Can you use it in a sentence please
It’s a few quid put away every week, usually for the Christmas but to be dipped into if there’s an emergency
One local woman would collect it each week and bank it so that there would also be a little interest at Christmas, i remember well being told to bring the manage over to Monica.
Ah no. It was my wedding anniversary plus first night away with the wife since baba arrived so we agreed to meet at the oyster tavern instead. We weren’t eating until 9
Perfectly put, spot on. A real Norrie practice by all accounts
I’d say it was a working class thing, the manage and the Irish Life man were just a part of life,
Admit it. Princess is still seething with you over the hour of power and wouldn’t allow Chocco out to play, when it was really the fault of the cork cousins and that cunt from Tipp
Don’t worry I set the record straight. Just as well you are moving to Louth!
‘I forgive all those who beat me in school’
In his radio studio by the Lee, John Creedon caters to a growing band of global devotees. He shares his philosophy on love, forgiveness and music as healing balm
“I’m delighted when a show goes well. It helps with confidence, and I didn’t always have that.” John Creedon on Patrick’s Hill, overlooking Cork; and, below, at Bell’s Field. photographs: daragh mc sweeney/provision
It’s just after 5pm and John Creedon’s radio show is blaring out across Paramaribo, the capital of Suriname. An exile has taken to Twitter to send a message across the waves to say the sound of home, 7,000km away, is coming through loud and clear to the tip of South America.
The tunes dance out the door of the RTÉ Cork studios on to Fr Matthew Quay, before skipping along the river, where they meet the estuary and flow out to the world.
From his studio by the Lee, with a mixing desk at one end and a piano at the other, the man affectionately known as “Creedo” has been connecting the globe each weekday night, 8pm-10pm, for the past nine years.
Since moving to the evening segment of the RTÉ Radio 1 schedule, Creedon has tripled the listenership figures for this slot, and a fiercely strong and loyal listenership base has developed.
“I am at my granny’s and I don’t get nervous or scared no more. I’m amongst friends, decent folk. I’m in my Den, my bedsit,” says Creedon as he takes his seat for another show.
“The way I see it is that we’re all in this together. Music is powerful. Quite often it’s a healing balm, and at this time of the evening people are able to really listen. A listener on the road recently described the show as a lighthouse, a beacon twinkling away in the dark.”
Earlier in the day, in his back garden on Cork’s northside, a blackcap nips between branches.
“Look, see him there, behind the bird table? Beautiful,” says Creedon, mesmerised by the bird’s dexterity and poise.
“I’m not generally an early riser, but every day is different. Radio is my constant companion. I like to potter in the morning, eat my porridge and look out at the birds. I could watch them for hours if only time allowed,” he tells me in the kitchen of the home he shares with his partner, Mairéad.
Creedon, a shopkeeper’s son, one of 12, was born nearby. In the bosom of his native city he feels secure and proud. But he is anything but parochial.
“Sometimes people in the trade seem to think you’re ‘big in Cork’ . . . because I’m physically based here. But to me that makes no sense. Like, artists contact me and say things like, ‘We’re doing a nationwide tour and we’re playing the Opera House in Cork on May 5th, you might give it a mention,’ – but why would I mention that concert and not a gig taking place in Donegal? I mean, I have a constituency there, too – or a gig in the Olympia? In truth, we don’t do an events diary anyway.
“The thing is I can do my show from Dublin and sometimes I do,” he continues. “It’s not ‘John Creedon from our Cork studios’ and I don’t play that up. I’m an Irish man as well as a Cork man. For me that’s really important.”
Outside the Donnybrook bubble, though, he’s ever busy thanks to a run of successful television series with RTÉ and through his work on TG4. Creedon has developed a reputation for combining humility with a self-confident swagger and familiarity with innovation.
“I don’t take praise too seriously, it comes before a fall and all of that. But, of course, I’m delighted when a show goes well. It helps with confidence, and I didn’t always have that.”
We talk about love, forgiveness and the strength that it brings. “If you don’t love everybody, I believe you don’t love anybody. Love is not selective, if it’s not universal love then its merely preference.
“All those who would have hurt me along the way or beaten me as a boy in school – of course I forgive them – that’s who they were then. By my 30s I came to understand and forgive them. I’m only talking for myself here. Some will say a clip around the ear never hurt anyone. Well, it did. It hurt me. Most definitely it did me harm and affected my confidence. It’s not that you condone what they did, but as a wise man once said, ‘Forgive ’em, for they know not what they do’. We have all acted out of unconsciousness along the way, but as I see it, to err is human and to forgive is divine.”
On the day I visit word comes through that another series has been commissioned, and Creedon is buzzing.
“It was one of my own ideas where I travel along the old main roads which have been replaced by motorways. Roads have stories and I can’t wait to get cracking on that one.”
His schedule is somewhat hectic. He spends almost 100 nights a year in hotels while on the road, but the father and grandfather loves what he does.
As the clock nears eight, Creedon grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste and disappears into a men’s room to add a shine to the fiacla. It’s a nightly ritual.
Down the line, Fergal in Dublin confirms that the news feeds, from base and Casla in Connemara, are good to go, and by the time the signature music begins, the tweets, emails and texts start flooding in. They come from Germany, Belgium, Sydney, the US, Bahrain and Kent station in Cork, from where a man sends a selfie with Gloria Hunniford. Even the artist Ron Sexsmith in Canada gets in touch.
Creedon rubs his hands together, the red on-air light illuminates and the playlist he has loosely produced during the day is added to, tweaked and changed as the show evolves.
“Okay, Maestro, a big opening please,” demands Creedon at the top of the show as Eloise by The Damned builds in the background.
“Its Monday night and we’re just going to cruise away and leave the cares of the day behind us,” he tells his growing band of followers.
And over two hours, peppered with tales and tonics, he sows together a patchwork musical quilt, which he carefully places around those listening.
“I’ve the jukebox on shuffle tonight,” he tells them – and that’s just how they like it.
he wasn’t bate hard enough
What an absolute gent he is, i wasn’t sure if it was even possible to like him even more but that’s done it.
The alright sort of alright sorts
John is an alright sort.
Creedon is an awful creep.
Terrible about that young lad in Mayfield slipping in the snow and ice and landing on his neck/back.
Life changing injuries apparently.
He slipped while standing on a wall, taking a photo. It is indeed awful, but Jesus, cmon, a bit of care?
An awful needy creep, he reminds me of another needy Creep from Cork on TFK.
Lovely lovely article
Beautiful, the best thing is that it will tip a few cunts here over the edge altogether
Only fellas who are close to it already
It’s gas the way our John and our Aishling can drive lads demented on TFK.
Being compared to John just now has really made my day, I didn’t think it could get any better but there you go