JOHN AND Edward Grimes looked out, on the feast of Stephen.
When the crowd lay round about, deep in bliss and squealin’.
Brightly sang the boys all right – though the frost was cruel.
Their trousers were impossibly tight Small girls screamed and drooled ...
It is early morning after Christmas Day in Dublin and a large number of hardy souls have gathered outside Arnotts on Henry Street. Some juicy bargains are lined up to entice shoppers into the first day of the Winter Sale. Beds, worth thousands, going for a song. Flat screen tellys for under a hundred euro, designer furniture with the price tags slashed and heavy bottomed pots for half nothing.
And the important stuff. Glam shoes for grabs at 50 per cent off and the same over at the handbags. Why wouldn’t a girl be slightly hysterical? And boy, were they hysterical.
But this had nothing to do with marked-down merchandise. Two distinct camps had gathered in the run up to the 10am opening: the shoppers and the fans.
The shopper athletes were in meditative mode as before a sprint. The fans, ostentatiously swooning in front of a pavement stage, were hilarious. Ditzily besotted young wans ready to scream for Ireland and hyperventilate for the teenage twins from Lucan now known as “Jedward”.
“Did you come in for the sale?” Twelve-year-old Morgan Mahoney from Finglas had a prime spot behind the barrier. As her incredulous friends radiated scorn, she fixed the half-wit woman from The Irish Times with a pitying eye, drew herself up to her full height, tilted her chin and delivered a withering: “Nooo-oh!” Lady Bracknell couldn’t have managed better.
These girls didn’t care about the Triumph bras marked down to a fiver.
Morgan and her pals love Jedward. I mean, like, isn’t that obvious to anybody with even half a brain? Like, hello, Irish Times? “They’re Todally Awesome!” explained Jessica Holmes (11), also from Finglas. The girls wore their Jedward T-shirts. “We made up a little dance for them.” They were going to perform it but a man came along with a tray of gingerbread cookie twins and ruined the moment.
The head fell off one of the cookie twins. “Omigod!” shrieked Morgan, suffering an end of the world moment. “I so hope it’s Edward and not John!” She rapidly summed up the Jedward attraction. “They can’t sing, they’re so cute ’cos they are massive and I love them.” A deafening blast of screams heralded their arrival. Adults winced in pain (dogs’ ears bled within a 50-mile radius), the noise levels rose and John and Edward bounced on to the stage. They looked bewildered, but happy.
A thicket of skinny arms and new Santa camera phones pushed skywards, turning towards the light to capture snaps for Bebo and Facebook.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven, this is the most exciting day of my life,” exclaimed Ebie Rose (9) from London.
“Omigod, they’re so hot!” squealed Naoise Kelly (11), from Dublin, who got their autographs.
Jedward, wearing black skinny jeans and tiny little royal blue holiday camp jackets, sang four songs and performed energetic and funny dance routines. It was impossible not to warm to them, with their big open smiles and even bigger hair. “They’re two lovely boys,” sighed Arnotts CEO, David Riddiford, forgetting for a moment that he started the day with a 4.30am flight from Birmingham and was taking a big gamble opening for the first time ever on St Stephen’s Day.
Paige Lynam (11), from Oliver Bond House, was so enthralled she couldn’t speak, save to squeak out a feeble “everything” when asked what she loves about Jedward.
“She told me she’s going to cry,” said her sister Vanessa (16), who was there to mind her.
Such fun. Finally, it was time to open the doors. Jedward, after more hairspray was applied to their vertiginous quiffs, did the job for which they were handsomely paid and then sprinted for safety. The shoppers swarmed towards the bargains and the inexperienced tweenies galloped around like headless chickens in pursuit of their idols.
People who queued from the night before strolled in as they had been given tickets for their item of choice.
It was bedlam in the shoes and handbags. Half-price Dublin jerseys were flying out of Sports. But the homewares section was the worst. “I got caught up in the stampede and went with it. People were jumping on top of each other for things,” said Laura Cullen from Cabra, triumphantly clutching a Le Creuset grill pan.
Greatly reduced woks were, er, woking out of the place. “What are you going to do with three woks?” we asked a red-faced woman listing alarmingly under the weight of so much carbon steel. Her face fell. “A wok? Jesus. What’s a wok? I thought they were pots.” But she bought them anyway.
At the staff entrance, a pleasant security guard greeted groaning assistants as they clocked in gamely after the previous day’s excesses and a chilly morning commute.
“Frozen or drink?” “Yes,” sighed the Irish Times.
The lovely Jedward signed autographs for hours in the Sports department as oblivious adults hoovered up Asics training shoes (30 per cent off). Morgan and Jessica joined the queue and got to perform their dance. (First a little wiggle, then they snapped their hands forward while caressing imaginary quiffs, stuck a pose and cried “Todally Awesome!”) They got a hug.
A wheezing Irish Times, addled by squealing poppets, merciless matrons at the shoe counter and a thumping hangover, went in search of the Triumph bras for a fiver and ended up in the rug section.
Two hand-tufted in Pakistan “pieces” later (20 per cent off) and we are still in deep denial. On the plus side, the dog is happy as Jedward.
Omigod. Bloody sales.
