How Owning Crap Land Can Have A Negative Impact On Your Sex Life

Bachelors Walk is the nickname given to a small area to the north of Doolin, at the the junction between Cahermaccrusheen and Lurraga. Up until fifteen years ago it was inhabited mostly by unmarried farmers. Nearly all of them have died in the last decade and the area has changed as young families have moved in.

The exhibition will focus on this tiny portion of North Clare - just a few fields - as a way of highlighting wider demographic changes in the countryside. I wanted to explore the lost world that these people inhabited, a world that existed not much more than ten years ago but which now seems to have vanished forever. I’m also interested in exploring how that past resurfaces in (and influences) the lives of the current inhabitants.

The exhibition will consist of paintings of the old people who used to live in the area and some of the modern day bachelors, as well as sketches and paintings of the people who now live and work there. There will also be digital illustrations of maps and geological diagrams, plus some images of text and drawings of local stories and songs.

An Exhibitionist Writes

My proposal for an exhibition has been accepted. It’s great news and I should be jumping around the house playing a trombone or something. However, like last May, I’m suffering from wind headaches, which only come when the south westerlies hit gale force. It means that some parts of my brain don’t function properly and I can only concentrate on one thing at once. The pains usually come whenever the lid blows off the compost bin. I haven’t yet worked out the connection here, though possibly the compost bin and I have merged on some sort of sub-atomic level (kind of like in the Third Policeman).

Anyway, the exhibition is called Bachelors Walk and is an art/social/personal investigation of Lurraga, the small townland where we live. Opening night is to be June 22nd. That means I’ve got six weeks to get it all together.

A couple of days ago I went to Borders to buy a copy of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Came away with £110 worth of books, including a Teach Yourself Welsh course. They should store all the books in cardboard boxes so people like me aren't tempted to browse.

I'm trying to finish an outline for my new travel book, which might be about the Vikings in some way. This planning stage is the hardest thing about writing. Anyway, today I spent about 20 minutes messing about with the cut and paste function, then put on 'Straight Outta Boone County' (Cowboy Songs, Home Songs, Western Songs, Mountain Songs) and have so far spent the rest of my time attempting to recreate 1940s style vocal harmonies, every now and then popping downstairs to put on some more coffee. Pretending To Be A Country And Western Singer is a classic procrastination technique for a writer.

Due to my dodgy eye (detached retina) I'm having problems reading the type on screen. Full stops now appear as commas.

3rd Feb 2002
I stare at the papiermaché fish. I fixed its tail last night and am now wondering whether to hang it again or put it back into the pile of half-forgotten stuff in the upstairs cupboard.

A thin sheet of rain tickles the window. On this damp Sunday morning I am happy that I'm not religious. I can drink strong coffee and read the sports news.