Danger accident black spot

Tweet We used to go to Mayo to visit granny four or five times in the year. That was some long journey from Kells, cooped up in the back of a Nissan Bluebird with my brother and sister, watching half-lit midlands towns streak past the window at forty miles per hour (this was the speed at which my Dad drove) while something maudlin warbled on the radio - "I wonder if it's raining back home in Donegal". We used to fight in the back of the car too. Terribly. I remember elbowing my sister's nose near Strokestown once and the blood pumping down her face. Another time, my twin brother flung a burger I bought from the Luigi take-away in Longford out the car window. I recall how we both watched in shock and amazement as it lay sad and tiny on the road before disappearing under the headlamps of the car behind.

When we got west of the Shannon it was normally dark, even though Daddy used to say we'd be there by night time. It wasn't his fault though - he had good intentions but just never managed to break the 40 mph barrier. At this point, the back of the Bluebird was a funny little place onto itself. My sister would be fast asleep, actually nearly comatose, and her little head would bounce audibly off the car window. Meanwhile my brother and I were lost in eddies of perception and thought which changed depending on where we were sitting in the car. Whichever twin sat at the side window had a view of Bellacorick power station sticking blackly out of the bog. The twin looking forward saw pointy Achill Island cut out of the navy sea. Both views were something different after four hours of Strokestowns and Edgewardstowns. Bellacorick was a gigantic cooling tower belonging to the ESB which loomed over the local flatlands and our imaginations. We called it the big chimney.

We knew we were coming close to granny when the big chimney reared out of the bog. On winter nights the steam sometimes floated a mile above. Frozen. Like a cloud in an acid trip. Sometimes the steam caught the moon. Sometimes it looked further away, weirder than the moon. And the stars, of course, were rampant. No light pollution. Indeed, the far west of county Mayo is still one of the most perfect places for star spotting in Europe. Once, long ago (the 80s), our parents told us Santa lived in Bellacorick. It made sense. He came down a chimney. And, after all, Bellacorick was a big chimney. As a child, it looked to me like it could manage a lot of industrial toy manufacturing too. I really thought Santa lived there. I stopped believing in Santa in 1989. Bellacorick cooling tower was demolished in 2007. Watch below. The wind whistling in the camera mic is my favourite thing about the demolition of Bellacorick.



This post was going to be about Hunter-Gatherer, an Irish electronic producer who has a current album called 'I dreamed I was a footstep in the trail of a murderer'. I started writing this post while listening to the album, and it was on loop when I finished. The album is a fine piece of work and I believe it audibly fits with all of the thoughts expressed above. Hunter-Gatherer FTW.

MP3: Hunter Gatherer-Left for Dead