I was reminded on Saturday night of a post I wrote, in another place, about what the collective noun is for waiters. It was sparked by a conversation with a guest who had yet to …

Whilst sauntering through town on Monday on my way to the dark place, work that is, I happened to find myself walking towards some of those shiny people who hand out handbills for shiny nightclubs. …

We got to talking about designer drugs the other day.

I wouldn’t be too hot on the subject myself; to me, mephedrone sounds like a particularly humourless Transformer. Besides, I’m not one for designer anything; all …

Oh, woe is me. I’ve just spent the last two and a half days in bed with Mild Flu. Even woe-er is me, Mild Flu is not the same of our Trinidadian pool boy … …

I now present the final page of my war novel ‘Ambush in Saigon’ (read its first page here). In 1986, The Irish Times branded the book “…historically inaccurate on a Sergeant Bilko scale.”

In a delicious twist on my ‘Final Page’ series (see previous instalments here), I now present the first page of my war novel ‘Ambush in Saigon’, with the final page to follow tomorrow.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all customers doubt you
But make no allowance for their doubting too,
If you can …

I phoned my sexiest friend the other day.
“Here, la,” says I, lounging on silk sheets in a pink push up bra and French knickers. “Should we hit the town later or what?”