(...) rugby idiots and a complete tool.”Out of the side of her mouth, Sorcha goes, “Ross, go and bring the cor(...)

(...), “Ross, what’s wrong?”“Okay,” I go, “I was remembering the day we stood outside your gaff and watched(...)

(...) went, “and how to conduct yourselves generally. If there were more Ross O’Carroll-Kellys in this world(...)

(...) took the action we did, Ross, because good people – I call them People Like Us – are being forced out(...)

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.

(...) and shoulders. “Ross, you won’t believe what she’s done now.” I was watching this TV programme about(...)

Illustration: Alan Clarke

(...) version – and she goes, “Ross O’Carroll-Kelly? Mr McGahy will see you now.”Into the office I trot. He(...)

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.”

Ross Hunt in all the local pubs.”“That’s horsh,” I go. “I’d consider that a slur on my reputation(...)

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.

(...), “It’s Ross O’Carroll-Kelly.” “Okay, come with me,” he goes, and I follow him along a corridor, then(...)

(...) road – the traffic’s always bad on the N11.’ I love my son, but God forgive me, he’s no Ross O(...)