South William Street

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.

“Got any… You know… New Year’s resolutions… There yourself?”

I’m staying off the cigarettes, I tell him.

He stares into space. Time passes. Empires rise and fall. Species evolve and become extinct. Then he speaks.

“But you don’t smoke,” he replies. Deadpan. 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 »

“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.

I CAN’T BELIEVE I WAS CHARGED €6.50 FOR THIS SHIT…

Had “breakfast” on South William Street this morning: two pieces of streaky bacon, two thin slices of bread and a dollop of Ballymaloe Relish. Reference the butter sachet for scale.

Miserable bastards. I swear to God, it’ll be worth the recession if some of these pricks go to the wall.

Miscellaneous Amusing Items I’ve Come Across #1

Was in Grogans for a sup earlier this afternoon and spotted this (it says “Ireland For The Irish) on the wall in the jacks. Now I don’t really mind that there’s some eejit going around Dublin with a marker in his pocket. But I hate to think of a foreign person going for a wee, seeing this and assuming that this is what all the Irish people in the bar are secretly thinking. So in a rare moment of inspiration… 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, September 2008

GROGAN’S

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 with I’m not sure 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 entry »

Published: Evening Herald, January 2010

SOUTH WILLIAM

It’s Saturday night in South William and my almost-long-lost school friend Gerry the Bonnet is offering crash course reminder of why we drifted apart in the first place.

Suffering mother, how had I forgotten? He’s the most boring man in Ireland. Christ, you could drive a bus through some of the gaps in those sentences.

“I told the girlfriend… Tracy…. Tracy is the girlfriend,” he drones.

I know. Read the rest of this entry »