Illustration: Alan Clarke

Honor asks what the fock we’re doing here. There’s literally no Christmas cheer in the girl, even though it’s only however many days to go until th(...)

My wife’s latest scheme to suck all of the joy out of Christmas is called degifting? It’s basically a no-present amnesty you agree with your neares(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

The old dear rings in a terrible state. I go, “Alright, Cruella de Vodka? What’s up?”She’s there, “Ross, something terrible has happened!” and her voi(...)

The old man arrives, full of the literally joys. He goes, “Is your good lady wife home?” at the top of his voice. “Or should I say the future N(...)

Thirty seconds later, she appears at the top of the escalator, looking like Brad and Angelina’s nanny, the kids following three or four steps behind her.

Me and Sorcha are wandering around Dundrum with our daughter’s Santa list, which looks like the kind of document that negotiators get handed in hos(...)

The most exciting day of the school year for a lot of South Dublin mums and dads is the day of the parent-teacher meeting. We arrive at the school in (...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

I’ve missed my son since he went to Manchester. The smell of rolled tobacco. The way his eyes light up every time a cash-in-transit van drives by. Eve(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

I’m so hungry, I’d eat my Dubes buttered. The old dear looks at me over the top of her menu and goes, “Whatever you want, Ross, it’s my treat.”And I’m(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

Sorcha, it has to be said, was pretty stung by the recent intervention that was staged by her old pair and her friends on the whole subject of our dau(...)

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If you stuck a potbellied pig in a pantsuit and gave it a bag of make-up to play with, it would end up bearing an uncanny resemblance to the woman who(...)