28 August 2025
The Gaza carnage continues. Guffmeister Harris asks the EU for action. Don’t they supply Israel? How about independent action. Meanwhile our press berate Michael D. for his passionate condemnations.
Picture of the Week
Last Light by Carol Hodder, from her exhibition At the End of the Day - opening tonight at the Solomon Gallery, Dublin. Hodder’s speciality is dark, moody landscapes, often with splashes of warm colour. This is a more austere example with only a glimmer of relief as night falls. The dying flicker of the day. An apt metaphor for the times we live in. This exhibition also features more human content than is customary in her work - a number of shadowy figures add mystery and atmosphere.
The Moronic Inferno
Mary Geddry’s Posts and Newsletters on Substack keep up a constant bleak commentary on the many ways the orange moron is despoiling his country (the US Mail is the latest victim). They are always written in a lively style and appear with admirable regualarity. Here’s her account of his “cabinet meeting” that turned out to be more of a North Korean style grovel fest - Pyongyang-on-the-Potomac.
Donald Trump staged what he called a Cabinet meeting this week, though “meeting” suggests deliberation, policy, or perhaps even a sliver of governance. What actually unfolded was a two-hour coronation ceremony in which secretaries and advisers took turns praising the Dear Leader with all the subtlety of a North Korean propaganda reel. It was less Cabinet, more cult revival, complete with miracle tariffs, messianic self-congratulation, and one reporter interrupting to announce that Taylor Swift is engaged.
Trump opened the spectacle like a televangelist hawking prosperity gospel, except the prosperity was tariffs. “We’re bringing in trillions,” he declared. “Inflation is gone, groceries are down, energy is way down, and the auto plants are pouring into the United States like never before.” He added, “NATO, they’re paying five percent of GDP because of me. They never paid before me. They didn’t pay, they laughed at us. Now they’re paying.”
None of this is true. Inflation remains high, grocery and energy prices are climbing, and the U.S. auto industry has been slashing jobs rather than opening new plants. Far from filling the Treasury with “trillions,” Trump’s tariffs have functioned as a tax on American consumers, raising costs on imports while generating only a fraction of the revenue he boasts about. And NATO nations are not paying five percent of GDP toward defense, the longstanding target is two percent, and only a handful of allies even meet that. Trump’s “five percent” figure exists only in his imagination, like the auto plants supposedly sprouting across the Midwest or the tariff rebate checks he keeps promising to hand out like Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes.
Musical Interlude
The last album recorded by Sandy Denny before she died under tragic circumstances was Rendezvous from which this song of regret is taken. It was produced by her husband Trevor Lucas with whom she had a turbulent relationship. Her tangled love life, her drinking, and the influence of Lucas led to some problematical career and life decisions. She was even dabbling in Scientology before that final, fatal, alcohol-fuelled fall. Lucas had by then split for Australia with their child. The song was written by Richard Thompson and is the only one of his she recorded after she left Fairport Convention and her golden years behind
Bedtime Reading
Just finished Flesh by David Szalay - a new name to me. Born in Canada of British and Hungarian parents, he now lives in Budapest. Flesh is the story of a Hungarian man with an affectless attitude to the ups and downs of an eventful life. Told in eminently readable, terse prose, we follow him from adolescence to old age through a series of drastic changes mostly governed by chance events. Jail, the army, security work, private chauffeur, property magnate, bouncer all are accepted passively as his lot without great levels of emotional engagement. Even his sex live involves initiatives by predatory older women. There are lengthy time gaps between chapters and each chapter shows that the protagonist’s circumstances have drastically changed. While the premise sounds unpromising, it’s quite the page turner.
Sporting Highlights
All true English football romantics (apart of course from Liverpool supporters) would welcome the return of Everton to its former status in English football. The once multiple cup winners, multiple league champions, and European title holders have been going through a prolonged fallow period. However, a state-of-the-art new stadium and a decent transfer budget bring renewed hope. They got off to a good start at their futuristic new stadium at Bramley-Moore dock with a 2-0 win over a decent Brighton side. Also, it was great the see the cruelly neglected Jack Grealish enjoy himself, play a significant role, and get man of the match. This looks like a great acquisition by Everton and it shows up Pep’s shameful neglect of a maverick talent. Think Duncan MacKenzie.
On the subject of good guys, it is difficult to feel warm about most professional golfers. Born-again Christians and dry shites almost to a man. Ok there’s also the occasional boozer and whoremaster: step forward John Daly and Tiger. I think Bernhard Langer was the last golfer I really admired. Stoic in the face of the “yips” - he came again and still thrives on the Seniors Tour. An exception amongst the current crop is Tommy Fleetwood - a laid-back and ever-amiable presence and a doughty Ryder Cup stalwart. And last weekend he finally won a tournament in the USA (the end of season Tour Championship in Atlanta - $10 million to the winner). He has had numerous close-calls and top ten finishes but just could not quite get the job done. Over all these financially successful years on tour he has resolutely hung on to his lengthy and luxuriant tresses - letting his freak flag fly in the most conservative of environs.
Poetry Corner
Let’s face it, Shakespeare is probably the Brits greatest claim to fame, and only excuse for existence (ok, maybe BBC Radio also). A protean talent who frequently foretold the immortality of his verse as in Sonnet 60. This poem comes to mind as I walk by the sea and is as bracing in its sentiments as the sea air.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked elipses ’gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Artist’s Archive
I have been an admirer of John Shinnors work for over 30 years. I remember walking down Baggot Street one sunny day in 1987and happening upon a group exhibition of contemporary art in the Bank Of Ireland building - not a regular art venue. It featured many of our most renowned artists at the time: Tony O’Malley, William Crozier, Louis le Brocquy etc, but the work that caught my attention were two small semi-abstract pieces by Shinnors - chiaroscuro in flavour. They were sold but I noted the name and bought a large work by the artist at the next RHA Annual Show. Now, 37 years later, I’m still enjoying his work and occasionally his company - although he rarely leaves Limerick these days. Here’s an introduction to the man.