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 September 2007 Shame in Slovakia! No longer ginger! Diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome! Riddled with new handbags! Birthday passes ‘peacefully’! God, mes amies, it’s been a busy, busy one. Turned 44. Got my hair de-gingered. Went to Slovakia. Went to Istanbul. Went to The Bourne Ultimatum. Where do I begin? Okay, Slovakia. Well, we went there thinking a) the Irish football team would beat the living daylights out of the Slovak team b) that the Slovaks were lovely people (Ljiljana had said they were.) Neither of these things transpired to be true. Cast members – Tadhg, Susan, Niall, Himself and me. We set off from Prague on the Saturday morning, full of good cheer. We then proceeded to stop at about 15 different McDonald’s on the way, partly because of my bargain basement bladder and partly because we were all hungry at different times and partly because it was the month for Himself to have his once-a-year McDonalds. (He disapproves of it. So do I. But the cheeseburgers can be nice.) We arrived at the SAS Radisson in the centre of Bratislava to discover that only one of our 3 rooms was ready (even though it was later than 3 o’clock.) We could hardly hear the conversation with the surly, surly, oh very surly desk person because of the singing of The Fields of Athenry from the bars across the street. Undeterred, we went to the one room and Tadhg leaned out the window, looking at the hordes of Irish fans out there and said, “There it is! I’ve seen my first green inflatable hammer!” And so festivities were declared open. Out we went. Irish fans everywhere full of niceness. Slovak police also everywhere. Not full of niceness. Making people take down Irish flags. Telling people to shut up the singing. Slovak bar staff. Not full of niceness. Back to the hotel to see if the rooms were ready. Revelation from (different other) surly desk person. The hotel was overbooked. There was no room for Niall. The whole town was full. But they had secured him some rude lodgings outside the town, halfway to Budapest. All of us very distressed. He’s our brother, we exclaimed! We don’t see him that often! Don’t send him halfway to Budapest! But nothing doing. 
Mood low. Arrangements to meet in the lobby at 6.15 for food before the match. However… however… as luck would have it, weren’t we staying in the same hotel as the team! Yes! Before 6.15, Himself and myself were ‘grooming’ ourselves (ie putting on our green gear) when we heard an extra-loud commotion down in the street – a coach had drawn up outside. THE coach. To collect the team and bring them to the grounds. We were so excited we climbed out the window and onto the roof and then we decided we should rush downstairs to see if we could see them in the lobby. And sure enough we did! They all appeared out of the lifts seconds after myself and Himself arrived and they disappeared into some back room for a ‘chat’. Then they appeared again, a long line of them, being led by the oh-so-delicious Damien Duff. I’ve always been fond of him because of his alleged prediliction for 20 hours sleep a night (apparently his nickname is the Dormouse) but in the flesh he’s actually extremely good-looking. And – coincidentally, just like me – he too has had his hair recently de-gingered because he was looking very blond and Nordic (but small) (but there’s nothing wrong with small, nothing at all.) As he led the boys out, his eyes connected with my awestruck ones and he gave me a slow, deliberate wink! (I am afraid this is a complete lie. But I’ve told it so often that I’ve started to believe it myself.) No, he didn’t wink. He didn’t look at any of us. None of them did. Even though we were all clapping and cheering in the lobby, the only one who even acknowledged that we were there was Shay Given. (Also known later as ‘The Irish Team.’ If they’d had only him on the team, we’d probably have done just as well.) Such rudeness! But a man beside me explained they were ‘in the zone.’ All the same, it wouldn’t have hurt them to give us a smile! Rudeness, I tell you, rudeness! Nevertheless, it was a huge, starstruck buzz to have been so close to them and once we found Niall, (trapped outside, having made his way back from halfway to Budapest) we went for something to eat. And my God, the frozen, unsmiling hostility of it all. You’d swear it was illegal to smile in Slovakia. Indeed, maybe it is! Certainly, enough police around to enforce it too. Frankly we were astonished by the unpleasantness of the staff. I mean, I admit that Irish people can sometimes be a bit wearing, with their constant chat and bonhomie and desperate desire for the craic, but come on!
Then we went to the ground where the warm Slovak welcome continued. There were only 2 gates for the Irish fans and 279 for the (13) Slovak fans. Tumbleweed was blowing through the Slovak turnstiles but they still wouldn’t let us come in. They directed us (curtly, nay brutally) to the Irish gates which looked like Red Cross Feeding Stations in a famine zone. It was really – genuinely – scary. Although everyone (by which I mean the Irish people, not the granite-faced Slovaks) were really good-humoured, we were so crushed that my feet were lifting off the ground. By the time we got in the National Anthems were playing and there were still loads of Irish people stuck outside in the throng so they would have missed the start of the game. However, the less said about the game the better. All that you need to know is that it looked like we were going to win then we let in a stinky Slovak goal in injury time. And it felt like fecking déjà vu! It was Tel Aviv all over again! We were gutted, gutted, gutted! And to enhance our happiness, the Slovaks sent in a load of riot police who were so obviously itching for a fight. I’ve never been so insulted in my life! I’ve been to Irish games in lots of counties and never, ever, ever have we been treated like this. Irish fans are nice! Everyone knows that! (Like I say, yes, we can at times be wearing with the anecdotes and the good-humour but coshing people over the head with batons just to shut them up surely isn’t the way to go.) Then – the final salt in the wound – the Irish fans were locked in – yes, locked in – for 15 minutes at the end of the match, to let the 6 Slovak fans home safely (yes, I had originally thought there were 13 Slovak fans but 7 of them were Irish who had had to buy Slovak tickets because all the Irish ones were sold.)Bhuel, a cairde! (Irish for Well, mes amies), it was a bad business. I know many of you will write to me (or maybe not) and say that some of your best friends are Slovakian and they spend their days from dawn till dusk laughing their heads off and a nicer, warmer, more fun-loving nation you couldn’t hope to meet. And that may well be the case. I am not judging the entire Slovakian nation, only the 417 Slovaks I met. Maybe they were having a bad day. All of them. In fairness, no wonder it was such a peaceful business when they decided to break away from the Czechs and make their own country. The Czechs must have been delighted! ‘Work away lads, good luck with it all, no, no, no need to feel guilty, we’ll be grand. We’ll miss you of course, your little smiling Slovak faces, but we respect that you must do what you must do.’ And of course, out of suffering, great art sometimes comes. So much so that I’ve been inspired to write a pome about my time there. It goes as follows. Slovakia. Oh Slovakia! I won’t be going back to ya. Final little piece on the match and then I’ll shut up about it. Susan and I were both woken in the middle of the night by a very over-refreshed and heartbroken Irish fan shrieking in the street outside our hotel, “Staunton. Stauuuuuuuuuuuuntonnnnn!” (Staunton is the Irish manager.) “We know you’re in there! Get down here, you -” (pause for breath). “Useless -” (another pause for breath) “GOBSHITE.” After a short pregnant pause, sounds of ragged sobbing reached me and Susan. (Himself and Tadhg did not have their slumber disturbed as they were sleeping the sleep of the very drunk. And Niall of course, did not have his slumber disturbed either, as he was halfway to Budapest on account of the SAS Bratislava having given his room away to someone else. I’m not bitter. No. I’m only saying.) So let’s move on. My hair. I got it dyed back dark and for the first time in a month, I was able to breathe properly. I was restored to me again. Also no hard feelings with Jason (my hairdresser.) The Bourne Ultimatum – have you seen it? It’s FANTASTIC. Honestly, it’s a long time since I enjoyed a film so much. Also, oddly, I was able to keep up with the plot twists and turns. Usually I’m 2 or 3 twists behind, saying, No hold on, is he not the one who… but I thought she was dead… wait a minute, who is it she’s working for…? And all that. But I was gripped, mes amies, pure gripped. And I have a very, very short attention span. I actually dread going to the cinema (not just because I always end up sitting beside the person with the very rustly sweet bag and a bucket of popcorn and a habit of smacking and slurping each mouthful. I have no tolerance.) I’m usually glad after the film is over that I went but if a film is more than 90 minutes long I don’t look forward to going. But for however long the Bourne Ultimatum is, I was entirely gripped. I also went to see Atonement. I loved the book and I think if you love a book the film is never as enjoyable. And indeed that was the case. In fact, seeing the film has had the strange effect of making me take slightly agin the book. I cannot explain it. That’s just how it is. It (the film) just didn’t engage me. Everyone. Spoke. In. Short. Staccato. Repressed. Sentences. Even when. In the throes. Of peshion. Nice clothes though. 
So what else! Istanbul. It was magnificent! I hardly know where to start. It’s full of history and moderness, mosques and fake Prada bags, ferries and trams and carpet shops and minarets and calls to prayer and kebabs and people, lots of people and restaurants and exquisite ceramic tiling and a shop like Barneys and the world’s biggest covered market. Narrow, narrow steep streets and the wide blue Bosphorus. Women in veils and women in Miu Miu. Europe and Asia and a fifteen minute ferry connecting the 2. I had a great, great time. I had my birthday there and received magnificent presents (although I got most of them before leaving home.)Highlights include; 
A quick update on my gammy health. (If you find this ‘tiresome’ – more Atonement – I don’t blame you. Please skip to next paragraph.) Yes, well, after a long time of difficulty with the right side of my neck, shoulder, shoulder blade and right forearm and hand, I was sent for a proper diagnosis. MRI scans and all sorts. Apparently I have carpal tunnel syndrome in my right arm/wrist and am waiting for the results of my neck scan. I will advise in due course. Anyway, I’m delighted that I have a syndrome and not just ‘a sore hand.’ I’ve had to stop doing massive signings on book tours because it triggered such bad burny pain but I never felt that anyone believed me. I could see bookshop people and publicity girls looking at me flat-eyed and I could see, yes, see that they were thinking, ‘Lazy bitch. Fecking diva.” But now that I have a medically diagnosed syndrome they might be nicer to me! So good news. And I’ve high hopes that my neck scan will show up some other syndrome! (Instead of just ‘a sore neck.’)It’s also been a good month for books. A new Val McDermid (excellent. Has a high butt plug count, I counted 7, AnneMarie counted 19) and a new Ian Rankin (just started it.) Oh you writers of Scottish noir, you are spoiling us! 
So there we are. I hope you had a lovely September and maybe got some new ankle boots (If you live in the Northern Hemisphere. Some new flipflops if you don’t.) Thank you for reading this. I hope I didn’t cause too much offence with the Slovakian rant – sure, it’s only a bit of craic! Sure, it’s only an oul’ joke, sure amn’t I only having a bit of a laugh. (I’m Irish, see. It’s what we do.) I hope you have a happy October and soon it’ll be cold enough to wear our new coats. (If you live in the Northern Hemisphere.)Lots of love Marian PS I’m not as insane as I look in the photo with the man in the bookshop in Istanbul. It’s a trick of the light. and partly because Tadhg accidently intent on living a Supersize Me weekend. |
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Photo © Neil Cooper