This week I will be mostly… blaspheming.

Blasphemous - IMOCA
Blasphemous - IMOCA

How times have changed. Here we are in the middle of “Holy Week” once again, but this year the build up to the Easter eggs seems a little different. In the past year, the reports on sexual abuse of children by the catholic church has fuelled renewed anger at the organisation. As a result, many people – through – have removed themselves from the catholic church and further loosened their grip on an already diversified nation. It was the new religion of rugby that provided the impetus for a ground-breaking court ruling that successfully challenged the antiquated law banning the sale of alcohol on Good Friday. Though this ruling only covers the Limerick area where the match will take place, it creates a precedent and opens the door for publicans around the country to stand up to the church and open for business if they so wish. We shall see tomorrow how widespread the rebellion against the archaic christian-centric law will be, but it seems the inevitable writing is now on the wall.

I for one will be sad to see the end of the annual tradition of scrambling to buy booze on holy Thursday in anticipation of umpteen house parties the following day. We’ve all got fond memories of trying to find creative ways around the legal obstacles to getting completely wasted on Good Friday even though most of us wouldn’t have been all that bothered if we weren’t aware that we can’t buy alcohol. This year then might well be the last for off-the-beaten-track adventures of the whistle-wetting variety. So I advise you make the most of this year’s covert fun and exercise your right (or lack thereof) to behave in a godless, blasphemous way.

You could start by hitting up the sacrilicious get together by the name of Knock, Knock… down in The Bernard Shaw, which kicks off … eh, 4 minutes ago… and runs until the same fascistic early closing time of 12 midnight as every other watering hole on this godforsaken island. The evening promises everything from “eucharistic electropop” and “decades of the rosary” to “condom communion” and an appearance by the most legendary April Fooler of them all, the virgin Mary. The usual standard of Bernard Shaw brilliance applies, but with added tunes and visuals from Collidoscope and Come As Soon As You Hear.

On Good Friday, there’ll be a party happening in The Little Room on Benburb Street (where thisisnotashop used to be) called Now That’s What I Call Blasphemy. Running from 6pm until everyone is struck down by lightning, the party promises food, music and someone doing a good impression of a barman, but certainly not being a real barman as that would be illegal, wouldn’t it. It’s €5 entry and you can also BYOB of course. Also blaspheming their way through the evening are the collection of artists listed on the poster above. They’ll be gathering in IMOCA, just off Baggot Street to stage the ‘Blasphemy’ exhibition, which features work inspired by the ludicrous blasphemy law introduced in Ireland at the start of the year. Click over to the IMOCA site to read more about it, listen to an interview with curator K Bear Koss on Phantom and read the article in last week’s Times. Good luck in your endeavours you agnostic little raggamuffins.


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