evening herald

Probably the smallest pub in Dublin

“Arjen Robben,” I announce, out of the blue. “What about him?” “If I had an identical bald twin, I think that’s who it would be.” Aidan doesn’t give a shit. Read the rest of this article here.

The Big Romance

Sharon is a lovely girl. If she has one flaw though, it’s her woeful taste in who she goes out with. Her last boyfriend, the only time we met, segued directly from ‘How’s it goin’?’ into a story about someone’s house he’d broken into the other night.

Now I’m not knocking the guy’s profession. Everyone has to make a living. He just didn’t strike me as having an aptitude for that particular line of work. I mean, we hadn’t even been introduced yet. I could have been anyone. Read the rest of this entry »

Of course, I don’t believe a word of it…

Back in the mid-90s I hitched a lift to Galway with a young businessman who drove a shiny black Mercedes. His job, he told me, involved rummaging around the attics and outhouses of rural Ireland and retrieving whatever rubbish he could find: old bicycles, obsolete household utensils, even discarded road signs.

Why, I asked him? He told me about a craze for Irish-themed bars that was sweeping Britain and continental Europe. Bar owners abroad were paying ridiculous prices for the kind of crap generally found gathering dust in our grandparents’ garages. Foot-pedal sewing machines were being used as tables in Bradford; High Nellies were hanging from tavern walls in Bratislava. Read the rest of this article here.

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 or so, he has been engaged in a freewheeling mobile phone conversation. I’m not quite sure with who.

“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.

They call him Pothole

He’s the son of a well known Dublin businessman and he fancies himself something of a man about town. Read the rest of this article here.

Listen up, Professor Oppenheimer…

Our deceased forefathers have had enough to contend with lately. We will not have Livin’ La Vida Loca in Croke Park! Read the rest of this article here.

Published: Evening Herald, March 2007

The Celt

The New York Times this week reported that the Irish and English peoples may actually comprise – whisper it – one ethnic group. Professor Stephen Oppenheimer of the University of Oxford believes that the countries’ Celtic and Anglo-Saxon identities are a myth, and that the inhabitants of both islands are descended from Spanish hunters, who settled here 16,000 years ago.

Oh yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Professor Flop-enheimer. Our deceased forefathers have had enough to contend with lately.* We will not have Livin’ La Vida Loca in Croke Park! Read the rest of this entry »

Gerry Ryan: His Part in My Downfall

It is a laudable Irish custom not to speak ill of the recently deceased, and one which I sincerely hope I’m not in breach of here. Read the rest of this entry »

Election Latest: Vote Yes for Cute Kittens

Aidan is buzzing. He’s like a kid in a toyshop. I, on the other hand, am just about keeping my excitement under wraps. We’re sitting in the first and, to my knowledge, only Dublin bar to offer the “unique” pull your own pint experience. Aidan thinks it’s amazing. Pulling our own pints. God above. What next?

I’m not quite so enthusiastic. I think its a gimmick. They’re making me do something that’s normally done for me by someone else? Yippee, when we’re finished here, can I clean the toilets? Read the rest of this article here.

The Aristocrats!