Prologue suite -copyright Uma o'Gil 0012
/ Except they don't say that, of course. They say / "...Belinda Savage who's at present reporting from the Garden of Serenity and McFergus Enterprises where an old man is being buried. Over to you Derek."
-Derek: "Much obliged Moira."
-Moira: "Good man yourself."
(Deep breath)
-Derek: "And so we continue our coverage of the Koszak funeral -or rather her husband's- in this glorious Dub day that sees us gathered outside the Koszak mansion on a ladder to pay our respects and try to get a piece of the action. I was just after remarking to Belinda -and believe me when I tell yous I don't want to come across all sanctimonious or level-headed here- how utterly dignified everyone's been, how they've behaved themselves throughout the ceremony. Not a word higher than the other, not a cough, not even a discreet fart during the sermon -quite impressive really. Why, some might say our hosts look like they've been specially bodytrained and PR'd for the occasion!"
-Belinda: "That's right Derek, and it would seem our mourners have been rehearsed big time -But then again, this is only the sixth Social Funeral of the season, I guess they're getting the hang of it by now."
/ These two can't stand the smell of each other, they've been at the Chief Ed's throat and kecks for days in order to get this gig! Belinda may be as light-headed as Ozzie beer but she's no mug when it comes to enhancing her profile oh no: got the work done on old Jessie dinn't she! And see her now, fannying about on prime-time crap like it's her God-given right -Result! Ah yes, the bint will go places. ...If only for five minutes. As for Derek, God have mercy on the sad clown. Only last week, 'managed to get himself caught with the make-up queen. 'Moron's not even gay -he's just trying to make himself look interesting; he knows the game is up and is dying to make it through to the central pages while he's still in with a chance! Sadly for him, even the bottom feeders aren't biting. /
-Derek: "Which reminds me, this global warming lark... I'm not saying anything here, right? but come to think of it, I seem to distinctly remember, growing up as a bright lad all of these moons ago -go on lass, you're supposed to jump in and protest it wasn't so long ago ha ha- well anyway (!!), so growing up as one did then on the farm, I remember summers used to be pretty warm actually. Pretty warm indeed... Now I am not suggesting anything here mind, I'm just stating some basic facts. But there you go. Global warming they say? ... I rest me case."
-Belinda: "Absolutely. Absolutely I'd have to reinforce with you Derek, it's like there'd be periods like -really warm right? and then dead cold!"
-Derek: "These would be called seasons. But never mind -Now look who's here! Who could it be, making his grand entrance but none other than rebel chef Jean-Baptiiiste DeLaRue the-man-himself! Accompanied by the lovely Anastacia -Anastacia (sic) who exclusively revealed to us, all of last year, how it felt to be left outside of love ('poor thing got a cold, is what). Jean-Baptiste DeLaRue then... who clearly couldn't find the time to comb his rebel hair, see him Belinda: his trademark half-quiff? All over the place!"
-Belinda: "I find it quite sexy actually."
-Derek: "...Right. At this stage of the game -I'll tell you what, great help Belinda-, at this stage of the game I feel a bit cheeky, I am almost tempted to bring in Moira. Moira are you here? are you receiving? Could you define for us -with your own professional expertise of course- the current style of Jean-Baptiiiste's rebel hair? How would you call it?"
-Moira: "Derek."
-Derek: "Moira."
-Moira: "Derek. Well, 'seems to me, our Jean-Bapt' here is opting for a, er, totally new strand of rebel hair in keeping with his rebel super-chef status: low on constricting structural bouffant, high on impetuosity and innovation. Hints of nonchalonce, shades of creativity -this is a man in a hurry, and not one for conventions. Typically Gallic I'd say."
-Derek: "How about that eh. "Impetuosity and nonchalonce". Isn't that spot-on though, dear viewers? isn't that the very thing itself! Why, you're on fire today Moira, you really are -dead on the money! 'Don't mind telling you: in all modesty, even I couldn't have put it any better meself. ...Would you, Belinda?"
-Belinda: "!?!?? Like yes! absolutely! Absolutely I wouldn't have, er... -Absolutely not, yeah!"
/ Hello hello, what's going on here? Fifteen - love by the sound of it, did the old fart grow himself a new set of balls or? /
-Derek: "You know what Belinda, that just reminded me. You know Jean-Baptiiiiste's smash-hit programme -on TTE naturally- "Chef Challenge Ultimate" -you know the one, yes? Well you will remember how I once took part..." (pauses)
-Belinda: "Er... 'course I do, and totally grand you were"
-Derek: "...It was for last year's exciting charity bash: the "Sprogs In Need All-Week TTE Special", featuring only little aul' me and a whole bunch of super celebs. Well, Bell, what happened was -you will remember- we were asked to take up the "Jean-Baptiiiste Challenge Ultimate". What we had to do, right?, we had to help prepare a meal for them Southside kiddies reduced to wear tracksuit bottoms! Yikes! Save our sprogs from a skanger life!"
-Belinda: "Fair fucks to you, Derek"
-Derek: "Well, Jean-Baptiiiste himself was involved naturally, he took the time to guide us through the kitchen in his chequered pantaloons and rebel hair... Now I don't mind telling you this Bels: it was - simply - the - toughest - hour of my life it was! Absolute nightmare!! That day alone I learnt so much! -I simply learnt more than in my previous (cough) 41 years together and -quite frankly- I have to literally take my hat off to any chef who can rustle up a meal in his kitchen! Art form and no mistake."
-Belinda: "How right you are Derek, like... totally. I think Jean-Bapt is quite sexy actually."
/ .......... And what about Clio, come a long way has our Clio. Only five years ago, she was planning on producing some conscience raising features that would make your man sit up and take notice -or she'd tell me over coffee. She wanted to uncover and expose, kick up the termite mound, outVeronica Guerin Veronica Guerin -minus the lead in the head, mind- and here she is, five years later ...reading the news headlines, employed to interject enthusiasm into that shite. ... At the end of the day someone has to, I guess. Might as well be her. It's all in the presentation, all in the whipping up -Fair fucks to Clio if she can make it sound important. "So-and-So goes into rehab! So-and-So falls off the wagon again!" ...It's all in the whipping up all right. No fade-out here, just a straight cut to /
"...and I suppose, in a real sense, wouldn't it be fair to claim that Dermot, like, revolutionised the Dublin skyline?"
-Whoever: "Oh absolutely, like totally. And I'd even add that, without him, Dublin simply wouldn't be what it is today, what with his contribution and all you know? Oh yes, how many times did I remark on it meself! I grow up a proud Dub... -I see it change beyond recognition! It's like this Derek: Every day I drive up to my gallery on Leeson St., I reflect on these changing times we're going through and I... take stock. I ponder, see? That's what our friend would have done himself -he'd have pondered! What Dermot did, see, his genius is he looked around, he noted how these changing times were evolving, he thought this through -and he effected them, cool as you like! Went unashamedly proactive and pushed the envelope rrrrright off the table -with outstanding results, I think we all agree! Some pretty convincing results, oh aye. I mean, a full 21 holes course by the Liffey... Who'd have come up with that but our Dermot!"
/ In his own way, Derek's a pro and a half: see him rinse this small beer for hours on end, truly the man has no shame. He's in his element: yak yak yak -and no actual conversation at the end, no point ever made. Some people are like that though... Silver tongue stylists, piss artists of the highest order. They take to freestyling as dogs take to vomit, it comes to them naturally and they will lap it up till we run out of tape. /
-Derek: "You are so right, I mean... a golf course smack in the heart of the Northside -what an inspired idea!"
/ And on and on. Stand-by for the church yoke, it's about time. /
-Derek: "...this is "not technically legal" -well it won't be Kosher either ha ha!- but anyway we've managed to stick a mike inside last night, and we should be able to catch yous some juicy bits, the best of Father De Bisis's eulogy -What do you think of that eh! The holy man himself in his own words! (......That is, if our techno nerds can be bothered to turn it up a bit... !!) Aaaah there you are, I know you can barely contain yourself Belinda, this is Father De Bisis speaking, let's hear him now:
"Tremble ye not oh humble man but get rejoicing! Rejoice I tell you! Hear our voice, take our heed, share with us in this hour of grief -grief but also celebration... Celebrate the reprobate! Clasp him to your ample bosom and give him a big sloppy kiss! As the Angel said unto the Prophet as He opened a crate of milk: Aye up, slave of Israel! For thy day wilt come, the day of all days before the following night, and ye shalt endeavour to beget Jerezaiah, who begat Ishmael, who begat Rachel, who begat Elsinior, who begat Barack, who begat Necromingian, who begat Oscar, who begat Dunstorum who sowed the first seed upon the salt -and he saw that it was good. "Yyyyyyessss!" shouted he, and lo! another ten storeys were raised and -by Gomorrah and the Bono!- if the wicked Council did not approve my daring throw of the dice initially but I was determined -determined, I tell thees- to prove them wrong, and wrong I proved them.
Mediocre bureaucrats that they were, penpushers in thermal underwear turned inside out on alternate days, they lacked vision so they did. They could not see the potential shopping-mall for the meadow, they could not see the car-park for the trees -but I did, oh I did... So what I actually done was, I had a very civil chat in private with Charlie -and the deal was accepted. Alleluia! Glory be and up the Dubs! At this pivotal switch in my destiny change, I lividly remember -vividly too- getting down on my knees right there and then on Charlie's very own carpet and thanking the Good Lord for His merciful bounty. Thank the Lord for verily He giveth, and He giveth again to those that are truly deserving I correctly observed. It came clear to me in a flash, like a veritable thunderbolt from the heavens: I felt the power! I felt the power that these dusty bureaucrats could never see in their heathen land register, their godless Health and Safety guidelines -Pah! A pox on their (council) houses! Verily blessed be the builders, for they're the ones that charge upon where others dare not tiptoe, they're the ones that see the road is long, long and not properly equipped with regularly spaced prime spot adequate advertising facilities yet.
That moment I remember. That moment I remember well. Down on me knees I was, Charlie not far around, with all these sacred lines ringing through my bowed head and I knew -I KNEW- that the good fight was on my side and that Our Lord, in His infinite mercy, would prevail upon this Earth and in particular the semi-derelict quayside portion of D 8. It was an opportunity too good to be overlooked, and so it came to pass -Amen!"
/ Goes on for quite a while. And then some. /
"...for what does he tell us, in his "Epigram To The Employees To Be Read On Sunday Next (Please Note: Does Not Count As Overtime)"? What does our brother Dermot tell us here? He says. "Let he cast the first stone if he wants to get the wall started" is what! Let the mason cast his stone! (Ontop a properly prepared foundation -one third Sandycove sand, two third good hard Fenian concrete, shake well before usage and let it rest no more than a day, we're on the clock here.) Let the builder erect, says Dermot! Let the carpenter carpent! Let the glass blower blow! Let him blow I tell thees!! And blow down all obstacles for these times -brothers and sisters, various employees-... these times they're a changing so they are! Let nothing stand in the way of progress, he says here. Out with the forces of reaction, out with them poxy health and safety regulations! Red tape? We are done with you! Step back, step back, and vade retro ye parasitic legislatic onanistic leather-elbowed clerk from days of yore! Step down ye hear, step down and make way: Let Dublin rise at long last, let it rise, rise up and sprout!"
-Audience: "Hear hear! Bring the noise! Jerusalem here we come! Where's me jumper?"
-Priest: "This great city of unparalleled infrastructural renovation potential... This half-Eden of emerald stone defiantly set in the shadow of godless unionism... This...-Ireland!!"
-Audience: "Keanooo, there's only one Keano, there's only one Keano"
-Priest: "Ireland, standing shoulder to shoulder! Ring hosanna ring! Chim chim chimeney! Bang the bell ding-a-ling! We woz lost -now we are saved! For the future is upon us, it's coming down -oh yeah it is- and we couldn't be more merrier! No we couldn't -even if we went and played brother Daniel O'Donnell himself! Rejoice, yees all! Rejoice, for -praise be to brother Dermot- we have now seen the future oh yes we have! We have seen it, we have taken its measurements, we have stared it down... and we have razed it to the ground!! Alleluia! That's right, razed it to the ground!!"
-Audience: "Far out my man! Well said, that! Only massive! Onwards Christian soldiers into the valley of death! Take me to the bridge! Take me to the bridge! Ireland 1 - Italy 0! Anyone got any Vera?" (Crowd cheers; cheer dies down.)
*****
/ Must have drifted off cos' when I come to, where do I find ourselves than in the cemetery already! (Oops...) Looks like we've moved on then, must have switched to automatic at some stage... For how long I cannot tell: after a while, pre-digested phrases just wash over you and no longer register, inane small chat pours in through the ears ...and evaporates instantly. Hypnotised, we get. We fall in a cathodic trance only broken by the jolt in volume announcing ad breaks. (Ad breaks, or take a leak breaks to give them their proper name.) Anyway. Could think of worse places to wake up to than here: there's greenery all round, and lovely mounds of flowers. Finely pruned branches sway gently in the breeze, birds flutter about unconcerned -that'd make a smashing spot for a picnic, that. ...But let's-rejoin-our-commentators: /
-Belinda: "...literally costing up to twelve thousand or so my sources tell me, it features three interlaced garlands of miniature blood-free diamonds, 'specially hand-sewn on by children -they've got smaller hands, that's why"
-Derek: "Good call there!"
-Belinda: "...and that's nothing, compared to what me sister's given me to wear at the February fashion awards -thought I might mention it, may I...?"
-Derek: "By all means Belinda, the mike is yours."
-Belinda: "Grand! Now the thing is though, it's not like proper presenting yeah, what I’ll be doing on the night is"
/ The pin-up du jour pauses casually, making sure her right leg rests somewhat extended in front of her supporting one, which in turn pushes her bum up and bust out (flash photography may occur at this point). The desiccated religious mantis parades her latest toy boy before the throng of cameras /
"the lovely Bernadette Egan -heiress to the Egan canned food dynasty- takes a leisurely stroll with her protégé interior designer Philip Murgoyne round the patio; here we can see them, admiring the chrysanthemums and sniffing talcum powder off the back of their hands. How utterly delightful Belinda, how very peacesome"
/ Some bozo shows off his logo splattered top and thinks we haven't noticed. Not to be outdone, some clearly thirsty halfwit waves a recognisably shaped bottle of carbonated sugar soda at the camera, the same 30 centilitres bottle he's been holding up for the last two hours under the sun. Years ago, there was this joke doing the rounds about the forthcoming Tyson fight: apparently, Mike's designated punch-bag would be sporting advertising ...on the sole of his boots. The expected knock-out later, it turned out to be anything but a joke. Now the thing is, Coke ain't no mugs either. They knew exactly what they were doing when they expressly commissioned a weirdly shaped bottle. Paid off, it did...
/ "Posh "Vicky" Beckham, looking stunning in her safety net bikini, engrossed in conversation with Liam Gallagher; charming Glenda Gibbon, fresh from breaking up with hunky GAA star Dara Mahooney, imparting important news to a Polish waitress"
/ How did we allow this to happen? When did we let our guard down? Gradual compromissions... careless acceptance... 'must have snaked its way through the back-door -Talking of which: /
-Belinda: "Absolutely, couldn't put it any better, but I would say this to Mads though:" (deep breath here) "Mads, at this cruellest hour of all hours and this moment in time chips may be down right it's like you'd think there's no light at the end of the tunnel obviously you must feel utterly devastated but see Mads looking at the bigger picture at the end of the day it's always the darkest hour before dawn you could probably say that and I hope I'm not out of line here is what Dermot would have wanted yeah?" (permission to exhale)
"When a door closes a window op"
/ zzzzz... /
..."in association with Blurp Insurance -"Blurp Insurance, the power to"- and the question was: tell us the name of the town that which has been so wonderfully revitalised by our dearly departed, good old Dermot. Is it... A) Limerick? B) Dublin? or C) Timbuktu? You'll kick yourself when you hear the answer!"
/ Cut from the announcer, close-up on the junkie clotheshorse, don't be shy Deco, have no fear re. the lighting on her Botox -that complexion would withstand a nuclear attack! /
"...wonderful occasion, so many emotions going through my head, I don't know where to start really, am literally speechless... is what he would have wanted, am so touched by all these messages of support, overwhelmed really ....these spontaneous messages, your man on the street... Dub' born and bred who -and I suppose, in a real sense- in their own way got equally touched by Dermot's vision. Literally."
/ "Your man on the street" -nice touch here! Not at all patronising, the right side of populist. Why of course pal, we're all in all this together... -after all we share the same post-codes, don't we? We share the same smog. I always relish these exercises in self-promotion, whenever you point a camera at them. Your man seldom lets you down. Wants to look good, wants to sound bright. Switched on, clued up. Such is the appeal, the glamour of appearing on the telly... the proverbial some of us are in the gutter -and jerking off at the stars. /
"...turns out she was Marty's wife. His legally wedded wife! How dreadfully unimaginative of him if you ask me... Tut, tut! ... Oh well, I suppose, what with Martin being officially dyslexic and all, I guess we can count this as an achievement on her part right?"
-Belinda: "For real!"
/ Prepare for the link-up, remind the monkey in his tuxedo, close-up on the airhead. Then hand-over to more time-filler and prepare for the wrap.
Too right you are, Des': the starched automats have all behaved impeccably, they've all done their PR proud. A right credit to their brands and sponsors they've been! ...Now I'm not too sure this was a day-we'll-never-forget tough: you and I know full well we have a team ready for whoever next. Death is pretty much inevitable. The wheel keeps turning. The minute Mads closes the door on the rest of her life with her (cough) adopted male model son, the clock will start ticking for the next one. Featuring the same faces, surfing on the same one-liners. Primetime demands, setting may vary -Is what the public wants, right? /
"...and may I just say what an honour it has been to actually spend it with you, an absolute pleasure. Literally."
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