Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
aidan
It’s the last ever outing for this column
“By the way, Butler’s paying for everything,” says Aidan, before we sit down. “Why the hell am I paying?” I ask. “I’ve given you enough material over the years,” he says. “You’re lucky I haven’t sued for commission!” I suppose, the man has a point. Read the rest of this article here.
The Bull & Castle
It’s the last outing for this column. Aidan and I are celebrating at the Bull & Castle in Christchurch. We’re joined by our friend, Johnny, briefly home from the States. “Butler pays for everything, by the way,” says Aidan, as we take our seats. “Why?” I ask. Aidan snorts. “I’ve given you enough fucking material,” he says. “You’re lucky I don’t sue ya for commission.”
He has a point. Read the rest of this entry »
“TO BE FAIR, LINDA WOULD BE MORE OF AN IRISH STEW…”
It’s closing time on Monday night and Aidan and I are sitting in front of at a pair of empty glasses. For the last five minutes, he has been engaged in a freewheeling mobile phone conversation.
“Ah, not a lot now” he’s saying. “Myself and Butler are finishin’ a pint in Grogans. Just scratching our balls to be honest. Probably head home after and see if herself is feeling frisky…”
Then person on the other end says something and Aidan makes a face.
“Sorry, who am I speaking to?” he inquires. Read the rest of this article here.
“BEFORE I BEGIN, I’D LIKE TO ADDRESS A FEW WORDS TO THE GARDA ROAD TRAFFIC BUREAU…”
Officers, lads… I know we’ve had our differences over the years. We’ve both said things that, in the light of day, we probably regret. But look what you’ve reduced me to. I’m using public transport. Dear God, hasn’t this madness gone far enough? Read the rest of this article here.
IF YOU SEE WHAT I’M GETTING AT
“They give me no fucking credit, no fucking credit at all…”
He’s on the sauce again.
“Bastardin’ pricks, the lot of them.”
Aidan’s not in the best of form tonight. His parents have just gifted his brother a site to build on.
Now Aidan’s wondering why he never got a site to build on.
Maybe, I venture, it’s because he’s not getting married, lives in Dublin and already has a house.
No, no, no, he tells me. I’ve got it all wrong. It’s a big conspiracy… Read the rest of this entry »
YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS…?
Sara has a rather low opinion of Irish men in general. But there’s one Irishman for whom she reserves particular scorn: One prototypical idiot she regards as even more clueless than the herd. “Tell me Eooo-wen”, she purrs in that lugubrious Teutonic drone of hers. “What are you getting your girlfriend for Christmas? Binliners, perhaps? Tampons?” Read the rest of this entry »
“HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED BULIMIA? I HEAR IT WORKS WONDERS…”
It’s Saturday night and Aidan is down in the dumps. I’m not sure what his problem is. But no doubt he’s going to fill me in. He’s not a man to bottle these things up, that’s for sure.
“Would you say I’m getting fat?” he asks, eventually.
I look him up and down.
“You are fat” I reply. “I’d say you were getting fatter.” Read the rest of this entry »
MONDAY NIGHT PINT
It’s closing time on Monday night and Declan and I are sitting in front of at a pair of empty glasses. For the last five minutes, he has been engaged in a freewheeling mobile phone conversation.
“Ah, not a lot now” he’s saying. “Myself and Butler are finishin’ a pint in Grogans. Just scratching our balls to be honest. Probably head home after and see if herself is feeling frisky…”
Then person on the other end says something and Declan makes a face.
“Sorry, who am I speaking to?” he inquires. Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, November 20, 2008PUB WITH NO NAME
Before I begin this week, I’d like to address a few words to the Garda Traffic Bureau: Officers, lads… I know we’ve had our differences down the years. We’ve both said things that, in the cold light of day, we probably regret. But look what you’ve reduced me to. I’m using public transport. Dear God, hasn’t this madness gone far enough? Read the rest of this entry »
RODY BOLANDS
My phone is ringing. It’s Aidan. I might have guessed. “You know the way life isn’t fair..?” he begins. As opening gambits go, this is one of his better efforts. (The last time he rang with bad news, he went with “You were never too fond of that coffee table, were you?”) Read the rest of this entry »