Dublin

“HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED BULIMIA? I HEAR IT WORKS WONDERS…”

“Do you think I’m getting fat?” he asks, eventually. I look him up and down. “You are fat,” I reply. “I think you’re getting fatter…” Read the rest of this article here.

NITELINK 69N: A CRITICAL ANALYSIS

The sights, sounds and smells of late night urban transportation are all powerfully evoked by Nitelink 69N (Westmoreland Street, 2.45am). The dialogue is crisp and authentic, with some riveting individual performances extracted from a cast of veritable unknowns. Read the rest of this entry »

Published: Mongrel, December 2006

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 »

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.

The Phantom Supermarket

Moving house today. Our new neighbourhood seems a bit dodge, but that plush new retail development next door looks alright. Read the rest of this entry »

“I’m not necessarily making the comparison, but don’t Page 3 models usually say the same thing…?”

Moving house today, I found an old magazine under my bed containing an interview I’d forgotten ever conducting. She was in costume when we did the interview… And yeah, I copped a peek. Read the rest of this article here.

“WILL YOU HAVE A DRINK THERE, KANYE?”


Our friend Sean is a recently qualified doctor. He’s a quiet, unassuming chap but, this afternoon, he’s copping an unusual amount of flack. The lads aren’t too impressed with the expensive watch he’s wearing.

“Flash bastard,” is Dec’s verdict.

“Ballyhaunis’s King of Bling,” reckons Brendan. Read the rest of this entry »

“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.

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 »

PUTTIN’ ON THE RITZ


‘Probably the Smallest Pub in Dublin’, boasts the Carlsberg sign outside The Dawson Lounge.

Dublin pubs are places where men can go to drown sorrows and nurse grievances. So it is only right that its smallest pub should this afternoon be the venue for two of the city’s pettiest citizens to air their shallowest grievances.

“Arjen Robben,” I announce, out of the blue.

“What about him?” asks Aidan.

“If I had an identical bald twin, I think that’s who it would be.”

Aidan doesn’t give a shit.

“No way is this the smallest pub in Dublin,” he says, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ve been in way smaller places. Way smaller! What a fucking con…” Read the rest of this article here.