The teenage Dirtbag years
So there I was, roysh, class legend, schools rugby legend, basically all-round legend, when someone decides you can’t, like, sit the Leaving Cert four times. Well that put a focking spanner in the works. But joining the goys at college wasn’t the mare I thought it would be, basically for, like, three major reasons: beer, women and more women. And for once I agree with Fionn about the, like, education possibilities. I mean, where else can you learn about Judge Judy, laminating fake IDs and, like, how to order a Ken and snog a girl at the same time? I may be beautiful, roysh, but I’m not stupid and this much I totally know: college focking rocks.
PS, I scored the bridesmaids
So there I was, roysh, twenty-three years of age, still, like, gorgeous and rich, living off my legend as a schools rugby player, scoring the birds, being the man, when all of a sudden, roysh, life becomes a total mare. I don’t have a Betty Blue what’s wrong, but I can’t eat, can’t sleep, I don’t even want to do the old beast with two backs, which means a major problem, and we’re talking big time here. Normally my head is so full of, like thoughts, but now I’m down to just one: Sorcha, I’m playing it Kool and the Gang, but this is basically scary. I mean, I’m Ross O’Carroll-Kelly, for fock’s sake, I don’t do love. With a new introduction by Paul Howard, Ross’s representative on, loike, earth.
Mama Mia !
En anglais – It was no country for young men. Or women … Unemployment, emigration and do-it-yourself hair colour kits were once again a fact of life. Taxes were on the up, the IMF were on the way and there was a cash for gold outlet in Foxrock Village … But the signs for recovery were good – for me, at least. I was the chief executive of one of the few businesses turning a profit in this town, a shredding company helping to dispose of the Celtic Tiger’s dirty little secrets. And I was getting plenty of love action – as the boy-toy of an attractive sixty-year-old woman who was totally rolling in it. I never imagined myself ending up as a gigolo. But, as the saying goes, where there’s a will, there’s a way-hey-hey! With presents galore, sex on demand and a hot meal on the table every night, life was storting to look up again. All I had to do to aovid focking it up was to keep my chinos buttoned. And, well, you can probably guess how that went.
The orange mocha-chip frapuccino years
En anglais – Part of a cult series of books, the eponymous hero of Paul Howard’s tale is a boorish, snobbish, chauvinistic individual with a distinctly below-average IQ. The story opens with this postmodern hero out on the streets awaiting the next unpleasant incident to come along and trip him up.
We need to talk about Ross
En anglais – Ross O’Carroll-Kelly is many things to many people. But ten years after he lifted the Leinster Schools Senior Cup, Ireland’s most beloved rogue remains one of its most misunderstood figures. His accomplishments on the rugby field – and in the bedroom – remain the stuff of legend, but the truth about him remains hidden by the accretion of myth. Now, for the first time, the lid is lifted on the enigma that is South Dublin’s most eligible married man. In more than a hundred interviews with his family and friends – those who’ve loved him, hated him and slept with him – the first ever composite portrait of the Celtic Tiger’s most famous cub emerges. From the mother who didn’t want him to the father who wanted him too much, from the friends who shared his misadventures to the women who shared his bed – or, failing that, a back alley or bus shelter – this searingly honest biography fills in all the blanks in the life of the self-styled Cock of Foxrock.
Mr S and the secrets of Andorra’s box
En Anglais – Ross O’Carroll-Kelly is broke and out of love. His wife has gone to America, taking his daughter with him; his mother has become a celebrity chef on daytime television, with a particular skill for handling phallic ingredients; and his father continues to languish in Mountjoy Jail. To cap it all, Immaculata, a Nigerian girl whom his wife, Sorcha, has been sponsoring by direct debit for fifteen years, has turned up on his doorstep. Things couldn’t get worse. But the long road back begins high in the Pyrenees, in the tax haven of Andorra, where Ross must spread the Gospel of rugby to the strange, primitive natives who have only ever heard of soccer, skiing and duty free shopping. There he meets Conchita, a beautiful, sultry psychoanalyst, who persuades him to look inwards and find out what it is that makes him tick. Sorry, thick.
En Anglais – Nice gaff, cool cor, plenty of dosh, a stake in Dublin’s trendiest nightclub and a face that made boyfriends jealous. To say nothing of a beautiful wife and kids … All that remained was for him to totally fock it up : And I mean, totally … But did he see it coming? Of course not – too busy using his killer lines on the Seoige sisters : And then it hit me, all at once, on a lonely night in the Ice Bar …