Amie with an ie is mid-story when I arrive. I’m standing at the bor, listening in. She’s talking about the time she went to Tesco to do the weekly gro(...)

Unless you’ve spent the last seven days of your life under the covers with the curtains drawn and the electricity switched off, you’ll know all about (...)

The old dear sees me standing on her front doorstep and she’s on the straight away defensive. She’s like, “What do you want?”Seriously, you wouldn’t w(...)

We’re chaperoning Honor on her first actual date. For South Dublin parents, it’s one of those landmork days in your daughter’s life, like her first visit to the orthodontist, or the first time she arrives home from studying in a friend’s house with the faint smell of spirits off her breath.

From the moment Sorcha walks through the front door, I know that something is wrong. I haven’t seen her face so drained of colour since Brown Thoma(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

Even after 40 years of friendship, the old man and his solicitor still greet each other with a hug – it’s a way of both expressing affection and check(...)

The seats have been put out – 300 of them, with a glossy brochure on each one. There’s, like, music in the room – we’re talking, like, Vivaldi? – and (...)

Honor turns to me then. “Your wife is menopausal,” she goes. “The woman needs to be medicated.”

Honor looks at Sorcha like she’s just been handed a Zayn Malik doll. “Okay,” she goes, “what the fock is this?”Sorcha’s there, “It’s an Easter bonnet,(...)

Now, I’m on the record as saying that I have a serious thing for Miriam. I’m standing there, grinning at her like a lovesick dope, to the point where I think nothing of it when someone clips something to the belt of my chinos and asks me to run a microphone wire up the back of my shirt.

‘The bloody nerve of these people,” the old man goes, pacing the floor of the RTÉ green room. “They can’t call themselves New Republic, because we’(...)

JP’s old man can’t take his eyes off me. I’m like, “What?”He’s there, “I just want to be sure you’re not a mirage.”I laugh, even though I’ve no idea w(...)

I’m like, “I haven’t come here to mock. I mean, I could say that all of that silicone you’ve had injected into your forehead over the years has made you look like a demented halibut. But I’m not going to.”

Abigail Markham is losing her house. It’s the old, old story. Could happen to any one of us. She and her husband, Don, borrowed €96 million from the b(...)