Written by
Paul Howard
Illustrated by
Alan Clarke
Ross O'Carroll-Kelly: The Orange Mocha-Chip Frappuccino Years

'So there I was, roysh, enjoying college life, college birds and, like, a major amount of socialising.' Can Ross survive outside Castlerock College?

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208 pages
196x130 mm

Also available as an EPUB

Category Fiction, Humour
Series Ross O'Carroll Kelly

So there I was, roysh, enjoying college life, college birds and, like, a major amount of socialising. Then, roysh, the old pair decide to mess everything up for me. And we're talking totally here.

Don't ask me what they were thinking. I hadn't, like, changed or treated them any differently, but the next thing I know, roysh, I'm out on the streets. Another focking day in paradise for me!

If it hadn't been for Oisinn's apartment in Killiney, the old man paying for my Golf GTI, JP's old man's job offer and all the goys wanting to buy me drink, it would have been, like, a complete mare. Totally. But naturally, roysh, you can never be sure what life plans to do to you next. At least, it came as a complete focking surprise to me …

The life and times of Ross O'Carroll-Kelly, the cult hero with a weekly column in The Sunday Tribune.

Paul Howard helps Ross O'Carroll-Kelly to write his autobiographical series, now consisting of four titles, largely because Ross can't really write, roysh? Find out more at

He is also the author of the bestselling prison expose, The Joy, and co-author of Celtic Warrior, the autobiography of boxer Steve Collins.

A former Sports Journalist of the Year, Paul covered the World Cup in Japan and Korea in 2002, and the rugby World Cup in Australia in 2003, for the newspaper. His account of the Irish soccer squad, The Gaffers, Mick McCarthy, Roy Keane and the Team they Built, was a bestseller in autumn 2002.

Just about the most hilarious character to grace the pages of an Irish novel for as many years as I can remember. It's a long time since I laufghed so heartily at a book as at this Holden-Caulfield-meets-Sebastian-Dangerfield hybrid ... If I'm ageist I'll say it will primarily appeal to the twenty-something brigade, but I'm fifty and I adored it.

Books Ireland

It provides fascinating insights into the mind of O'Carroll-Kelly, a quintessential, Heino-drinking, Dublin 4 rugby jock.

The Irish Times

A book that is more than just a parody of dreadful rugby types and their girlfriends. It's as strong as a knowing commentary on the peculiar direction the middle classes in this country have taken since the mid-90s. In this way, Howard (via Ross) has a zeitgeisty insight into first world problems that have long been troubling this unashamedly middle class reviewer, viz property prices, cappuccino culture, and the Americanisation of the young Irish person. Each one is picked off with the precision of a trained sniper. ... One of the funniest books (and I do not say this lightly) that has crossed my path in a long, long time.

The Sunday Tribune

This is quite simply one of the most hilarious books you're ever likely to read.


represents a regrettable art of Irish culture (the Heino drinking, D4, rugby-playing sect) in all its idiotic, materialistic ignominy. A focking laugh, roysh.

Evening Herald
Your comment or review

Extract available: read some of this book now ...

  • During the summer, roysh, I was stringing along these two birds, we're talking Becky and Iseult, and in the heat of the moment, roysh, I told both of them that I'd fallen in love with them, basically just trying to get my bit out of them. This is not actually unusual for me, roysh. I've been known to play five or six girls together at the same time, hence the Little Richard nickname that's mentioned on the back of one of the cubicle doors in the men's in Annabel's.

    What made this one different, roysh, was the fact that Iseult and Becky were actually in the same class at school, we're talking sixth-year Whores on the Shore here, and keeping them apart was basically a tightrope act, which I have to say I managed to perform pretty well, until the day they both asked me to the same debs.

    The goys were giving me total slaggings, roysh, telling me I'm getting far too old for that whole lark, and I did say that last year's Mount Anything debs would be my last -- the chicken à la crème was the best-looking bird there -- but I love, like, defying the odds, roysh, and the challenge of bringing two birds to the one debs, without them actually knowing about each other, was enough to persuade me out of retirement for one night only. Fionn turns around to me in the gaff one night and he goes, 'Never been done before, Ross.' I'm like, 'Odds?' He goes, 'We're talking 25 to 1.' I'm like, 'I'm up for the challenge.'

    Day arrives, roysh, and I grab a hundred bills from the Drinklink, hit Blackrock, grab two orchids and two boxes of Leonidas chocolates, the medium-sized box, no point in going mental as I've been there and back with both of them. I get back to the gaff, roysh, and I phone up Iseult first and she's like, 'Of all the people I could be going with tonight, I'm SO glad it's you, Ross. You have been SO good for me, especially when I didn't get the points to do international commerce with German,' and eventually, roysh, after I've finished borfing, she asks me to call up to her gaff -- this huge pad in Glenageary -- at, like, six o'clock because her parents are having, like, a cocktail porty beforehand, which is music to my ears because Becky doesn't want me to pick her up until eight, so I've got time to play with.

    Iseult's old pair are just like Iseult, saps basically, giving it the whole, 'So, this is the young man Iseult has spent the entire summer talking about,' bit, roysh, and Iseult's like, 'OH! MY! GOD! Daddy, you are SO embarrassing me,' and I'm there going, you can focking cut that out right now, because they've basically got me down as, like, future son-in-law material here. It's all, like, bullshit talk for about half an hour, roysh, me knocking back Diet Cokes and losing the will to live.

    Eventually, we head off and I drop Iseult off at the Shelbourne, roysh, then tell her I've forgotten to bring this amazing present I bought her (she's like, 'Oh, you are SO sweet') and I hop back in the cor and peg it out to Becky's gaff in Stillorgan. Oh my God, roysh, Becky's old pair have invited half the focking world around for drinks, we're talking aunts, uncles, neighbours, you name it. Her old man is a total dickhead, leading me around the sitting room, roysh, with his arm around my shoulder, introducing me to all his, I don't know, business associates I suppose, going, 'This is Ross, Rebecca's boyfriend,' which is news to me, though I say nothing. He goes, 'Captained Castlerock the year they won the Cup, 1999 I think I'm right in saying.'

    Her old dear, who was actually a bit of a yummy-mummy, spent the next, like, half an hour practically force-feeding me focking vol-au-vents before we finally escaped with a few words of treat-my-daughter-like-a-princess advice from the penis in the Pringle sweater. I'm like, 'Your parents are really cool,' as we get in the cor. She goes, 'I'm so glad you got on well with them.'

    The trickiest part of the evening, roysh, was the meal, the big dilemma being who do I sit with. Basically what I did, roysh, was I asked Iseult would she mind if I sat at another table, just for, like, the meal and shit. She goes, 'Oh my God, you don't want to be seen with me? Is it, like, the dress?' I'm like, 'No, no, I just want to have a chat with Hayser' -- this goy who was at school with me -- 'he's pretty upset about not making the UCD team this season.' She looks at me and then at Hayser, roysh, then she goes, 'Oh my God, you are so a good friend,' and she gives me this, like, peck on the cheek, roysh, and I just fock off.

    So there I am, roysh, sat at a table across the far side of the room, with Hayser on one side of me and Becky on the other, and I nearly choke on a garlic and cheese potato when Becky turns around to me at one stage and goes, 'OH! MY! GOD! Iseult Mooney must have come on her own. What a sad bitch.' I'm basically there coughing and spluttering my guts up. I'm like, 'Who's Iseult Mooney?' still trying to play it cool as a fish's fart. She goes, 'Oh, believe me, she is not someone you'd want to know.' I'm like, 'Well, I'm glad I'm here with you and not her,' and she looks at me and goes, 'Oh my God, this is turning out to be so one of the best nights of my life.'

    It was the perfect crime, roysh. After the meal, it was, like, twenty minutes with one, then the other, back and forth all night, the two birds thinking I was their date for the night, and I was sitting there, roysh, storting to let my guard down, pretty confident at that stage that I was even going to end up scoring the two of them at the end of the night, but then it just, like, totally came apart, and we're talking TOTALLY here.

    I completely forgot, roysh, but this bird, Aoibheann, let's just say a very recent conquest who I might also have said the dreaded L-word to, she was there as well, roysh, and she ends up getting completely off her face, having a row with me over what a bastard I am to women and then focking a vodka and Red Bull over me. Of course, Iseult and Becky arrive over at exactly the same time and they both want to know -- 'OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!' -- what's going on. And that's when they find out about, well, each other. Becky goes to Aoibheann, 'That's, like, my boyfriend,' and Iseult turns around to Becky and she's like, 'Hello? You're, like, delusional, girl.'

    Aoibheann sort of, like, disappears, roysh, and the two birds are left there, like, screaming at each other. I'm not sure if they've, like, copped on what's been going on here tonight, but it's obvious they've been dying to get stuck into each other for a while. Becky tells Iseult that Iseult has so had it in for her ever since she took her place on the hockey team, and Iseult tells Becky she's a knob, always was and always will be. She goes, 'You were always so up Miss Pendleton's orse.' Becky tells Iseult she has an attitude problem -- a TOTAL attitude problem, she goes -- and, flattering as it is, roysh, to have two birds fighting over me, I decide then to get the fock out of there when no one is looking. I was just like, 'Goodnight, Vienna.'

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Other books by this author
  • Hostage
  • The Joy
  • Ross O'Carroll-Kelly, The Miseducation Years
  • Ross O'Carroll-Kelly: The Teenage Dirtbag Years

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