They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. They — who know everything — believe all men can be seduced by food. Even those who do not live by bread alone! Such sweet innocence.
You and I know that the way to any man’s heart is through his ego, that fragile if rarely virgin territory wherein hides the shy little boy, terrified of being found out; there in that darker place with his disappointments and broken dreams.
Or, so I’m told.
Yes, even I am reachable through the ego, as I discovered recently on receiving an unforgettable email from Bobby McMahon.
Coldplay in Croke Park review: Croker loses its collective mind to choruses purpose-built for this kind of night out
Andrea Gilligan listens intently but is powerless to help parents dogged by back-to-school guilt
Life after running Harvey’s Point hotel: ‘We found our little piece of paradise in southwest France’
How three friends built new homes on site of derelict car parts shop in Dublin 4
He said: “My wife and I are big fans of your Saturday In a Word column. My job is to read it out loud and, if I may say so, I do a fair job of it, ensuring proper inflections, intonations and pitch of voice, to maximise entertainment value and give credit to the piece. We knock great fun out of it. I recorded a few and sent them to my two sisters in Chicago. One of my favourite pieces is ‘Words!’ (Oct ‘23). It’s the copywriter’s letter looking for a job.”
How does one respond to that? How could I construct an adequate reply to such unequalled, if deserved, adoration? Thankfully, Mr Bobby himself supplied the answer.
A member of Dublin’s Culwick Choral Society, founded in 1898 by a Dr James Culwick, it performs works by Handel, Mozart, Bach, Haydn, Beethoven and Brahms, and more modern composers. They have done so across Ireland, in Rome, Prague, Barcelona and, next September, they’re in Spain’s Santiago de Compostela.
But, and more to the point, they will be in Dublin’s St Andrew’s Church on Westland Row next Friday evening, May 17th, at 7.30pm, performing works by Haydn, Elgar, and Rutter.
Digressing briefly from his orgy of flattery launched in my direction Mr Bobby, rather plaintively pleaded, “we need to fill the hall”, suggesting I might advertise the event here. As if! People pay to do that on these pages.
Then he also said: “BTW, have you ever thought of publishing a book of your In a Word pieces? It would sell like hot cakes! The perfect Christmas gift!”
Would you go ‘way, Mr Bobby. I’m not falling for that one!
Concert, from Latin concentare, to sing together.