Making A Scene

I cannot remain silent any longer. The easy thing to do would be to accept the consensus. But that is not what I am about. So strap yourselves in because what I’m about to say may provoke a storm. Rihanna’s behaviour was inappropriate. Of course it’s not popular to say so these days. It’s practically

Winning Freak

“Phhsunnnnk…Plap!” The post has is squeezed through the letter-box and lands on the hall-floor. Today there’s just one envelope – white and marked “Private and Confidential”. There are no obvious signs of bad news. No harp on the front. The return address is not Garda Charge Processing Unit, Thurles. Maybe that white van parked on

Waist Management

The tux doesn’t lie. At some point in the past few months, the torso it was bought to cover has decided it wants to express itself more fully. After struggling with the button for a while, I decide to leave it open, as if trying to evoke the image of one of the Rat Pack

VIP Freely

The man in the high-vis jacket is resolute. He is not for turning. “Ye cannae get in here with that wrist-band. Ye need a Production or a Security pass. I cannae let ye in wi that.” “Ah go on will ya” “No way pal. If ye’ve no’ got the right wristband ye’re no’ gettin in”

Happy Returns

The driver has the radio on in the taxi. “And here’s Arwen Foley with AA Roadwatch…” “Thanks Áine. And to begin with, this morning, we’re getting reports of loose horses in the Jobstown area” Loose horses in Jobstown. No less than the sun setting on Galway Bay or the shine on an olive in the