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Add page to: Add page to: I, with a friend in the back (D), am driving a singer-songwriter (M) to Cork for a gig. I already know M quite well, as does my mate D, so it's all chirpy, happy banter and having a laugh. We're on a bumpy road. There's a moving tractor full of hay pulled off to the side, trundling along. There are cars coming in the opposite direction. The road is one lane each way. I think 'fuck it, I can make it between the oncoming traffic and the tractor'. I speed up. We're getting closer. Then another thought pops into my head: 'fuck, I don't think we can make this'. The brakes go down. The car judders to a near halt. I look at M in the seat next to me. His arms are covering his face. His face is pale. The poor fucker already had his leg in plaster, too. At the gig that night, he was remorselessly ribbing me for the duration.
But there could have been another reason for that, too.
After the 'nearly killing the main act' incident, I'm trying to make conversation. Now, M lived in New York for years. He played, very frequently, in a bar called Sin-e, and became very firm friends with an American singer-songwriter called Jeff Buckley. You may have heard of him. At the time, this little fact was unknown to your good narrator. (I am genuinely NOT a Jeff Buckley fan). So, I'm trying to have a laugh, lighten the mood up after the near-car crash, as you do, and I go into this rap: 'did you ever hear of this fella called Jeff Buckley? Fuckin' terrible music, him. Complete bollocks. No wonder he drowned, stop him inflictin' that shite on the world'
etc etc. You get the picture. I look in the rearviewmirror. D is going red in the face trying not to laugh (the fucker KNEW). M looks at me and quietly says, 'he was one of my best friends in America'
. That's all he said. That's all he needed to fuckin' say. I was horrified. I felt smaller than dust. I didn't speak for 40 minutes. (I wasn't counting, D in the backseat was, though, because, as he later put it, 'I've never heard you shut up for so long'
).
Amazingly, M and I still get along great. He tours an awful lot now, especially in America, so I don't see him so much, but we have beautiful conversations when we do catch up. Gotta love the Irish!