Gleesons of Booterstown Avenue. “This is a bloody well rugby pub!” Photograph: Cyril Byrne

I don’t think Hennessy was overstating it when he said this was ‘a clash of civilisations’

To talk Ronan out of mixed mortial orts, I’m going to have to speak his language

I’m there, “We could just leave her here. She wouldn’t know her way back to the Vico Road. Hopefully, they’ll just deport her.” Sorcha considers this for a surprising length of time, then goes, “No, let’s go and get her.”

Honor’s Chinese exchange has a conniption fit in the Villeroy & Boch section of Brown Thomas

Ability to fake sincerity in any situation is best thing about a south Dublin convent education

‘The birth of my children was the best non-rugby-related thing that ever happened to me. But my daughter moving to the other side (...)

There’s a photo of my old man with Hamilton, who is clearly thinking, ‘Who’s this knob?’

We run into the Mindfield area and over to where a humongous crowd is trying to squeeze itself into the tent . . .

“It’s not camping,” Sorcha tries to go. “It’s what they call glamping!” Honor whips out her phone. “I’m staying in Castle Durrow,”(...)

“Make it a good letter,” the old man goes. “One of your specials. Lots of forthwiths and hereafters and whatnots. That should wipe(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

'He’s actually more than that – although I probably will ask him for a couple of grand while I have him.'

... ‘Yeah, but a whole town that smells like Cavistons? Er, no thanks!’

. . . for something other than sleeping with her friends'

“I’d be very surprised if she looked well, Babes. I always thought the girl was bet-down. I hope that doesn’t come across as sexis(...)

‘Most of these conversations took place while I was in the cor, driving around like the proverbial blue-orsed fly’

Illustration: Alan Clarke

. . . one black, one Chinese and one a little bit Eastern Europeany’

‘She’s kacking it that someone’s going to ask her to account for all the moo that passed through her hands’

‘You can’t unspoil children, just like you can’t unspoil milk. It’s too late if it’s already bad’

‘I’m egging on Vincent Browne to get stuck in, but the old man could shout down an Airbus engine’

Who’d be a father? I sometimes ask myself that. Then I remember that it’s one of the few things that I’m genuinely amazing at

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