Thinking is no help to your head space

Acclaimed comedian and writer Tommy Tiernan offers his unique perspective on the world at large in his column by ‘The Badger’.

I was at home the other evening and I couldn’t relax. There was too much on the telly I couldn’t choose. I got the remote control and went at it with a screwdriver. I hacked off all the buttons bar the power one. I thought I’d leave it up to fate to decide what I’d watch, just switch the thing on whenever I got the inclination and see what turns up. Just be grateful for the distraction.

Well there I was anyway watching a documentary on Meath TV. There didn’t seem to be much of a storyline just lots of CCTV footage taken from around the Navan Shopping Centre mixed in with scenes from the Moynalty Steam Threshing Festival.

Then didn’t Tipperary TV come on after it and that was 45 minutes of watching a tap running in a kitchen in Nenagh. From there it hopped into Fermanagh TV where I saw a thing called The Life of a Sausage although in fairness it could equally have been called The Death of a Pig.

It followed a banbh from birth through frolicking about in the sty, ateing all round him happy as Larry, on to the factory into the slicer, some of him is rashers, some of him is black puddin, in to the cellophane wrapper and out on to the frying pan.

Quite an educational little piece. Very clever animals is pigs although looking back maybe not all that clever at all.

And all the time some beautiful country and western music playing in the background. Big Jim and The Ferret Snatchers sing the songs of Lulu.

I thought I was enjoying it but after about an hour I saw meself stand up and scream so I got out of the house quick.

I went down by the Docks. I’m always drawn to water in times of great stress. When things is getting tight upstairs I’ll often go into the toilet stick me head down and flush it a few times and let the water wash the hassle off me, oh the Cisterns of Mercy as Leonard Cohen used to sing, or stick me face repeatedly into the goldfish bowl for as long as I can hold me breath for.

Oh the kids know well enough to leave Daddy alone when they see him do that. If I’m out and about and things are getting on top of me, I head for water.

Well that’s easy enough if you live near the sea like we do but what if you’re someplace like Offaly or Poland? What do you do then? Is whisky water?

I was walking around thinking these things when what should I pass but a sign advertising a Meditation for Beginners. I had tried to read a meditation book one time. It said find somewhere quiet and comfortable to relax. Now close your eyes. So I went to bed and fell asleep for the day.

Just as I’m about to move on this fella comes out and he says to me.

Are you looking for relief?

I am says I, how did you know?

You’ve the look of a searcher, he says.

A lot of people say that about me. They say the look I have is a beguiling cross between naivety and pain. Balding and gormless would be another way of putting it.

Slip in here, he says pointing toward the meditation room, it’ll do you the power o’good.

Now I’m a man that knows me own mind and no one tells me what to do. I’d be possessed of a fierce independence, I’d go me own way and be known for it, comes across as stubbornness sometimes, but there you are.

No one tells me what to do, especially a stranger down by the Docks. So in I went.

Down the corridor, strange writing on the walls, although to call it writing was a bit of a stretch. The markings were rough and crude but it was a code of some sort for sure.

Is it Munster Irish? I enquired.

He put his fingers to his lips and beckoned me follow. We walked through a doorway into a large room with nothing in it ’cept 8 men sitting cross legged on the floor staring at the walls.

Pick a spot he says, and off he went.

I looked around, saw a space and sat down. I drew meself into the classic yogic position with me right leg over me left and me hip twisted back over the other side and me toes in me pocket.

I threw me left leg over the top of me head using me shin as a scarf and me calf as a hat and began staring at the wall. I sat there for twenty minutes staring at the wall.

All was going grand until I started thinking. With nothing to distract me the thoughts came fast and furious. A whirlwind of thinking. Me brain was ateing itself.

An unstoppable stampede of thinking. In order to stop meself going mad altogether I started humming classic TV theme tunes from the 70’s. Any port in a storm lads.

I had made me way through The Sweeney and was about start into Dallas when the fella beside me asked me to leave. I unravelled meself, but the contorting had taken its toll.

Me legs were now facing the other way entirely. I was like the back end of man horse and had to moonwalk to get out of the place coherently.

I made me way to the Myles Lee bar on the corner. I sat on a chair and got them to put a tea towel over me face, hold me head back and pour stout down me throat. I call it porterboarding.

There’s no peace anywhere.