Finally got here! It's the twenty forth of August 2003 and my oldest song is exactly 5 years old today so it seems like a right sort of day to begin this journal. Maybe there are no coincidences.
Briefly, the past week has been an amazing one for me. I have not been doing my wandering minstrel stuff, I haven't sold a single CD and have lived off two cheques that were gathering a little bit of dust in my back pocket - one from IMRO for 100 Euro and one from RTE for the same amount. The kindness of strangers also has played a big part and I have travelled about the country in my roadster on very little petrol.

Monday. Got to my rented cottage, from east Cork for the first time in a fortnight. My lovely landlord wouldn't accept rent 'cause I'm hardly ever there!

Tuesday. Made lots of phone calls and chilled for the morning before heading - topless as usual - for Kinvara. Winkles has won traditional music pub of the year many times but on a Tuesday night it hosts one of the best singer/songwriter nights I've been to and I get there when I can. I phoned a friend around six to arrange a place to stay and was sorted until I got a call just before the gig and found that due to unforeseen circumstances, my bed had just fallen through the ceiling. No problem haven't I lots of friends in Galway. Made a few phone calls and talked to recorded messages and switched off my phone for the gig. This is an unplugged, around a table in the centre of the pub thing. There were six acts each doing a song in turn and then being followed by the act to their left, and round and round the table till closing time or after.

I was last to play and by my turn had formulated a plan. Surely in the attentive audience or even among the musicianers, there would be a spare bed, couch or even floor. I played a brand new version of "To Be One or To Be Two", (I've added a la la la bit in the middle so it's now twinkle twinkle little star meets amazing grace meets silent night still - with just a dash of Spanish Harlem and called Lovers Lullabye*, a better title for men in big hats looking for a nice song to cover). You could hear a pin drop. For a pub, the audience is unusually attentive and it's a very pretty song. Two verses and then the la la bit. Not tonight Josephine. Tonight the la la bit became some thing like, "this is usually the la la bit but while I have your attention, I'd like to announce that my bed exploded just before the gig and the if anyone had same of couch or floor, to let me know before closing" and straight into third verse and great applause but no offers. It should have worked, it should have.The grass out side the hostel was very comfortable. The lumps and bumps fitted me perfectly and my sleeping bag was cosy. It was 1.45am when I got my head down and even later when the wheels in it began to slow down, (an idea of giving my car as a prize in a "Turkey Song? demo" competition was gaining momentum just as I was drifting off, my bladder said, "Oi! What about me? When I knew I could no longer ignore it, I got up, peed (yes, even songwriters pee) and then found the exact same comfortable position and had a lovely sleep till it began to rain a bit, then a lot.

I hit Galway about 3.15am. In my Galway days, the cafe, Apostasy opened till 4.00am and you'd always meet a friend. Apostasy is now called something in Irish and closes earlier.

Back in the Galway police station, where, just over four years earlier, I'd been inspired(?) to write "Jody Jody", the officer on duty was not at all pleased to be ask if it were possible to rent or borrow a cell for the night, or what was left of it. He seemed to think that I should have been at home in bed hours ago. He did give me a photocopy of a hotels list (maybe I should carry a photocopy of a bed).

The intermittent problem I have with my car door lock chooses it's moments really well and I will have it fixed before I give it away. Usual routine is to open the passenger door, unclip the roof, lean over driver's door, put key in ignition and turn halfway. Then the window can be wound down and it's easy to hop in over the door. Fortunately the rain had stopped so I could leave the top down and reverse the procedure when I got out.

I've driven around the corner and parked on the ramp to enter Jury's Hotel car park. The automatic gates aren't being cooperative but there is enough light to be able to read my list of phone numbers if I can find my reading glasses. The John Creedon Cheque in my back pocket will probably be swallowed whole for the four or five hours sleep I'll get and I hate hotels but this is a last resort.
"Are you trying to get in to the car park?", enquired the guy passing by with his girlfriend.
"Why don't you ram the gate?"
"I like my car too much and they're big f*ing gates"
"I like ya already" he said.
"Do you want to use our couch?"
It always works out in the end and at about five after listening to his bands nine song demo (really good - Musicola), I got some sleep.

It's been a week of resolving lots of underlying conflict in relationships, writing songs, on the hoof, into my trusty Dictaphone as well as formulating phase two of the Master plan (it's my site so I can be as optimistic as I like and can say I told you so to the disbeliveers, when all my prophecies work out -so there). As I type I'm listening to a demo I was given this afternoon of, "Words Fail Me", written and recorded in rooms 123 (mine) and 108 about ten days ago - the same day I wrote my first "greatest Hit", which has a working title of "the Turkey Song?" which, with it's proper title, should be the Irish Christmas number one this year and should conquer the world by next.You may be asking yourself if this is the site of a madman and most people who know me would resoundingly say "YES".

In a previous life, a woman who I had a lot of time for, and still do, asked me what I wanted to do with my life after I told her that I was wasting my life running a photography business, good and all as I was. I told her I wanted to write and sing songs, to which she replied that I could neither sing or play guitar very well AND as long as she'd known me I had not written a postcard and hey, it was all true but a leopard can change it's spots if it wants to enough. Listen to "I Can't Hear You", as a refusal to stay in your box - and that'll be a massive song for someone some day.

Wednesday. Called to a friend who lives in a thatched cottage which has my favourite bedroom, in the whole world and over good coffee asked her to give me her overview on my faults and she did - don't hold your breath, that's my business. I had already arranged to stay in her loft that night. The loft is a tiny space in the roofspace, wide enough for a medium sized mattress and maybe a rug beside it and high enough at the apex to stand up, if you must. If you've claustrophobia, forget it. Otherwise it's a guarantee of the best nights sleep you'll get outside of a Tipi.

Met up with Rusty, an old friend and brilliant guitar player. He took me home to his new studio and demonstrated by letting me record a few songs including "I Ain't Talkin' Walkin'", even bought me a pack of cigarettes when I ran out - I smoke too much.

Thursday. Left thatch after catching up on sleep. Still entering and exiting car via roof - a bit trickier this morning as it was raining. Plan was; cash JC cheque at friend wholefood restaurant, thus avoiding banks - I hate them, give me credit unions any day - and continue toward Dublin as I had a gig and a meeting before it to discuss strategy for launching "The Turkey Song?" with Bob Martin the co-writer. Restaurant closed down a few days previously said a notice in the window and dealing with banks became a necessity, and banks I mean, as the first told me that without an account I'd have to go to RTE's bank in Dublin. I told him that, while I knew they were losing money, I was sure they were good for 100euro. E.C. regulations. I voted no.

To get to Dublin, I needed more petrol than I had AND more cigarettes so I tried putting my case to the cashier at the college bank, who was less impressed with rules from Belgium and was soon on my way.Finally, at 3.00am, I got to my brother's house in Dublin - I have a key - and fell onto his couch and went out like a light.

Friday. A busy day. I listened to a demo turkey, Bob had made, for two hours on repeat, while getting breakfast, making phone calls and planning how to best use the day. Wound up with twenty demos on printed discs and a very nice cover, done by my son, Emmett, while I enjoyed minding his two small boys. Slept in my other home with my beloved - not Samantha Mumba's mum, as the gossip in Cobh, Co. Cork, would have it.

Saturday. Meetings all day from ten till five. All very interesting. Two were personal and the purpose was to continue my quest to find out what is wrong with me. I hear again that I'm too focussed on my quest for world domination and give too much information when a little is plenty. (I had planned to write a few lines to welcome you to the site, so I suppose this is not without foundation.). The other meetings were with a wonderful PR person and she wanted more information than I could give so I suppose that's a balance, and with Neil McBride who gave me the demo of ,"Words Fail Me" and finally dinner out with the "woman sometimes known as Samantha Mumba's Mum".

Sunday. I would have rested but THIS had to be done. This is probably as long an entry as you'll get here but it was quite a week so I thought I'd give anyone interested enough to read this far, as much information as they wanted and, anyway, I wont have to type it all out again for the book. Garda at checkpoint, "What's your address?"
"www.seanoneillsongs.com officer"
Next week will be worse but I probably won't have time to post the details. Who said, "Whew!!!"

If you got this far, maybe you'll come back now and again and tell all your, not too sensible, friends or add yourself to my mailing list.It's good to have the site - oh the power - and will probably be an outlet for the stuff I've been boring my friends and people on the busses with since I began my INCREDIBLE journey from somewhere else to Legendhood. (Bill Gates tells me that Legendhood is not a word - sorry Bill, it's my site and I think it should be - so there and YOU don't even accept "busker" so what do you know?).

I suppose this is a sort of David and Goliath site - an alternative music business site. I'd prefer it to be honest and free of Bulls*it and bad words - my grandkids may access it. Stimulating discussion will be welcome and I will endeavour to answer communications, whether I'm sleeping rough or hugely successful. I'll probably send you to sleep every now and then so watch those Internet bills.