Duirt me leat go raibh me breoite

Tomorrow, the 27th February, is the anniversary of the death of Spike Milligan. A man of limitless talent, he was a successful musician, actor, playwright and an incredible comedian. Eddie Izzard has christened him 'the godfather of alternative comedy' and his silly humour proved to be immortal when his epitaph 'I told you I was ill' was finally approved by the Chichester Diocese in 2004, as long as it was written in Gaelic.


However, it wasn't always fun and games for Spike (an army nickname) who sadly conformed to Aristotle's theory that 'all men who are outstanding in philosophy, poetry or the arts are melancholic'. He suffered from bipolar depression for most of his life and witnessed ten mental breakdowns. He claimed that his experiences of war caused his first bouts of depression,

'Suddenly all these mortar bombs started to rain down on us and one blew me up. I should have stayed up really. I should never have come down'.

Nevertheless, it is testament to his character that he went on to present the video 'Me, depressed? Don’t make me laugh: a guide to overcoming depression'.


Despite being very much disconnected from this era I was lucky enough to have a father very much enthralled by it. He taught me to read by reciting Milligan poetry and I will never forget my bemusement as I stumbled over 'On The Ning Nang Nong', most certainly one of the finest poems ever written.


On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!


So, here's to a man gifted enough to bring joy and silliness not just to those who knew him, or to those who were of his generation but to anyone of any age. Those lucky enough to have, in the words of Jane Milligan, 'pieces of Spike in their lives' should take heed of the words written underneath 'Duirt me leat go raibh me breoite'...

'Love, light and peace'.

Winter apathy

After watching Russell Howard slew the Winter Olympics on this week's Mock The Week I couldn't help wondering why the British seem so adverse to this event. It is nail bitingly exciting (if you exclude the curling) combining extreme danger, incredible skill and tight lycra which doesn't always hold out as seen in the unfortunate case of Gillian Cooke. In no other competition would you have a no rules policy as in the snowboard cross or be able to watch people reaching 144 kilometres per hour as they slide through ice tunnels on what look like sophisticated baking trays.

The fact that I couldn't even find a video on YouTube of Paerson's fall in the women's downhill during which she traveled 60 metres in the air before crashing onto the slope is testament to the lack of interest in these games. It can be seen here at around one hour and thirty five minutes.


I cannot help but wonder if the real problem here is the word winter. The Brits love the Summer Olympics, if we're not glued to our televisions we're outside for once trying to become the next Colin Jackson or Kelly Holmes. Wimbledon has a similar affect on the Great British public, for a few weeks tennis courts around the country are inhabited by wooden rackets and old Dunlops. Along comes an equally if not more electrifying seventeen days of sport and we shy away as if we'll catch a cold just watching it.

Perhaps it's the conditions in which we live in, the lack of snow covered mountains being slightly detrimental to our ability to ski on home turf. Nevertheless, this doesn't stop us watching and supporting our team. It appears the Brits would rather bathe in the tragic gloom of winter than entertain any thought of it producing something fantastic. Yesterday Amy Williams won Britain's first gold medal in the bob skeleton, risking life and limb for sporting glory yet I am sure that very few people know this.


One of the best things about the Winter Olympics for me is the sense of comradeship and support shown by all the athletes for their fellow competitors. They are often described by commentators as 'like family' and despite the cliche it very much shows, reminding you that the famous Olympic spirit is undamaged by historical or current events. When Amy stood on the podium the two Germans in second and third place hoisted her onto their shoulders in celebration. It is a games in which the admiration for the althletes comes not just from the crowd but from their competitors.



Of the critical press the Winter Olympics are receiving here, Mark Adams, the International Olympic Committee's director of communications says, 'What I read in the British press bears absolutely no relation to what I've been seeing in the competition.' I support him wholeheartedly and I'm not even there. Eddie the Eagle will always be an icon of British winter sports but when he retired so did the viewings. It appears that British culture favours entertainment through stupidity rather than talent, the success of semiskilled and incompetent people (usually a product of 'reality' talent shows) is incredibly common these days and we love it.


Enough said.

Happy Valentines

Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air?

Today I made a vital error, instead of picking up the Heat/Closer combination on sale in Tescos (trash I know but obviously it gets worse) I mistakenly grabbed Reveal/Best and put it through the self service along with my packet of Extra and garam masala. My excuse for wanting to buy this rubbish is that I am taking a seven hour train journey today, a poor one I know.

Anyways, having never heard of Best I decided to have a quick flick through...Frozen in time...what's up with Sharon's face? and an obviously qualified Lorraine Kelly discussing the value of rehab for sex addicts were among my favourite articles.

However, it was not til I reached BLITZ YOUR BELLY LOSE 10lb IN 14 DAYS that I began to believe these magazines should acutally be illegal.

Problem Number One: The main photo was of a woman no bigger than a size ten struggling to do up some shorts that if anything looked too big for her.

Problem Number Two: The diet. Breakfast on Monday was beans on toast. However, you could only have one slice of toast and 4 tablespoons of low sugar baked beans. Could you imagine cooking four tablespoons of beans? Half of your meal would be left as residue in the pan. Why don't these people eat the whole can and then do some exercise?

Problem Number Three: The handy hints dotted across the double spread page in pretty pink circles. The worst offender: Chew your food slowly so you don't gulp down excess air as you eat. Oh God. Breathing is going to make me look fat. I would hope that everyone reading this would take the same stance as me, yes eat slowly because it takes the human brain around 2o minutes to register that we're full, not because you might eat some air. However, something tells me that there will be teenage girls out there trying not to breathe as they chew down Tuesday's lunch, '4 oatcakes topped with ham and tomato and served with pickled onions'.

I'll be seeing you

If there is one artist I would love to see perform more than any other it would be Billie Holiday. Unfortunately for me, she died in 1959. Billie Holiday, real name Eleanora Fagan, led a remarkably tragic life which is reflected through the profound intimacy of her music.

She performed one of the first ever anti-racism songs, Strange Fruit, after witnessing a series of lynchings whilst on tour.

The song was written by Jewish teacher Abel Meeropol who was inspired by the photo below. The lyrics provide a chilling account of the ultimate evils of racism.

Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves
Blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
The scent of magnolia sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop



Listen here and admire its beauty.