Who or what is the 'gingerlady'?

[dawsonn]

If the ginger lady is a bottle of whiskey the song takes quite a mental twist. As shane also sings he can hear it talking in his head. Perhaps the ginger lady is Anne Robinson.

[RICHB]

If the ginger lady is a bottle of whiskey the song takes quite a mental twist. As shane also sings he can hear it talking in his head. Perhaps the ginger lady is Anne Robinson.

I think he says I hear YOU talking in my head. I picture the scene as him tourtured in his sleep with a glass of scotch next to him dreaming about the above mentioned person. Could be wrong like

[Heather]

If the ginger lady is a bottle of whiskey the song takes quite a mental twist. As shane also sings he can hear it talking in his head. Perhaps the ginger lady is Anne Robinson.

I think he says I hear YOU talking in my head. I picture the scene as him tourtured in his sleep with a glass of scotch next to him dreaming about the above mentioned person. Could be wrong like

Ha ha, yes.

"Shane MacGowan, you are the weakest link. Goodbye."

[Eckhard]

So that part of the song is not about Gerri Halliwell?

[Irish Rover]

Listening to the song again last night, and this line, as it always does, reminded me particularly of the day of my wedding.

I spent the night before the wedding with my wife-to-be’s best friend in her flat in Clapham (this is not as dodgy as it sounds, honest). Also there was my best man, Eddie, a hard-drinking Brummie Northern Soul freak. His duty was supposed to be to stop me getting too drunk. He failed in this, of course. Partly because his method of preventing me from drinking was to attempt to drink everything in the flat before I did. So it all got a bit competitive. By the early hours we had drunk the flat dry and so went to sleep. The “ginger lady” by the bed was empty.

In the morning, hungover to hell and trying desperately to sober myself up, I went to the kitchen, found a carton of apple juice, poured myself a glass and sat there to drink it. In walked Eddie, equally hungover. He took one look at the golden liquid in my glass, and drew his own conclusions as to what I was drinking. His bloodshot eyes opened wide. “You must be fooking joking,” he said. And he poured the contents of the glass down the sink.

What a great story firehazard.

[Mae]

Whiskey, you say? I'm so disappointed. I thought I was a ginger lady. My husband recently turned me on to the Pogues, and this is one of our favorite songs. I never interpreted it as sad, maybe because I relate it to my marriage, which is still strong and happy after 10 years. To me, it sounds like an anniversary song, the serenade of a man to the woman he still cherishes. And I'm a redhead, so when he sings about the ginger lady by the bed, I picture my husband waking up to see me quietly watching him sleep.

Damn my vanity!

[firehazard]

Hold on to that picture, Mae.

As Mr Chevron has said, there are many possible allusions. So your image is equally valid.

[robertc]

As mentioned in Rainy Night in Soho.

[Noel Kenny]

According to Shane, it's a bottle of whiskey

[Simon Maguire]

Geri Halliwell?

[Low D]

The Ginger Lady could also be a rust coloured 1978 Ford Capri with the writer asleep on the ground beside it under the stars.

We have a winner. Whatever is meant by/alluded to with that line, i suspect this is now what i shall always think of. Except before i finished the sentence i'd imagined the car crashed through into the bedroom, so that's actually the image planted in my head now.

[Darla]

As Shane himself sings towards the end of the song: "We may never find out what it means" and maybe that's for the best. I like the idea of each of having our own personal meaning. Of course it will be difficult not to think of the Ford Capri now.

[ali cat]

i always thought it was queen niamh (neeve) he was singing about

legendary/or real goddess / or queen of ireland in olden days

[barbinberkeley]

That's a really sweet song. I like how everybody has a different meaning for the ginger lady. I thought it was a cookie jar in the shape of a redheaded woman, sort of like a caucasian Aunt Jemima.

[nboldock]

I picture my husband waking up to see me quietly watching him sleep.

That's impossible, surely...