Sitting outside a Co Wexford pub on a bright evening, enjoying the sea view, pulling on a pint of iced cider like a sucky calf with the drought, discussing how the year's hurling championship might pan out with two men in Nazi uniforms, is what makes Ireland wonderful. It's an experience right up there with discussing fishing quotas with a leather-skinned auld Aran Island fisherman whilst dressed as Spider Baby, or swinging away at a céilí to Grey's Knob Polka in the arms of a transsexual who had better pins than Jean Butler. Where would ya get it?
The dressed-up Nazis will be invading Duncannon this weekend for the annual military re-enactment that takes place in the picturesque pueblo every Whit Weekend. There'll be knights, allied troops, queen's guards and infantry men from every major battle known to múinteorí, but, strangely, the Nazis are the best boys to sit down for a bottle with. They know their hurling; big fans of Ger Loughnane.
This shaft of surrealism isn't shining solely on the sunny southeast. Cahersiveen Wild West Festival is back in the saddle, offering wonderful opportunities to dress like extras from Django Unchained and whoop it up like the last days of Dodge. It's a good buzz, but strolling home to the wagon at closing-time through the deserted streets while Morricone's The Man with the Harmonica is piped outdoors can be somewhat unsettling. The aul' trigger finger gets itchy and the right eye starts to squint.
BEYOND THE PAIL
If you're too shy to play public dress-up, bucket singing might be yer only man. Contestants in the All-Ireland Bucket Singing Championship remain anonymous by virtue of the fact that when they deliver their sean-nós ditty, they've got a galvanised metal bucket over their bulb. I can speak with some authority on this particular branch of our traditional arts, taking place at Dungarvan Tradfest this weekend, because believe it or not, I'm the reigning All-Ireland champion. Unfortunately, I won't be there to defend my crown/bucket this year; I'm holding out for an invitation to audition for Eurovision 2014.
There’s an unusually bumper crop of bizarre beanos popping up this bank-holiday weekend. It feels like normality has barely been reestablished after our last period of festival extra-time, and already it’s once more unto the breach, dear friends. You might be relieved to hear that not all the festivals happening this weekend require you to dress up and goose-step into a bucket.
Bloom in the Phoenix Park clocked up 80,000 visitors this time last year and, with an attractive mix of mulch, marigolds and munchies, it'll be propagating a similar if not healthier crop this year. This Sunday, Dublin Kite Festival is being thrown into the breeze on North Bull Island and it sounds like a wholesome, fun day out. Don't panic if you don't have a kite – they'll be running workshops to show yourself and the chisellers how to knock one up.
At the opposite end of the spectrum is the Rory Gallagher International Tribute Festival in Ballyshannon which enjoys more lunatics per square inch than an audition line for Britain's Got Talent. Rockin' blues in the main marquee and top-notch mayhem on the streets.
Another musical fête, and one more conscious of its cool quotient, is Forbidden Fruit at the Royal Hospital Kilmainham. Chic bring the groove and Nile Rodgers will be in full flow, fresh from his all-conquering Daft Punk collaboration. Bring the dancing shoes – the man oozes funk exactly like Daniel O'Donnell doesn't.
If I could master the art of
tri-location I'd be hitting Listowel Writers Week (arguably Ireland's best textual session, Dublin Writers Week putting up a serious challenge this year, though) and stepping out at the Glen of Aherlow Walking Festival, but I'm limiting myself to four: Bloom, Forbidden Fruit, Cat Laughs and the re-enactment in Duncannon, purely for the spectacle of free-range Nazis.
Safe travels, don’t die.
