest and bag were undisturbed and there was nothing on the ground around it. A quick Google informed me that robins are ready to fly and fend for themselves as soon as they outgrow the nest. Mom and dad simply entice them out with some worms usually in the morningtime. My nestlings had obviously flown. I was sorry I missed it. The six year old and I printed out these pictures and he wrote a couple of sentences about each. We pasted them onto a board and he brought it and the empty nest into school. He was very happy to be the centre of attention with his little project and the resident gardener was happy to get his tools back.
My heart thumped with excitement as I carefully applied black eyeliner and powdered my already white face whiter. It was November 1991, I was 15 and I was finally allowed to go to a major concert unchaperoned. The band was The Cult, I knew a few of their songs, I had dated a guy for a whole seven weeks that was mad about them and I liked their sound. I was going with a girl who these days might be known as a 'frenemy' but that didn't matter. She was a big fan and was so glad to have someone to come with her that she was being completely nice to me that day.
We got there early and made our way through the sea of black clothes and hair right up the front to the barrier. The support band came on; Bootsauce. They were good, sounded a bit like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. We danced a bit and cheered as the excitement levels rose. There was a break after them when we considered trying to buy a beer but we didn't want to risk getting thrown out for being underage nor did we want to lose our spot. So we waited as the tension built until the cheers, chants and screams reached a crescendo and this happened:
In 1991, Ian Astbury was already 30, twice my age and well older than anyone I'd consider dating; but whatever it was about his 'Don't Touch Me, I AM The Cult' stage presence, the flick of his hair, the pelvic thrust of his leather trousers, the 'Hey Baby!' with a click of the fingers attitude and the distintive raw crooning voice I was; for the first time in my life, completely, totally and utterly starstruck. There followed a good hour of pumping, rocking tunes. I sang along when I knew the lyrics. I made them up when I didn't. I danced, I sweated, I screamed like only a teenage girl at a concert can. When Ian and Billy pulled up chairs and performed an acoustic version of Edie, Ciao baby, I even cried. Whatever happened that night, that concert made a huge impression on me. He became my definition of the perfect man.
I ran out the next day and bought Sonic Temple and Ceremony, I taped the frenemy's Electric and Edie EP. The The Cult became a staple in the soundtrack to the rest of my teens. The upbeat, happy, good times playlist. The man with whom I later fell most deeply, self-sacrificingly in love wore the same leather trousers, had the same mane of hair and a similar attitude. Turns out he had been at that concert too. He had a Billy plectrum the roadie had given him after. I coveted it.
When I moved to Qatar in 2000, Pure Cult was one of the first CDs I bought to restart my collection. Many an evening was spent dancing around my apartment in the desert to Rain. When I felt homesick, Edie was still one of the ballads I turned to.
Life went on. I moved home, fell in love with a different style of man and had kids. My vinyl got left in an attic somewhere and the Pure Cult CD mostly got left on the rack. She Sells Sanctuary was regularly played on the radio but I didn't think much about them for years. I heard Ian Astbury was touring with The Doors but the night they played Dublin, I didn't bother going. Once, my husband played a request for me on Phantom FM and asked for 'anything by The Cult that's not She Sells Sanctuary' They played 'Lil Devil'. I danced in my seat all the way home much to the bemusement of my kids.
A year later, I hear they are playing. A mix up meant I thought I won tickets but had misheard. Then, they were sold out. I was beyond disappointed. My husband bought tickets to a gig and refused to tell me what it was. Soon after I heard The Cult had added an extra date. I suspected they might be my surprise tickets but I wasn't sure. He made me sweat it out. The night he gave in and showed me the tickets I was ecstatic. Pure Cult was put on loudly and I listened to it through twice. For the next few weeks I looked up everything they had done since 2001. I made Everyman and Everywoman is a Star my ringtone. My kids can now sing along with Rain in the car.
The morning of the gig, I woke excited. After the schoolrun I spent an hour choosing what to wear. I've seen so many gigs in the interim but this was the first one that had me jumping up and down all day long. I knew in my head that he must have aged and was overweight now but I figured he was still Ian Astbury; he was still The Cult; he still had The Voice and would still own the stage. We got there just as the support act was finishing up. This time I had no problem getting served. This time the sea of black was a touch faded and the manes of hair were a touch receded. I bumped into someone I hadn't seen in about 15 years and had fun catching up.
They came on. Despite being prepared for the worst, I was a bit shocked. He was wearing a pair of knee length jersey shorts with long socks and Converse. He looked like he'd just staggered out of bed. They played Rain. The band were great. The same sound, the same energy. The rest of them looked great. They played Every man and Electric. By this stage I was giving it socks. In my mind, I was back in the 90s and if I closed my eyes or watched the musicians I could almost believe it. The rest of the audience weren't dancing so much. There was lots of head nodding and foot tapping but no real rocking. Ian explained his 'dressing like an oompa loompa' was so his balls didn't get too hot. Lovely, Ian - dead sexy, baby. How many years did you prance around in leathers, hot rocks or not? Then they played Sweet Soul Sister and Ian appeared to get a bit annoyed at the sound or the audience or life or something. He shouted the melodious chorus out so it was practically unrecognisable. He gave the audience a lecture about recording the show on phones and missing the moment. He created an atmosphere that wasn't so much one of a moody, arrogant rockstar but that of a grumpy oul' fecker. The band continued to rock. Ian missed half the words to most of the songs. Instead of dancing through the solos he stood in a corner and deep breathed. His short movie about Native Americans completely lost the audience. Edie has been replaced on the setlist by Embers, which he seems to find emotional but it has nowhere near the power of Edie. He insisted on starting Wildflower from the top when Billy broke a string and managed to miss the verse again. He stopped before the breakdown in Love Removal machine and gave another irrelevant lecture ruining the flow of the song. He didn't even manage to get the lyrics right to She Sells Sanctuary. All in all he gave a performance of the likes I've only read about in the latter part of Jim Morrisson biographies. Did the role go to his head, perhaps? For the encore they played a pretty rockin' version of Fire Woman which went down well, then he disappeared back into Jim Morrisson mode for Break On Through which it seems he carried off better the previous night.
This was The End. I had enjoyed the band and the music. I had danced my ass off. My neck still hurts from headbanging. I even got my own Billy plectrum. My husband bought me a Destroy Europa hoodie which I've barely taken off since. All in all, I had a great time. But I was left feeling let down, betrayed and disappointed. Ian Astbury had come crashing down off the pedestal in my head with a heavy thud. He's lost his confidence; he's lost his attitude and developed a metaphorical hump unbecoming of a rock idol. Now it seems he'd be more at home on a sofa with his hand down his shorts and a discarded pizza box nearby than pumping and grinding on a stage. He made me glad my teenage fantasies of being whisked away on a tour bus never came true. I wasn't even tempted when he invited the audience to meet him later in Temple Bar. For the second time after a Cult gig, I got the last bus home. I played all the songs he'd missed the lyrics to and danced to them again in my own living room. I relived my teenage experience at home and I was satisfied. I had closure.
And so it goes. Another teenage illusion dashed. Another road not taken revealed to have been potentially lethal. The question remains: would I go see them again? The answer is: of course! - He was my first idol, my first crush, my first close up experience with a rockstar in leather pants, I will always give him another chance to rock my world.
So I'm doing the Flora mini-marathon. For those who know me this will probably be a surprise. I am not a sporty person. I've been training for a few weeks though and reckon I'll be able to manage it. I chose to do it for Jack & Jill Children's Foundation.
You've probably all seen the mobile phone envelopes but few know what services they provide. I met a nurse who works for this charity at a coffee morning fundraiser last year. She told me of some of her cases. A 2 year old boy who sufferred brain damage in surgery soon after birth. This child needs to be held close 24/7 or he gets very distressed. Jack and Jill provide a nurse to assist with this care so that his parents can spend some time with their two other children or simply take a break. She also told me of families who have been forced to leave work to care for their children full time. Here they provide financial or practical assistance such as children's books and toys. Another vitally important service they offer is advice on how best to care for a seriously ill child at home and how to access services. It's scary enough being home with your first child but imagine that child was seriously ill. Where would you turn? Jack and Jill provide home visits and offer advice and practical help. They are always mindful of the loneliness and isolation that affected families experience and provide support to help these families cope and to promote the best quality of life for all concerned. The charity also puts much effort into campaigning and lobbying government to improve services to these children who come from all backgrounds.
Jack and Jill also recycle mobile phones and printer ink cartridges to raise funds - or you can Text PINT to 57034 (Ireland only) to donate the price of a pint.
A couple of weeks before Easter, I noticed this robin hanging around our garden acting a bit suspiciously. Every time I came out she froze and eyed me, usually with a bit of moss or hair in her beak. After a few days I figured out where she was building the nest. Beside our back patio door there is a water butt, on top of this the resident gardener had left two full bags of compost and an almost empty one that was split down the side. The robin was building her nest inside the top compost bag. At first I begged of Twitter what should I do? This wasn't as clever a place for a nest as the robin seemed to think. What about our garden hose and our trowel? Then I stole a peek. She'd obviously worked really hard to build such a spectacular structure. I hadn't the heart to move her on. I negotiated the loan of the gardening equipment to the robins for as long as they needed it and we did our best to leave them to it. After about a week, I noticed the male bringing food to the female robin. In the evening time he came to her and they both flew out together for about an hour. We slyly stole a pic to see what was going on. Four eggs! A couple of days later - a fifth was also there. Then everything went very quiet. The female spent all day in the nest for about another ten days, only leaving for a bath and a bite in the evening. The male came and went a bit with worms for her. It was intersting that they never flew directly in our out of the nest. They always perched on a tree on the opposite side of the garden, or the back of a patio chair first. Then they would duck in and out when they were sure nobody or other birds saw them.
