Launch of 5050 Phone A Friend with Steve Woodmore World's Fastest Talker

Talk For Ireland Challange

The nationwide awareness campaign entitled ‘Talk for Ireland’ challenges the Irish public to beat Steve Woodmore’s (The world’s fastest talker) current world record of 637 words per minute live on TV. The competition final is set to take place on the 10th of September, World Suicide Awareness Day. This nationwide event aims to raise awareness of suicide across Ireland and to tackle the issue of the current shortage of funding for awareness programmes. The challenge to the Irish public is simple, if anyone can recite all four verses of Patrick Kavanagh’s poem ‘On Raglan Road’ without mumbling or distorting any of the words then they will take Woodmore’s coveted 21 year old title as the world’s fastest talker. A confident Woodmore performed the 214 word poem in 25 seconds at a press launch with his nearest rival trailing in his wake in a time of 50 seconds. The competition itself will be broadcast across regional media with the final taking place on national TV. The closing date for applications for those interested in entering the competition is the 16th of July On Raglan Road On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay - O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May. On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay - When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.