Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
Pub
THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT “THE BUTLER”…
A little manoeuvre I invented where I approach an attractive girl, stumble, fall and headbutt her in the crotch… Read the entire article.
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 »
SHE DID WHAT?
It’s funny the thoughts that run through your head sometimes. We’re holed up in the men’s jacks of the International Bar. Austin’s is about to cough up his sordid little secret. The one that’s eating him up inside. But all I can think about is the smell of Chinese food… Read the rest of this entry »
ASHLING HOTEL
Someone once told me that the longer the pause a person leaves after telling you they need to ask a favour, the bigger the favour they’re likely to ask. A short pause signifies a small favour, such as “Can you pass me that newspaper?”
A longer pause signifies a bigger favour. “Can you lend me this month’s rent?” perhaps, or “I’m going to need that last parachute.” Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, August 2008THE FLOWING TIDE
I’ve got a very embarrassing problem and I don’t know where to turn.
For eleven consecutive days now, I’ve had the The Script’s cheesy smash hit The Man Who Can’t Be Moved playing in a constant loop in my head. If the situation continues, I may have to seek psychiatric assistance.
“The irony in all of this” I tell Declan and Tina, over a pint in the Flowing Tide. “Is that 95% of me despises the song. Hates it. Thinks it’s just the plot from some ludicrous chick flick set to music.” Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, November 2008FLANNERY’S
Why do I despise Flannery’s pub on Camden Street? A candid response to that question could fill a 12-page pull-out supplement. Suffice to say: Drunk off-duty Gardai. Drunk off-duty nurses. Drunk off-duty Gardai copulating with drunk off-duty nurses. Fake tan. Peroxide. Rugby jerseys. DJs with mid-Atlantic accents who say things like “It’s Saturday night in Flannery’s and the paarty is just getting staarted…” Read the rest of this entry »