On Filling the Well, Activist Art and Folk Songs
Also: falling into frogspawn, bad timing, Lolly Willowes, missing lighthouse keepers
Yesterday, I thought about how, when I was kid, every Good Friday my brothers and I were called in from playing outside. TV was forbidden, mute and cold in the corner. The reason was that we were meant to reflect on Jesus dying, rumoured to be around 3pm in the afternoon. I knew nothing of time zones, or the bible, but always found it bizarre that people seemed knew the exact time Jesus was being offered vinegar on a sponge. Christianity still fetishises violence and suffering in the name of Good Friday, and earlier this week, I explained to two Australian writers that until five years go, all pubs in Ireland were closed that day. All this did was facilitate panicked – and often ingenious ways – of trying to get a drink. The night before, supermarkets and off-licences were mobbed. Slabs of cans and bottles of wine heaved into trollies. I’ve been to many Good Friday parties but never once thought of The Passion. The ban is now consig…
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