Anna O'Rourke
Day 1 is in the bag and we saw some pretty mad stuff. Apart from the usual awkwardness, we saw, for the first time ever a proposal live on stage. It was ridicuously awkward.
Some might believe that ‘through your fingers from behind the couch’ is the only possible answer here, such is the cringing that the Kerry festival induces in many viewers. The show has taken a woeful PR hit ever since the Father Ted-‘Lovely Bottoms’ incident of ’96, with viewership falling in recent years. Post-modern Ireland seems keen to cut ties with its roots and has forgotten this venerable institution of Irishness. We say it’s time for a renaissance.
Here’s a quick how-to:
1. Accept Daithí Ó Sé for who he is. Yes, he will mention his new beard forty-two times, he will make gloriously inappropriate jokes and he may mispronounce the foreign Roses’ names, but he’ll do it all with relish. Like the mysterious distant relative who turns up at family gatherings to photobomb pictures and buy pints for the teenagers, he’d be missed if he weren’t there. Let’s just be grateful it’s not city-boy Tubridy. Come to mention it, how did Daithí not get the Late-Late gig?
2. Abandon all cynicism at the transparently rehearsed banter between the aforementioned host and the lovely girls, and drum up some enthusiasm when the time comes to laugh at the ‘hilarious’ story of how Geraldine’s suitcase was mixed up with Barry’s. Yes, it’s unlikely that an escort got confused and donned a thong to one of the functions. Just go with it.
3. Question the Irish heritage of a tanned, vaguely dazed looking New Zealander/ Canadian/ whatever you’re having yourself. “Grandpa’s uncle’s cousin’s middle name was Paddy, so we felt the connection was pretty strong”. Seems legit.
4. You'll Find that alcohol will add an extra element of fun to proceedings. Take a drink every time a daddy wearing a Stetson in the audience gives a wave, when a certain brand of silverware gets a shout-out or when the Garda band butchers a modern classic such as Party Rock Anthem. Take two if the audience sings along.
5. Marvel at the eye-popping colours and intricate designs of the dresses, and silently applaud Daithí for the glee with which he clunkily dismantles them so the girl can have a go at Riverdance. No wonder he married a former Rose.
6. Groan when the show breaks for the Nine O’Clock News. You’ve been drawn in and now you’ve to wait half an hour for more awkward pagentry. It feels like your mum sneaking peas into your favourite dinner. Well played, RTE, well played.
7. Creep on the mortified escorts (why are so many of them baldy-headed?) whenever they appear on screen, and place your bets on who has gotten off with a Rose, or indeed a judge. Mary Kennedy we’re looking at you, ya minx.
8. Disregard any Rose without a talent. You’re competing for arguably the most prestigious title in the land and you couldn’t memorise a few lines of Seamus Heaney or even something about your dog? G’luck.
9. Mumble along to ‘The Rose of Tralee’ as the newly-crowned winner sobs and makes her way through the dome, laden down with the spoils of her victory (huge flowers and a preposterous crown). Shed a tear yourself, the pomp and pageantry of the whole thing is really getting to you. Definitely not the naggin and a half you’ve slugged anyway.
