MIKE

an essential piece of equipment in the recording studio
but fortunately not the topic of today's blog...
this post is about a fellow i used to know
called mike o'neill
obviously that isn't his real name
then again maybe it is?
mike and i were inseperable and insufferable childhood pals
a year or two apart in age
with a similarly puerile sense of humour
the same penchant for collecting useless factual information
about people and things
the same obsession with sport
footy, cricket, golf...snooker(!)
we mucked around together
had great laughs
got into scrapes
as we became teenagers we liked the same bands
U2, the church, REM, 10000 maniacs
we drove down to london to see the church and 10000 maniacs
at the grand old town and country club in kilburn
ran out of petrol on the way back
in the early hours of the morning
had to leave the car parked by the side of the road
just the kind of silly thing we would do
as kids only one major thing separated and differentiated us
mike was from an irish catholic family
while i was nominally c of e
though i seldom ventured anywhere near a church
in the early days the main practical consequence of these religious differences was that unlike the rest of the neighbourhood kids
mike went to a roman catholic school in a different area
where the teachers were nuns
with strange-sounding names like sister josephine
and mike's classmates were all called seamus, damien and bernadette
on sunday evenings
mike suddenly went out of circulation
being summoned to attend something called 'mass'
which i had only a vague concept of
going round to mike's was always fun
if a little intimidating
mike's dad con had been raised in county galway
emigrating to birmingham back in the fifties
where he met his dublin-born wife bernie
in mike's house con ruled the roost
joking, storytelling, teasing the two of us
from his comfy armchair in front of the telly
pontificating and soapboxing in his hearty irish brogue
while bernie floated quietly about the kitchen
as i got a bit older i started to become aware of con's comments
about the ira and the british government
and though i only had a vague idea of what he was talking about
i could discern his strong sense of injustice
about the treatment of catholics in northern ireland
this kind of talk was alien to me
in our house if politics was ever broached
it was only in the context of a passing 'tut, tut' at a tv news item
the unions, arthur scargill, ira bombers
my parents being long-time wet conservative voters...
then when i was eighteen
i left birmingham for nottingham
and saw a lot less of mike
although he came up to see me a few times
and got to know my new friends
then i took to a peripatetic existence
circumnavigating the globe for eighteen months
living down in kent
going off to the basque country to teach english
meanwhile mike went to durham to study physics
inevitably we didn't see much of each other for a while
then in august 1994 during the summer holidays
i came back to england and went up to stay with mike and his girlfriend, who were both working as schoolteachers in newcastle
we hadn't seen each other for two years
so it was something of a big reunion
we chatted and played guitar together
over dinner the conversation turned to politics
it was around the time of the anglo-irish agreement
and not knowing much about it as an ex-pat living in northern spain
i innocently asked mike if he thought it brought any prospects for peace
something in him suddenly seemed to snap
what he said next i have replayed countless times in my mind
though i can't remember for sure the precise wording he used
'the more british soldiers killed in northern ireland, the better' was his initial outburst
'don't start getting on your high-horse' heather admonished wearily
becoming the target of a torrent of verbal abuse
'you've always been a tory fascist!' mike spat at me
referring to a childhood diary i had kept
apparently glorifying the sinking of the general belgrano
during the falklands war
something i had no recollection of
though i wouldn't rule it out considering my naiivety at the time
having unleashed a tirade of pent-up rage
mike stormed off to his room telling me to get out of his house
shocked, shaken and saddened
i caught the first coach back down to birmingham
and immediately wrote a song about what had happened
it was called, somewhat unsubtly, 'Cut the bullshit!'

a whole lot of water has passed under our little bridge
we've polarised our enterprise
but who are you trying to kid
if not yourself?

now i find you up in the sky
you're so distant and i don't know why
you know me much too well to treat a friend like this
so please can we cut the bullshit
aren't we a little old for that?
please can we cut the bullshit
it's far too late to act like that
well, blood may be thicker than water
but the water's thicker than wine
you let it go to your head
don't let it go to your head
you should see me clearly after all this time
hey! hey! hey!

you got something to prove
you're trying to be different, kid
but you're looking tired and uninspired
think of all the things we did
you're not yourself

it's not religion, not a hole in the sky
it's just this circus that we call our lives
we could make it better
but you won't make it any better
so please can we cut the bullshit
aren't we a little old for that?
please can we cut the bullshit
it's far too late for crap like that
well, the blood may be thicker than water
but the water's thicker than wine
you let it go to your head
don't let it go to your head
and there's not gonna be another time

and i wonder home so sadly
all of this has hurt me badly
and i think how cruel life can be when you're down
and i wonder home so sadly
all of this has hurt me badly
and i think how cruel life can be
when someone you love burns you out

ever since then i've often thought of the words of john lennon
from the song 'we can work it out'
'life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend, i have always thought that it's a crime'
but since that fateful day i've never seen mike again