It is my solemn duty to announce to you today that there will be no Sam Snort Christmas Party this year.
For the past 28 years, the Sam Snort Christmas Party has been the social highlight of the year, variously described as “the night of nights”, “the night of 1,000 stars” and “the end of the world as we know it”. But the Sam Snort Christmas Party is no more.
We live in a very different world now from the one which played host to that first Sam Snort Christmas Party nearly 30 years ago at the very height of puck rock. Looking through some of my sepia-tinted photographs of that occasion, I can just about make out through a dense cloud of smoke, the heavy-lidded features of such household names as Doctor Strangely Strange, Tir Na Nog, Fruup, Jimmy Slevin, Michael Collins, WB Yeats and Maud Gonne.
But then Sam Snort’s Christmas Party was always synonymous with glamour, with the meeting and mingling of great minds from the fields of the visual arts, rock ‘n’ roll, politics and advanced brain chemistry.
Some drink used to be taken too. And the odd drug. Very odd, indeed, on some occasions. Does toad-licking ring a festive bell, Chris de Burgh?
It was in Snort Towers one Christmas Eve that Enya hunkered down in a corner with Lemmy and decided that, no, all things considered, they wouldn’t ever be working together.
Which probably explains why you can’t buy a double live album entitled No Sleep ‘Til Amarantine. It was in front of the hearth in the great hall that a fella called Michael Flatley slipped, fell into the blazing logs and invented modern Irish dancing.
It was upon arriving at the great castle itself one snowy evening that an awe-struck Bono remarked, “So this is what it’s like to live where the houses have no numbers.”
He liked the line so much that he was about to jot it down. Smiling benignly, I offered him an immediate and better alternative. With his little eyes shining, he thanked me profusely – and the rest you know. Only too well.
Stripped Naked
Snort Towers, at Christmas, also played host to one of the most celebrated events in Irish rock mythology, the night that Christy Moore, Sinead, at least two Horslips, Dolores Keane and either Frank or Walter, ate a warm mushroom salad, stripped naked and climbed into the communal sauna to the strains of ‘Mise Eire’ over the state of the art PA.
Unfortunately, no-one was sober enough to remember what happened next – or, even, frankly, if this wild scene ever happened at all – which is why it has become such a celebrated event in Irish rock mythology.
Of course, the Sam Snort Christmas Party was as much an international as a national event. As word spread, Snort Towers quickly became the must-visit place for all the great global stars of the day – legendary names like Foghat, Budgie and even Hatfield And The North.
It was at the Sam Snort Christmas Party that Ozzy Osbourne approached Kate Bush from behind and inspired the vocal to ‘Wuthering Heights’. It was at one of our festive hoolies that Bob Dylan introduced The Beatles to dope (“Dope? The Beatles. The Beatles. Dope”) and Jimmy Crowley introduced Lou Reed to drisheen, whereupon he took his famous walk on the wild side, and never really came back.
Parties came and went, and with them stars of the magnitude of Sting, Madonna, Bob Marley, Emerson, Lake and Palmer and BP Fallon.
But always present and correct was my faithful old retainer, a little fellow with laughing eyes who liked to stealthily drop his calling card into the pockets of the superstars, even as he was carrying around a tray of mulled wine and tipping the old cap.
“Trad group for hire, kind sirs,” the card read. “Keen rates. Authenticity guaranteed but can also do the ‘world music’ thing. Contact Paddy.” And, do you know, he’s not in my employ anymore.
With that wealth of history and tradition behind the Sam Snort Christmas Party, I’m sure you are wondering why I have decided to call it a day. Can I first of all say that it has nothing to do with the ban on smoking since I rigorously enforce a law of my own making in Snort Towers. Everyone who attends our Christmas party is obliged, under the rules of the house, to smoke, or if they have given up, to start smoking again or, in the event that they have never smoked at all, to take up the habit for the first time.
The tabloid snappers are always skulking in the bushes and I find that a dense fog behind the windows is a robust deterrent.
Of course, for those who wish not to smoke on health grounds or because they simply find it a disgusting habit, we have a special enlarged section reserved for them – it’s called ‘outside.’
Nor was the introduction of 24-hour boozing across the water likely to impact negatively on our festivities, given that the vast majority of my guests have always found a way to booze, not just for 24hours, but for whole decades at a time.
Indeed, Keef regularly left our Xmas bash only to meet himself arriving for the next year’s one. Or maybe that was Ronnie.
Shock Announcement
So, no, none of these health and social issues are behind my shock announcement. Rather, it is because I am acutely aware – as we all should be – that Ireland has developed into a multi-cultural society, in which it is simply no longer right or proper to elevate one cultural and religious festival above another.
Put simply, I consider the festival of Christmas to be an affront to our new Islamic brothers and sisters, and that simply will not do. My position on this is quite clear: I will not be party to any event which is seen to discriminate against another religion, when the only right and honourable and sane course of action is to discriminate against all religions.
So, instead, I am delighted to announce that this year will see the first, inaugural Sam Snort Party Party which will, only coincidentally, begin at midnight on December 24 and go on until late. As in, the following spring. Invitations are in the post, with the annual encouragement to “bring bottles, birds, pills, powders, firearms and whips.” All back to Sam’s crib! And have a happy, er, holiday.
Your ever lovin’ Samuel J. Snort Esq