Hello boys.

ZippyYans (above) asks:

Does anyone else think these lid lireland facemasks are actually recycled bras?

Splutter!

Anyone?

Meanwhile…

Nice mask, bra brah.

The votes are in.

Last week, with a €25 Golden Discs voucher on offer, I asked you to name your favourite song with a one-word title?

You answered in your tens (supplying a brilliant playlist)

But there could be only one winner.

Third Place:

Xtal by Aphex Twin

Specific Gravity writes:

Often imitated, never bettered.

Runner-up:

Cupid by Sam Cooke

Scottser writes:

There are songs that reflect hope. Songs that reflect pain. Songs that try to encompass the human condition; why we are here, what am I for, what should I do? We fall in love.We must – its inevitable.

What song encapsulates that hope of being loved back? a song like no other, sung by a voice that would melt the coldest heart? Cupid, by Sam Cooke, that’s what..

Winner:

Nightswimming by REM

Andy Pipkin writes:

This track is just brilliant. Actually forgot how good it was!

Nick says: Thanks all.

Last week: Win Nick’s Voucher

Summerhouse.

In a spooky disused fairground.

Good times.

Aine O’Connor?

Vincent Hanley?

Ailbhe Reddy – Time Difference

Things change over long distance.

Stellar Dublin songsmith Ailbhe Reddy hits a sweet spot of melancholy on her new single, the taster for her forthcoming new album.

The video by Ciaran O’Brien and Ailbhe is just as charming.

Nick says: Clock rock.

Ailbhe Reddy

Michael Noonan (above) was Minister for Health when ‘Grace’ was returned to an abusive foster parent in 1996

This morning.

Via Independent.ie:

Gardaí are recommending criminal prosecutions following their lengthy investigation into the long-running ‘Grace’ foster home abuse case.

…A bulky file has now been submitted to the DPP. This is the second Garda investigation to have been held into the case, which was described by a High Court judge as a scandal [see below]….

An initial investigation was started in 2010 under the direction of a district superintendent.

Gardaí said this began as a result of disclosures made by a social worker, which provided details of possible sexual abuse, emotional abuse and neglect by Grace’s foster parents.

Gardaí recommend criminal prosecution in ‘Grace’ abuse case (Independent.ie)

Meanwhile….

Grace’s mother during a 2017 interview with RTÉ Investigates

Who is Grace?

Grace’ was born to a single mother in the southeast of Ireland in the late 1970s.

She was supposed to be put up for adoption but, instead, was put into foster care soon after her birth.

She was born with microcephaly and was mute.

From 1989 until 2009, Grace lived with a set of foster parents.

The foster father – who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 1999 and who died in 2000 – was accused of sexually abusing another child in their care in 1996, at which point it was decided that no more children would be placed in their care and that Grace would be removed.

The foster parents appealed this decision to remove Grace.

In a letter (above) dated August 9, 1996, to the then Health Minister Michael Noonan, the foster father stated that he and the foster mother lost this appeal and that they were appealing to the minister to “decide in their favour”.

On August 26, 1996, Mr Noonan received a second letter appealing for Grace to remain with the foster parents. But this second letter was from the principal of a school attended by a grandson of the foster parents.

On November 14, 1996, the foster parents were told Grace could stay with them.

Grace remained there for another 13 years.

Approving a €6.3million settlement to Grace in 2017, Mr Justice Peter Kelly said the decision to remove Grace  had been reversed by a three-person committee in the health board for reasons which remained a mystery to this day.

Via RTÉ

He said this was after representations were made by the foster parents to the then minister for health.…He asked what extraordinary hold the foster family had over the health board officials who made the decision. He said if it was not for the fact that a commission of inquiry has been set up, he would have wanted answers to these questions.

Previously: Unfinished Business

The “Extraordinary Hold” Foster Family Had Over The Health Board

Grace’s Mother

Rollingnews

Uncanny.

Pete Glavey writes:

The Moroccan Spiced Falafel slice that looks like Ireland…

Mmf.

Also: Nom.

The Broadsheet Book Of Unspecified Things That Look Like Ireland (edited by Aidan Coughlan, New Island Press)

Stop that!

This morning.

‘Dancing with the Stars’ contestant and actor Ryan Andrews (left) and partner, teacher Michaela O’Neill launch this year’s CMRF Crumlin Abseil Challenge to raise funds to support the care and treatment of sick children in CHI at Crumlin.

Ryan and Michaela will be going to ‘new heights’ on September 18 when they drop 100 feet off the Hogan Stand in Croke Park in Dublin.

Later…

All better.

Any excuse.

CMFR Crumlin

Pic: Mark Stedman

Glastonbury Festival, Somerset, England. June 1991

Dublin poet Fran Cassidy writes:

On what should have been the first day of Glastonbury 2020, below is a semi mythical tale from the mists of the early 1990s. It contains some mild drug references which are obviously neither big nor clever.

The Girl With a Crass Patch on Her Jacket

A Glastonbury Tale

I was hitching to mass
When this girl with a Crass
patch on her jacket pulled over
Her eyes they were green
Her dreads tangerine
And I thought straight away that I loved her

She flashed me a smile
Which further beguiled
And asked me the way to the ferry
Saying ‘we’re all going to Glasto
Which should be a laugh so
You’re welcome to come and be merry’

But I am no fool
So I kept my cool
And I said to her chiselled cheekbones
‘We’re in the middle of Dublin
And there’ll be some trouble in
Trying to get to the stones

And plus I’ve no ticket’
But she replied ‘don’t be thick it
Is easy to go on the blag
We’ll give you a lift
And you might get a bift
In return for some skins and a fag’.

And you know it would have been safer
To go for the wafer
But her voice was so soft and so pure
And such was her beauty
I abandoned my duty
And opened the van’s sliding door

And there in the back
Just having the crack
Was a motley collection of drunks
With a dog on a rope
Some squidgy black dope
And the strange dirty smell of old punks

Which was like damp wool and must
Pachouli oil and crust
Woodsmoke with diesel and feet
And these dirty auld rogues
They put on the Pogues
And gave me a cookie to eat

And that’s when I blew it
Because before I knew it
We were dismounting in Holyhead
And the punks had been dancing
While I dreamt of romancing
Crashed out by myself on the bed

But I couldn’t feel grumpy
As they fed me with scrumpy
While we drove through rosy green lands
And I asked the driver
Could I sit up beside her
And she said ‘yes if you hold my cans

But you’ll all have to get out
When we’re there and about
To park up in the traveller’s field,
And then find your own way
There should be no need to pay
Because the perimeter isn’t well sealed’

And in the farewell kerfuffle
She slipped me a truffle
And then I was out of my bin
So I got a bit nimble
And went on a bimble
To try and find a way in

And I managed to to get pally
With a tracksuited scally
Who said that he’d dug a big hole
And if I would stop being so dense
He’d guide me under the fence
For a tenner to top up his dole

And once in the fest
It was really the best
Place that I’d ever been
Creativity and love
That viewed from above
Stretched further than by eye could be seen

Marquees and tents
That smelled of incense
With colourful banners on high
And ravers were gurning
Around campfires burning
As sound-systems clashed in the sky

Then I got a bit tipsy
With a freewheeling gypsy
Drinking flagons of his own special brew
He promised world revolution
When he found a solution
To his own life which he said was askew

And to keep his old chin up
He started to skin up
And we lay there and worked on our tans
And we decided what is nice is
That the ecological crisis
Could be solved by our recycling cans

Then things went Pete Tong
When I had to follow the pong
And saw the absolute state of the jacks
But I hid in the loo
Over the river of poo
Because paranoia was seeping through cracks

And some generous druids
Poured me magical fluids
And I was ready once more for the lash
Until a bean field veteran
Shared some Ketamine
And then I just needed to crash

Next day midst the racket
I spied the Crass patch on her jacket
Out seeking some after dark thrills
So I sat down beside her
For a hot spicy cider
And she slipped me one of her pills

And buoyed up on love
I said enough is enough
Would you like an auld roll in the hay
And she stared in my eyes
And said I’ll tell you no lies
I’d love to my dear but I’m gay

And then who should come over
But her Diesel Dyke lover
In Doc Martin’s, dungarees and a mullet
And although they were sound
And welcomed me around
For a while I was sick to the gullet

But a wizard selling trips
In the surrounding apocalypse
Advised me to go to the stones
And there my jealousy was lifted
As my reality shifted
And something just changed in my bones

And in the green fields on Sunday
I had quite a fun day
Making baskets and carved wooden spoons
With blacksmiths and plotters
And radical potters
And a cheerful assortment of loons

And I saw Billy Bragg
Raise the red flag
By the Workers Beer Company bar
And the lesbian lovers
Bought me some covers
From Smokey Joe’s blanket bazaar

And as the festival ended
Through rivers of people we wended
And we stopped at the Tiny tea tent
And I thought if I don’t get some sleep
I will be in a heap
But that’s the best few days I’ve ever spent

And although I didn’t get my oats
I awoke next day with some goats
Outside in a horse drawn camp
As sick as a dog
With my mind just a fog
And the front of my trousers all damp

So you can take it from me
If you ever should see
A girl with a Crass patch on her jacket
And you’re looking for fun
Well she might be the one
And Glastonbury’s a place that won’t lack it

Fran Cassidy

Pic: Rex

Meanwhile…

Broadsheet.ie