Illustration: Alan Clarke

(...). “Sixteen, Ross!” I’m like, “Yeah, no, I know how old my own son is?” “And he’s spent the last two(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

(...) tarred Britain’s roads. Dostoevsky couldn’t have written it, Ross – he wouldn’t have bloody well dared(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

(...). Misses nothing.“Valentine’s cord?” I make the mistake of going.And she’s like, “I’m not a fool, Ross. You(...)

(...) grandingtons. A racehorse would be cheaper to run than a daughter.” “Ross, you need to talk to her.” “I(...)

Sorcha goes, “Would you two not go out somewhere?” meaning me and Honor. “Ross, why don’t you take(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

A lot of things have been said – and possibly written, for all I know – about the influence of television on the minds of, like, impressionable chi(...)

(...) chance you might let me in?” and he steps past me into the hallway. I’m like, “Er, yeah, no, I’m Ross(...)

‘Sorcha looks at me, her mouth gaping like a goldfish. I think she’s expecting me to say something in her defence.’ Illustration: Alan Clarke

(...) to her are: “Now don’t you worry about a thing, Sorcha. I’ve already instructed Ross’s godfather here(...)

Ronan is sitting in the middle of the living room, holding court, with all his friends – Nudger, Gull and the famous Buckets of Blood – gathered ar(...)

(...) birds genuinely love. Sorcha goes, “This is just an observation, Ross, but a lot of the girls you work(...)