Dublin

Of all the juice bars in all the world…

“Barkeep. Hit me with a Blueberry Burst – and don’t spare the blueberry!” Read the rest of this article here.

Meltdown on the Property Market

It’s official. The Irish property market is on the brink of collapse. All that you have ever worked for is about be lost in the abyss of a new economic Dark Age, made more sinister and protracted by the twisted lights of perverted lending practices. The time to panic has come and gone. Your dream home is worthless now. Forget about it, it’s gone. If you can find someone to swap you a Lost Series One DVD box set for it, then grab that lifeline and grab it fast.

There may, however, be a silver lining in all of this. Look at it this way. You’ve tried the path of prudence. You’ve scrimped and saved and prostituted your talent to a faceless corporation. You’ve poured your heart and soul into an inanimate lump of concrete because that’s what society told you to do. And where did it get you? Sat on the kerb with a Lost DVD box set and nowhere to watch it.

What sensible person could therefore object if, for your next move, you let yourself be guided, not by the strait jacket of conventional wisdom, but by some whimsical impulse of your deranged imagination? I bet you’ve never given any serious consideration to any of these five exciting living scenarios. If not, why not? Read the rest of this entry »

THE MAN WHO WALKED INTO WALLS

It’s six o’clock on a Thursday evening and Hartigan’s – an old fashioned, family-run boozer on the doorstep of Stephen’s Green – is filling up with after-work drinkers. I’ve heard a few stories about this place. But this is my first time across its threshold.

With its rough-and-ready decor, bizarre zig-zag layout and curious blend of customers, Hartigan’s actually reminds me of nowhere so much (and I realise that this may be a pretty obscure reference for 99% of readers) as Julian’s of Midfield. Read the rest of this article here.

Published: Evening Herald, January 2010

Dakota

We call him Pothole. His dad is a property developer. The nickname derives from that fact that Pothole’s personality is so grating, his manner so repugnant, people will go to almost any length to avoid bumping into him. Read the rest of this entry »

RANDOMERS: AN APOLOGIA

By throwing-out time on a Friday night, the streets resemble a ripped seam or a Hieronymus Bosch painting come to life. The footpaths teem with swaying bodies and grimacing faces. Some are belligerent. Others are content. Others yet are lovelorn. Most are drunk. And some… Well, some of us are peckish since you ask. In the bars and clubs from whence we were ejected, dim lighting encouraged coyness and prevarication. Here however, in the unforgiving glare of the late night florescent chip shop, conversations tend to be blunt and to the point. Read the rest of this entry »

“YOU KNOW THE WAY LIFE ISN’T FAIR, RIGHT?”

My phone is ringing. It’s Aidan. I might have guessed. “You know the way life isn’t fair..?” he asks. As opening gambits go, this is one of his better efforts. (The last time he rang with bad news, he said “You were never too fond of that coffee table, were you?”)

Immediately, my mind races through all sorts of horrific possibilities. Aidan has run over my dog. Aidan has impregnated my sister. Aidan has murdered my pregnant sister and run over my dog while making his getaway… It’s almost a relief when he coughs up the truth. Read the rest of this article.

I’M A PEDESTRIAN

You know the way some people are motorists, and some are cyclists, and others are, I dunno, innocent bystanders? Well I’m a pedestrian. I don’t walk for the exercise or the love of it or any of that crap. I walk because, for me, it’s the optimal method of getting from A to B. Not just that, there are all those extra little perks: no monthly payments, tax, or insurance. There are no timetables, parking spaces or unbecoming head gear of any type. It’s free like the Luas, except that this train leaves when I say it leaves. And – because there are no strikes, signal failures or traffic jams – it’s only late if I’m late.

There’s just one problem: there are no Rules of the Footpath. Honestly, it’s like the Wild West out there. Read the rest of this entry »

Published: Evening Herald, December 2008

Hogan’s

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 »

WHAT PEACHES AND WHAT PENUMBRAS! WHOLE FAMILIES SHOPPING AT NIGHT!

Hit the DVD place afterwards tonight, more out of habit than with any particular plan of attack. I mooch around the box sets, aimless now that the Wire’s seemingly endless Bataan Death March is finally over. All have short, non-descriptive titles: House, Rome, Lost, The Shield. I have no idea what any of them are about or if they’re any good. Probably not. Probably not. Read the rest of this entry »

THIS IS NOT A JOKE SHOP. THIS IS AN ADULT FETISH SHOP. SERIOUS SHOPPERS ONLY.

“One particular film has three words in its title: none of which can be repeated in a family newspaper. Sufficed to say it boasts an all-male cast. And given the pride these gentlemen take in one particular aspect of their anatomy, the film could be described as, quite literally, an orgy of self-congratulation…” Read the rest of this article here.