A CHICKEN, a CAT & others who call No.10 home

ON HIS TRAVELS MAL ROGERS

WINTER DRAWS ON

AS deep midwinter approaches, it is believed that Ireland is completely unprepared for snow for the 8,493rd winter running.

But at least we’re not doing as badly as our neighbours.

With Christmas heaving firmly into view, this column is fairly sure the Queen’s traditional Crimbo speech to her subjects will be along the lines of: ‘My dear people. Back in 1992, I described the year as an Annus Horriblis. Let me tell you, if I’d known 2018 was coming down the line...’

But London is still a vibrant city. On a recent sightseeing tour of London, I inevitably arrived at Theresa and Philip May (and Larry the Cat’s) home. 10 Downing Street.

According to the guide, No. 10 Downing Street was a private residence until the 18th century.

The street is named after a notorious spy for Oliver Cromwell, while the last private citizen to occupy No. 10 was a Mr Chicken.

Sadly, little is known about Mr. Chicken except that he gave up residence after being persuaded by prime minister Robert Walpole to take another house further down the street.

In effect, Mr Chicken left to cross the road.

MOOD MUSIC

AT the Irish Film Festival in London I heard an intriguing story last week.

In the early years of Irish cinema the films shown in the local picture house did not have the benefit of modern technology, with no soundtrack, digital or otherwise. Instead, a local pianist was employed to provide the background music.

Often this person covered other duties as well. In the early years of the 20th century the Irishwomen’s Franchise League conducted a survey of female employment and found that one young woman in Dublin was employed by a cinema as bookkeeper, office help, cashier and pianist. And after everyone went home, she had to lock up as well.

But despite the subsistence wages, the show went on. Pianists would provide the soundtrack to the blockbusters of the day. The musician would be given carte blanche to provide whatever seemed suitable accompaniment. Problems inevitably arose. The Life and Passion of Jesus Christ (1905) by France’s Pathé film company, was nearly threequarters of an hour long – one of the first long films.

When the film eventually came to the old Strand Cinema in Derry, the pianist was apprehensive, but was told by the manager not to fret: “Just do your usual repertoire – bit o’ classical, a few ballads and the like.”

Accordingly, the Derry audience was treated to the various episodes of Christ’s life accompanied by an inspired musical soundtrack. Christ walking on the water took place against the strains of The Blue Danube, the miracle of water being turned into wine was played out against All For Me Grog, and Christ’s days in the wil- derness were accompanied by The Wild Rover. Jesus entering Jerusalem on the back of an ass was of course accompanied by Delaney’s Donkey.

As the film progressed, the audience became ever more intrigued by the pianist’s inventiveness, by now cheering every choice he made, and virtually ignoring the goings on in the Holy Land.

Then, however, the film reached the story of Lazarus, and his miraculous rising from the dead.

How would the pianist depict this complex concept?

The audience waited with baited breath while the he grappled with the problem, mentally searching through his repertoire.

He looked at the screen thoughtfully, and then with an inspired flourish launched into a moving version of Come Back Paddy Reilly To Ballyjamesduff.

FAT CHANCE

TWO very interesting travel investigations have revealed some surprising results about health and travelling.

Scientist Siegfried Lehrl, of the University of Erlangen and Nuremberg believes that holidays can make you stupid. Fourteen days of complete rest can bring your IQ down by 20 points.

Meanwhile, Aleksandar Aksentijevic at the University of Roehampton in England has found that walking backwards can boost your memory.

The solution seems obvious. Go on backward-walking vacations to make you clever. Tourism Ireland could promote holidays such as Reversing Up the Wild Atlantic Way, or The Cliffs of Moher Negotiated Using Your Rear View Mirror.

Meanwhile a further survey has found that over a two-week holiday you can easily put on a stone.

I can believe it. I recently spotted two tourists at Brú na Bóinne on space hoppers. I thought, that’s a novel way of getting round – bouncing through Newgrange on giant beach balls. But as I got nearer I realised that it just so happened they were each wearing orange shorts.

MEXICAN HERO

SCIENTIST Rodrigo Medellin has been working for the last quarter of a century to protect a particular endangered species of bat that pollinates the tequila producing agave plant.

Just saying in case you needed someone new to look up to.

LIFE IS A PITCH

RUGBY, that curious shotgun wedding between artistry and brute force, has been much in the news lately. Now those of you with no deep interest in rugby should probably move on to another part of the column here – the following discussion will probably fall something short of your definition of ‘fascinating.’ Have they gone? Good. Because I love the arcane nature of rugby’s set pieces. The rucks and mauls that always seem often In danger of spiralling out of control and into something resembling an inner-city street fight. The line-outs are my favourite, though. This is rugby’s answer to football’s throw-in, but vastly more entertaining. Once the ball is thrown in, thereafter unfolds one of sport’s more arcane spectacles. One player is elected to jump for the ball – who can be heaved into the air by his fellow forwards. Thus you have the sight of a huge forward, someone like Devin Toner with his size 15 boots and reaching some ten feet in the air supported by his comrades. This is probably the closest that men with huge body mass indexes come to performing an arabesque from The Nutcracker Suite. On second thoughts ‘nutcracker’ probably isn’t the best ballet to think of.

But as a final thought on last week’s match against New Zealand, I don’t know about you, but I think when the All Blacks get beaten they should be forced to do their Haka at the end of the match as well.

TOP OF TOPOGRAPHY

BACK home in Co. Down, I was driving towards Tollymore, passing several townlands en route. Mageheramurphy, Aughnahoory and Moneyscalp all sped by.

Bunnablaneybane, Muck an ag he de rd a uh au li a, Glen ma goo, Lisballyfroot, Meenbog, Lismullyduff – the townland names of Ireland certainly have a nice ring about them.

The smallest administrative area in the country, townlands stretch back into the mists of preChristian history. But they continue to have legal, cultural and social status.

Aghnaskew Glebe, Drummannagapple, Tonydrummallard – the names are substantially old Irish, but there’s also Norman influences in there too – Borris Big, Tibberedoge Glebe or Dirty Step for example.

And a name such as Tom of the Tae-End in Co. Antrim is undoubtedly Scottish in origin. Memory in Kilkenny and nearby Bigbog are anybody’s guess.

But as I neared Tollymore I came across my favourite. The most unpopular person at any local Co. Down GAA match at Car row m ur wagh ne muck lagh near Maghera in Co. Down match must surely be the guy who goes: ‘Gi mm eaC...gim mean A ...’

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

‘MINDFUL drinking’ is being promoted this Christmas. The idea is to change attitudes to alcohol, for instance learning to drink what you want to drink instead of what you perceive socially acceptable.

Mindful drinking also encompasses designated drivers.

It can be very tedious if you’re a designated driver.

One way to combat the boredom is to let your drunk friends off at the homes of complete strangers.

Just give them a gentle shove in the direction of the door saying, ‘There you go. Home now.’

That could very well lead them to drinking mindfully in the future.