So there I was, roysh, putting the 'in' in 'in crowd', hanging out, pick of the babes, bills from the old pair to fund the lifestyle I, like, totally deserve. But being a schools rugby legend has its downsides, roysh, like all the total knobs wanting to chill in your, like, reflected glory, and the bunny-boilers who decide they want to be with me and won't take, like, no for an answer. And we're talking totally here. Basically, it may look like a champagne bath with, like, Nell McAndrew, with, like, no clothes and everything, but I can tell you, roysh, those focking bubbles can burst. And when they do … OH MY GOD!
Ross O'Carroll-Kelly is all meat and no preservatives, roysh, at least, that's what it says in the can in, like, one particular south Dublin girls' school, which shall remain nameless, roysh, basically to protect the names of the guilty. You know who you are.
I cannot resist picking him up, yet, more than any other man, he sets my teeth on edge. Our rendezvous every Sunday morning is beset with mixed emotions, yet a week is too long apart. His warped charm leaves me simultaneously seething and smirking... Brace yourselves for the ride.
Devious and amusing... remarkably close to reality.
In Ross, Paul Howard has created a marvel. Every detail of the life of this buffoon has been gleaned from the terraces of rugby clubs in Dublin's southside, from coffee shops in the ‘burbs and of course the assembly halls of schools from Blackrock to Mount Anville... It's Bridget Jones meets Adrian Mole meets Dublin Four. A potent mix, superbly executed by Howard.