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He Ain't Heavy; He's A Total Bollocks
Written February 2007 I met one of my big brothers on the side of the road yesterday. The side of the road is a great place to meet male Irish members of your family; generally, three on a Sunday...
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The Logic Of Love
Written March 2009 We got to yapping about proposals yesterday, my friends and I. Proposals of marriage. It is a subject dear to my spleen, because I have never been proposed to, or proposed at, or...
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Paddy's Feeling For Thirst
Written January 2007 There was that terrific urban myth that the Inuit peoples had a gloriously high number of words for ‘snow’. It's been debunked over and over, which is a great pity, because...
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The Hunger
Written February 2009 It's been said more than once that where the ‘hard men’ of working-class Ireland were once wiry like a coat hanger you'd root down the toilet to vanquish a blockage, they are...
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Aromatic Memoratic
Written March 2009 I was walking past the local the other day - and when I say, ‘the local’, please note that it's not actually my local, seeing as I live in Cork now, and also can't afford to drink...
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Parade Post-Mortem
Written March 2009 As the song I'd never heard before the Sopranos bled itself dry goes, I'm ‘just a small-town girl’. Or a deadened-little-village girl. Or maybe even a...
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How To Have A Baby
Written May 2006 I read today in The Sunday Times that midwives reckon women in labour get too much pain relief. I reckon that the midwives in question are sadistic, childless wagons. I'll tell...
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Innovation and The Council Estate
Written April 2009 No, no, no. The title of this post is NOT a mistake. I'm sure we could inject a little original thought into the 9th circle if we only . . . well, got the fuck out of it. Balls...
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Country "Music"
Written April 2009 Don't mind old age, nearby incinerators, or over-exposure to cattle doused in growth hormones: self-preservation from the soundtrack to living in the arse end of Ireland is what...
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Voodoo Lady
Written January 2007 I was over at me mammy's last night, for the annual Twelve Candles festivities. The Twelve Candles is an odd tradition, where we light twelve small, slim . . . well, candles,...
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You Like It Rough, Right?
Written February 2009 The most heated argument I ever had in a taxi was not on the arse of a disappointing Valentine's Day, or with a drunken friend howling hyperbole, or with an overcharging tit...
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A New Cork Minute
Written February 2009 I had to phone the electrician yesterday to report a problem with some new lighting he'd rigged. ‘I'll check that out for you,’ he promised. ‘I'll be there in a minute.’...
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Three Irishmen Walk Into A Job . . .
Written February 2009 There was a tradesman supposed to turn up to give one of my colleagues a hand yesterday, but by three in the afternoon there was still less sign of him than there is of...
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There's No Place Like Home. Apart From The Thirteen Identical Dormers...
Written March 2009 I don't know if naming your house something equally personal and ludicrous is an Irish hobby, or if it's one practised in many cultures; certainly there seems to be some sort of...
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Irish-English Dictionary
Written March 2009 Cute means smart, and smart means irreverent, along with saucy, which does not mean sexy, nor does foxy, which means ginger. Desperate does not mean desperate, but rather...
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A Gentleman's Promise
Written August 2009 As it’s Builders’ Holidays in Ireland at the moment (a nationally-recognised breather for those in the construction industry; that should give you some clue as to how ingrained in...
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I'm Comin' Home But I Ain't Comin' Home For You
Written November 2011 The thing is, when you change location in the middle of a recession, people automatically believe it’s for economic reasons. That starvation, or disgruntled creditors, or...
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Tommy Gun
If you’re making a go of a career in the creative arts, common sense would suggest that you’ve got to be pretty sure of yourself. Feedback is important, obviously, because we all like to be told we’re...
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Witness To Witless
Written November 2011 I’m much better on page than in person. I hate phone calls. I hate meetings. I love emails, tweets and texts. I don’t love letters, because writing anything by hand makes...
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Scribble Your Name Across My Heart: A Love Story
First published on Where's Grandad, June 2012 There was a boy, once. I was six and so was he. We were in First Class together, back in the days when First Class meant making your Holy Communion. With...
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