The old man's back in business, but the Joy must have done his head in, 'cos now he's going to turn it into a five-star hotel, writes Ross O'Carroll Kelly.
He's sat on his usual stool in the Oval Office and it's like he's never been away from the place, telling everyone, at the top of his voice, that Declan Kidney's not the man for Ireland, that the speed limit on the N11 at Montrose is nothing more than a money-making racket and that you can't get good mascarpone in this town - except in maybe Sheridans on Pembroke Lane.
And they're all lapping him up, of course. The man's like a god in Shanahan's. Always was. I suppose if you'd pay a hundred yoyos for steak and chips, you'd fall for any old shite.
When he sees me, he goes, "Here he comes! You can keep your Luke Fitzgeralds - you are looking at potentially the greatest . . ." and I cut him off by telling him to shut his Von Trapp and shut it fast. Then I nod at the empty brandy glass in front of him, ask him how many of them he's had.
Not that I care. I don't even know why I'm here. He's getting five minutes of my time, then I'm hitting Bojangles to pull some Disco Divorcee.
"Let's not concern ourselves with the whys, the what-nots and where-art-thous," he goes. "We're celebrating!" We means basically him, Hennessy and The Monk, who suddenly arrives back from the bor with two lorge XOs and a Twinings honeybush and lemon infusion for himself.
You can see how he got his nickname now.
He asks after Ronan, which is a nice touch. I suppose he likes to keep tabs on the stors of tomorrow. I tell him that whenever Paul Reynolds comes on the TV now, he just stares at the screen and goes, "Ye doorty looken pox, Rennilds," over and over again, which The Monk thinks is hilarious.
He's actually a really cool goy, it has to be said, and I feel like asking him why someone like him would want to get himself mixed up with the likes of Knob Head there and his solicitor.
The old man suddenly clears off the table, roysh, and rolls out the plans for this new hotel they're proposing to build on, like the site of the Joy.
"Got a meeting with a couple of Department of Justice chappies in the morning," he tells me, like I actually care? "Want to practise my pitch. This is what I was doing, Ross, night and day, while I was languishing in Joshua Jebb's folly, full point, new par." Hennessy and The Monk pull their stools in closer while the old man gives them the full SP. "Welcome, friends - old and new - to The Mountjoy, Ireland's newest and most luxurious maximum security five-star hotel. Situated in one of the city's most venerable quarters, the Mountjoy captures the magical character of 'real' Dublin. Its unique architectural design, revelling in its former life as a prison, evokes an atmosphere of Victorian ease and relaxed grandeur. Windows open to reveal streetscapes of charming red-bricked terraces, not to mention . . ." "Methadone clinics," I suddenly go, "solicitors' practices specialising in personal injuries and chip shops that'll deep fry literally anything once it doesn't move." The Monk gives me a look, roysh, which I take to mean shut the fock up and that's exactly what I do.
"The North Circular Road has been described as Dublin's very own Notting Hill," the old man carries on, at the top of his voice. "While retaining its traditional character, it is also the hub of Ireland's exciting multicultural revolution.
"Step through our famous revolving doors and discover the most spacious and luxurious accommodations in Dublin, to say nothing of our comprehensive and advanced conferencing and banqueting facilities.
"The rooms, all stunningly appointed, are situated in four wings, which have been retained from the original prison structure. A Wing contains the Presidential, Premium and Executive Suites, B Wing features our excellent Deluxe Rooms and C Wing our high quality Superior Rooms.
"D Wing offers 'thrill-seekers' the opportunity to experience Mountjoy as its previous denizens experienced it. Our €200-a-night Quality Cells sleep up to five people in a space no bigger than the average family bathroom. The absence of in-cell sanitation means guests can experience 'slopping-out' - doing their business in a pot or milk carton, then disposing of it when the door is opened the following morning.
"Excelling in quality service and the art of hospitality will be the cornerstone of our success. Guests will enjoy fine dining in any of our bars or restaurants, including The Rasherhouse breakfast lounge - built on the site of the former women's prison - and our lobby cafe, A Hungry Feeling.
"The Works, our modern contemporary restaurant, will offer the finest in cooking and also a number of traditional prison staples, which will be given the gourmet treatment - venison sausages with beans and chips, as well as a special dessert of porridge, with demerara taking the place of broken glass.
"The Mountjoy is more than just a hotel. It is also Ireland's premier conference and leisure destination, offering superb facilities, including the 5,000-capacity Kevin Barry Conference Centre, not to mention the Brendan Behan Luxury Spa.
"And if you're in Ireland to golf, The Mountjoy offers a comprehensive helicopter service. Our chopper - the Seamus Twomey - will have you on any golf course in the Dublin area within fifteen minutes.
"So retreat from the outside world to a place that combines the luxury of contemporary comfort with the old-style warmth of Dublin hospitality.
"The Mountjoy - where it's a pleasure to do time."
He stops, roysh, and it's amazing because I'm about to tell him that they're going to laugh in his actual face, but all of a sudden there's this, like, round of applause, not just from Hennessy and The Monk either, but from everyone in the actual bor.
And he's loving it, of course - loving the moment.
I suppose it's their way of saying, Charles O'Carroll-Kelly, welcome back.
Some goy called Colm's there, "Hav u seen d wannabe abercrombie n fitch on nassau st. It's a disgrace, making southside clobber affordable to the general masses." Apple Crumble and Kitsch? Yeah, the picket's in-hand, Dude.
Mike in D4 Squared goes, "Ross d most annoyin question in d world has 2b dat one dat irish shop assistants n clothes shops ask usualy b4 uv lookd @ a ting, 'Are u alrite there 4 sizes?' Any advic on a witty ripost from d master?" I agree with you on the question - hate it. What I usually do is just quote them a number, like 32 or 16. Then they say, "In what?" Then you say, "That's what I'm here to decide. Now, beat it." Always works for me.
Readers in need of advice can text Ross at 087-9773781