At the end of the day you will pay the price if youâre a fussy eater
Why in the dickens would you believe that?
Piers Morgan is from Offaly. Doesnât that bate Banagher?
Johnny Marr, guitarist with The Smiths, originally had aspirations to be a professional football player. He was approached by Nottingham Forest and had trials with Manchester City in the late 70s.
donât hold things in, let it all out, your emotions, and most importantly your shite
haters gonna hate, potatoes are going to potate
[QUOTE=âFagan ODowd, post: 1102278, member: 706â]Cork people can turn their heads the full 180 degrees.
[ATTACH=full]2476[/ATTACH][/QUOTE]
Looks more like 270 degrees
Ken OâHalloran is 6 5. Big man though Iâd have had him more as a 6 2.
And 5ft4 when he jumps.
This could very well be common knowledge among many, but as the thread title says, I learned it today
[SIZE=6]The beauty who inspired Kavanaghâs Raglan Road[/SIZE]
In the Monaghan-born poetâs centenary year, his biographer Antoinette Quinn reveals the real story behind his best known poem, later immortalised in song by Luke Kelly
On Raglan Road in autumn 1944 the poet Patrick Kavanagh first met and became infatuated with Hilda Moriarty. Hilda, aged 22 and a medical student from Dingle, was generally considered one of the two most beautiful women in Dublin. (Kathleen Ryan, star of the film Odd Man Out, was the other.)
She had creamy skin, high cheekbones and deep blue eyes and the âlong dark hairâ the poet so much admired was wavy, blue-black in colour and worn shoulder-length. Hilda was also stylishly and expensively dressed. Her father, a medical doctor, lavished gifts of clothes and jewellery on her and, in addition, Irish dress designers gave her clothes to wear as an ad for their products.
At the time of their first meeting Patrick Kavanagh was about to turn 40. Although he had moved from Inniskeen to Dublin five years previously, he still walked, talked and dressed like the âploughmanâ he had once been.
He was unemployed, having recently lost his job as a gossip columnist with the Irish Press, and had sublet his flat at 62 Pembroke Road because he couldnât afford the rent. He was living in Mrs Kennyâs boarding house at 19 Raglan Road where, as he put it, he was âhoused, bedded and cleaned outâ for 10 shillings a week. The 10 shillings was paid by a benefactor, Archbishop McQuaid. When not desperately job-hunting, Kavanagh passed the time revising a rejected novel, which was about to be rejected again, and working on a collection of poems, also rejected. He was depressed and in need of some excitement or consolation when he first encountered Hilda.
âThere is a considerable element of will about falling in love,â he wrote, two years later. âThere is more of a suicide than an accidental death about it.â From the outset, he knew that the relationship with Hilda was doomed, that he âwould one day rueâ it.
At first Hilda appeared to welcome Kavanaghâs attentions. She was interested in literature and it was a novelty for her to have one of Irelandâs leading poets among her retinue of admirers. She also felt sorry that things were going so badly for him and was gentle and sympathetic. Kavanagh was overly encouraged. In letters to his archbishop patron, he referred to his meeting with Hilda as âa special graceâ and described her in terms he thought would appeal to an ecclesiastic, as a âcharming, virtuous girlâ who did not go to dances and whose uncle was a parish priest.
When Hilda went home to Dingle for Christmas 1944, Kavanagh followed her. There was no invitation to the Moriarty home, of course. A middle-aged, out-of-work journalist and ex-small farmer was not the kind of husband Dr Paddy Moriarty envisaged for his beautiful daughter. Kavanagh put up at Kruger Kavanaghâs guesthouse in Dunquin and defrayed his expenses by publishing an article on âMy Christmas in Kerryâ in the Irish Press.
By the following May, Hilda and he were still spending time together, sometimes meeting for lunch in the Country Shop on Stephenâs Green. Hilda often teased him that he always wrote agricultural poems about fields and weeds. In May he responded with a tender, subtle love poem, Bluebells for Love, based on their visit to Lord Dunsanyâs estate in Co Meath when the bluebells were in bloom.
However, Kavanagh âloved too muchâ and was becoming too possessive. He stalked Hilda, sitting in Mitchellâs or Robertsâ cafe on Grafton Street staring at her as she drank coffee with her women friends, even following her on dates with other men.
His constant presence in her vicinity made him a laughing-stock. She did her best to shake him off. By the end of 1945 it was evident even to the love-blind poet that Hilda was avoiding him. On Raglan Road, a ballad of lost love that traces their relationship from first rapture to final rupture, was written about this time.
Kavanagh set the poem to the air of the popular song The Dawning of the Day and Ben Kiely remembers the two of them singing it to this tune in the office of the Standard, where they both worked. (Archbishop McQuaid had used his influence to get Kavanagh a job with this Catholic weekly in August 1945.)
On Raglan Road was not published until October 3, 1946 when it appeared in the Irish Press as Dark Haired Miriam Ran Away. Rather than alienate Hilda still further by using her name, Kavanagh had borrowed the name of one of his brotherâs girlfriends.
The poem was accompanied by a photograph of its author, dressed in an oversized jacket, his hair already thinning. At this stage, a gloomy, rather meaningless line, âSynthetic sighs and fish-dim eyes and all deathâs loud displayâ was substituted for âThe Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hayâ.
That same year Hilda fell in love with the dashing, flamboyant Donogh OâMalley, then an engineer, later to be a Fianna Fail government minister. The lovelorn Kavanagh accompanied the couple on some of their dates. OâMalley, who didnât regard Kavanagh as a threat, was merely amused. He and Hilda married the following summer.
The last verse of On Raglan Road betrays some of the bitterness Kavanagh felt at Hildaâs defection. Here he portrays himself as a superior being who has made the mistake of loving an inferior. He is an angel who has stooped to woo an unworthy âcreature made of clayâ and, as a result, almost lost his wings. His letters show the same bitterness. Hilda was out to get a good catch, he implies, using her dark hair as âa snareâ. He remarks that she has now put her hair up, a sign that âthe huntâ is over for her.
In 1948 Kavanagh presented On Raglan Road to Claire McAllister, a young American poet who was visiting Dublin, and managed to persuade her that she was its heroine. Both of them seem to have overlooked the inconvenient fact that, whereas the poemâs heroine is dark-haired, Claireâs most distinctive feature was her long mane of auburn hair which led to her being nicknamed âMarmaladeâ. He was even less successful with Claire than he had been with Hilda.
Kavanagh thought that On Raglan Road had the makings of a hit song, and was in the habit of giving it to friends with good singing voices, such as Therese Cronin, to perform. However, it languished unpublished until his Collected Poems of 1964. It had been too late for his second collection, A Soul for Sale, sent to the publisher in May 1945, and the collection in which it was included in 1955 was rejected.
In Collected Poems (1964) it was printed as a song lyric with the title followed by the tune: On Raglan Road (Air: The Dawning of the Day). Shortly afterwards, Kavanagh approached Luke Kelly of the Dubliners in the Bailey pub and made him a present of the song. At long last On Raglan Road had found the singer it deserved.
Perhaps the love affair between Kavanagh and Moriarty was not altogether one-sided. When he died in November 1967 she sent a wreath of red roses in the form of an H.
âOn Raglan Roadâ is available in Patrick Kavanaghâs âSelected Poemsâ (Penguin).
Antoinette Quinn is the author of âPatrick Kavanagh, A Biographyâ (Gill and Macmillan, Dublin, ?12.99) and editor of âA Poetâs Country, Patrick Kavanaghâs Selected Proseâ (Lilliput, Dublin) and of the new centenary edition of Kavanaghâs âCollected Poemsâ (due from Penguin, London in September)
Also, Donogh OâMalleyâs sister was the grandmother of singer Dido.
The Archbishop McQuaid references surprise me.
Limerickman 1, Roaster 0 
I suppose nowadays Kavanagh wouldnât write a poem for her, heâd stalk her all over the Internet.
Like a real manâŚ
[QUOTE=âmyboyblue, post: 1105226, member: 180â]This could very well be common knowledge among many, but as the thread title says, I learned it today
[SIZE=6]The beauty who inspired Kavanaghâs Raglan Road[/SIZE]
In the Monaghan-born poetâs centenary year, his biographer Antoinette Quinn reveals the real story behind his best known poem, later immortalised in song by Luke Kelly
On Raglan Road in autumn 1944 the poet Patrick Kavanagh first met and became infatuated with Hilda Moriarty. Hilda, aged 22 and a medical student from Dingle, was generally considered one of the two most beautiful women in Dublin. (Kathleen Ryan, star of the film Odd Man Out, was the other.)
She had creamy skin, high cheekbones and deep blue eyes and the âlong dark hairâ the poet so much admired was wavy, blue-black in colour and worn shoulder-length. Hilda was also stylishly and expensively dressed. Her father, a medical doctor, lavished gifts of clothes and jewellery on her and, in addition, Irish dress designers gave her clothes to wear as an ad for their products.
At the time of their first meeting Patrick Kavanagh was about to turn 40. Although he had moved from Inniskeen to Dublin five years previously, he still walked, talked and dressed like the âploughmanâ he had once been.
He was unemployed, having recently lost his job as a gossip columnist with the Irish Press, and had sublet his flat at 62 Pembroke Road because he couldnât afford the rent. He was living in Mrs Kennyâs boarding house at 19 Raglan Road where, as he put it, he was âhoused, bedded and cleaned outâ for 10 shillings a week. The 10 shillings was paid by a benefactor, Archbishop McQuaid. When not desperately job-hunting, Kavanagh passed the time revising a rejected novel, which was about to be rejected again, and working on a collection of poems, also rejected. He was depressed and in need of some excitement or consolation when he first encountered Hilda.
âThere is a considerable element of will about falling in love,â he wrote, two years later. âThere is more of a suicide than an accidental death about it.â From the outset, he knew that the relationship with Hilda was doomed, that he âwould one day rueâ it.
At first Hilda appeared to welcome Kavanaghâs attentions. She was interested in literature and it was a novelty for her to have one of Irelandâs leading poets among her retinue of admirers. She also felt sorry that things were going so badly for him and was gentle and sympathetic. Kavanagh was overly encouraged. In letters to his archbishop patron, he referred to his meeting with Hilda as âa special graceâ and described her in terms he thought would appeal to an ecclesiastic, as a âcharming, virtuous girlâ who did not go to dances and whose uncle was a parish priest.
When Hilda went home to Dingle for Christmas 1944, Kavanagh followed her. There was no invitation to the Moriarty home, of course. A middle-aged, out-of-work journalist and ex-small farmer was not the kind of husband Dr Paddy Moriarty envisaged for his beautiful daughter. Kavanagh put up at Kruger Kavanaghâs guesthouse in Dunquin and defrayed his expenses by publishing an article on âMy Christmas in Kerryâ in the Irish Press.
By the following May, Hilda and he were still spending time together, sometimes meeting for lunch in the Country Shop on Stephenâs Green. Hilda often teased him that he always wrote agricultural poems about fields and weeds. In May he responded with a tender, subtle love poem, Bluebells for Love, based on their visit to Lord Dunsanyâs estate in Co Meath when the bluebells were in bloom.
However, Kavanagh âloved too muchâ and was becoming too possessive. He stalked Hilda, sitting in Mitchellâs or Robertsâ cafe on Grafton Street staring at her as she drank coffee with her women friends, even following her on dates with other men.
His constant presence in her vicinity made him a laughing-stock. She did her best to shake him off. By the end of 1945 it was evident even to the love-blind poet that Hilda was avoiding him. On Raglan Road, a ballad of lost love that traces their relationship from first rapture to final rupture, was written about this time.
Kavanagh set the poem to the air of the popular song The Dawning of the Day and Ben Kiely remembers the two of them singing it to this tune in the office of the Standard, where they both worked. (Archbishop McQuaid had used his influence to get Kavanagh a job with this Catholic weekly in August 1945.)
On Raglan Road was not published until October 3, 1946 when it appeared in the Irish Press as Dark Haired Miriam Ran Away. Rather than alienate Hilda still further by using her name, Kavanagh had borrowed the name of one of his brotherâs girlfriends.
The poem was accompanied by a photograph of its author, dressed in an oversized jacket, his hair already thinning. At this stage, a gloomy, rather meaningless line, âSynthetic sighs and fish-dim eyes and all deathâs loud displayâ was substituted for âThe Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hayâ.
That same year Hilda fell in love with the dashing, flamboyant Donogh OâMalley, then an engineer, later to be a Fianna Fail government minister. The lovelorn Kavanagh accompanied the couple on some of their dates. OâMalley, who didnât regard Kavanagh as a threat, was merely amused. He and Hilda married the following summer.
The last verse of On Raglan Road betrays some of the bitterness Kavanagh felt at Hildaâs defection. Here he portrays himself as a superior being who has made the mistake of loving an inferior. He is an angel who has stooped to woo an unworthy âcreature made of clayâ and, as a result, almost lost his wings. His letters show the same bitterness. Hilda was out to get a good catch, he implies, using her dark hair as âa snareâ. He remarks that she has now put her hair up, a sign that âthe huntâ is over for her.
In 1948 Kavanagh presented On Raglan Road to Claire McAllister, a young American poet who was visiting Dublin, and managed to persuade her that she was its heroine. Both of them seem to have overlooked the inconvenient fact that, whereas the poemâs heroine is dark-haired, Claireâs most distinctive feature was her long mane of auburn hair which led to her being nicknamed âMarmaladeâ. He was even less successful with Claire than he had been with Hilda.
Kavanagh thought that On Raglan Road had the makings of a hit song, and was in the habit of giving it to friends with good singing voices, such as Therese Cronin, to perform. However, it languished unpublished until his Collected Poems of 1964. It had been too late for his second collection, A Soul for Sale, sent to the publisher in May 1945, and the collection in which it was included in 1955 was rejected.
In Collected Poems (1964) it was printed as a song lyric with the title followed by the tune: On Raglan Road (Air: The Dawning of the Day). Shortly afterwards, Kavanagh approached Luke Kelly of the Dubliners in the Bailey pub and made him a present of the song. At long last On Raglan Road had found the singer it deserved.
Perhaps the love affair between Kavanagh and Moriarty was not altogether one-sided. When he died in November 1967 she sent a wreath of red roses in the form of an H.
âOn Raglan Roadâ is available in Patrick Kavanaghâs âSelected Poemsâ (Penguin).
Antoinette Quinn is the author of âPatrick Kavanagh, A Biographyâ (Gill and Macmillan, Dublin, ?12.99) and editor of âA Poetâs Country, Patrick Kavanaghâs Selected Proseâ (Lilliput, Dublin) and of the new centenary edition of Kavanaghâs âCollected Poemsâ (due from Penguin, London in September)[/QUOTE]
The fish dim eyes line is better than the queen of hearts one. That line always grates on me as a clumsy insertion of an agricultural metaphor, not in keeping with the rest of the poem. (Imo).
There is a global shortage on male porn stars.
[I]A Japanese porn star has found world fame after complaining on Twitter that there are more Bengal tigers than male actors in the countryâs adult movie industry.
Shimiken, a spiky-haired 35-year-old, just canât keep up the pace any longer.
âThere are only 70 male porn stars to 10,000 women,â he wrote on the social network, referring to the on-call regulars in the business. âWith 4,000 new films every month, the number of male actors simply isnât enough. This industry is like a hole in the wall that needs to get bigger!â
While some journalists have questioned his figures, even they agree there is a lack of male porn stars worldwide, and itâs even worse in Japan. The nation produces more than double the number of porn movies than the US, but Japanâs reserved and formal public life means those with an appetite for explicit material tend to keep it behind closed doors. There is even a review board that pixelates the genitals in all Japanese pornography before distribution.
Shimiken, real name Ken Shimizu, was profiled in Details magazine as the man facing the herculean task of âkeeping an estimated $20 billion industry from going limp.â The hard-working porn star has not had a holiday in seven years, he told the magazine, and with 7,000 movies under his belt, he just wants a cuddle.
But the muscly, spray-tanned pocket rocket is in high demand. He is famous for his stamina, working for six hours a day on up to six different movies, seven days a week. Over 18 years, heâs done almost everything â and everyone â from an ex-pop star to 72-year-old twins. The only time he got stage fright was when he was asked to have sex with a woman whoâd just been with a dog. But being a stand-up guy, he compromised by agreeing the dog could lick butter off her first.
Shimiken told Details he follows a strict regime to maintain his energy: high-protein diet, no alcohol and 90 minutes of exercise four days a week (heavy weightlifting and deep squats to improve his thrusting and build up testosterone). He even used to stay up late practicing his aim, because âitâs rude to get it in a girlâs eyes.â The only performance enhancers he uses are glutamine, branched-chain amino acid, zinc (said to make semen whiter), arginine and vitamin jelly.
Despite his semi-legendary status, even Shimiken has faced discrimination because of his profession. Just a few years ago, no landlord would accept him as a tenant. He was only able to find a home after a real estate agent who was a fan helped him out.
Shimiken says he knew his destiny was in porn from the age of 15. Obsessed with sex and erotica, he used to masturbate over balconies at school. He dropped out of college to follow his dream among like-minded people, although it wasnât always as glamorous as he hoped. His first job was to eat a plate of feces for $160, landing him in hospital.
His parents discovered what line of work he was in after he landed a job on a panel show and his co-hosts exposed his dirty secret to the nation. Later, he starred in a series where he picked up girls off the street and persuaded them to go home with him for sex on camera. In one apparently real scene, his mother barged in to ask what was going on.
Today, Shimiken earns $30,000 a week, has 30,000 followers on Twitter and owns five cars. He has an ex-wife, and two daughters, whom he says he wouldnât want to see in the industry. âThe reality is that porn is mostly a sâ-y place filled with sâ-y people,â he said. âIâd just like to be a light among the sâ. This is where I was meant to be.â[/I]
[I]
[/I]
Poor Shimiken is worn to the bone it seems.
There is a global shortage on male porn stars.
Today, Shimiken earns $30,000 a week, has 30,000 followers on Twitter and owns five cars. .
Paging @Thrawneen[/USER], paging [USER=129]@Thrawneen.
not today, but this week, the vast majority of English think all Irish people are experts in NH
Shaun Edwards, assistant coach of the Welsh rugby team, has a son with M People lead singer Heather Small.