“Okay, can you not do that in front of my son?” I’m like, “What are you talking about?” wondering did I accidentally drop an F-bomb – as has been known to happen from time to time! “Talking about Jesus,” she goes. “My son is an agnostic.” I’m like, “Okay, what are they allergic to?”

Sorcha’s invited her friend Lauren and her kid, little Ross jnr around, to watch the Late(...)

You’re becoming hysterical, Sorcha – unnecessarily so, because it’s all in hand. As my chief whip, as well as long-suffering golf partner, I’ve told Hennessy to address the gender quota issue

(...) closed, Ross. It’s now an issue for the courts. Is that why you’ve come here?” “No,” Sorcha goes, then(...)

The doctor is like, “That’s what you call parenting?” And I go, “Do you have kids yourself?” “No.”“Then you’re in no position to judge. You’ll find out yourself one day. They’re a living nightmare.”

(...) actually end up jumping? Sorcha’s like, “Ross, we need to take Pang to the Beacon – right now!” and, from(...)

“I hope he sends you back to Blanchardstown in an ambulance.” Then he fires a plastic cup full of beer through the air and it explodes off the wire cage. “Calm down, Father!” Gorda O’Floinn goes. “It’s only a game!”

(...)’m there, “It’s actually Ross O’Carroll-Kelly?” Finglas isn’t what you’d call a rugby town. “Ross,” he(...)

Sorcha hasn’t touched her chicken paillards with pancetta and sage. She’s obviously got something on, like, her mind? I’m giving her 60 seconds, th(...)

I’m not a big believer in children smoking as a general rule, but in Pang’s case, it definitely helps steady the bubble in her mental spirit level.

(...).” Sorcha smiled at me and went, “Why don’t you tell her yourself, Ross?” I was like, “What?” “We(...)

(...) two up to?” He goes, “Business, Ross. It’s nothing for you to worry your head about. I thought your(...)

I’m there, “Er, I wonder should you be smoking, Pang?” She’s like, “Why shouldn’t I be smoking?” “I don’t know – you’re eight years old and it looks kind of weird.”

‘Okay,” Pang goes, “where the fock are we?” I should tell her that’s not how an eight-year-old exchange student should be speaking to her host family,(...)

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

Unless you’ve spent the last seven days in a diabetic coma, you’ll know that Thursday was one of, like, the most momentous days in the history of Iris(...)

I find Ronan in a slaughterhouse on Saint Morgaret’s Road, beating up the corcass of a cow, which is hanging from the ceiling by a chain. Apparently, (...)