Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
christchurch
Published: The Dubliner, July 2010Tonight we’re going to party like it’s Ballyhaunis, 1985.
The big day has arrived. I knock off at about 2pm and swing by the crèche. The staff have made a card with an enormous number one on the front. (That’s the numeral “1”. They haven’t just pissed on a piece of cardboard and handed it to me.) They really are wonderful here. All of the carers dote on Lola and she adores them right back.
Some day, I’m sure, I’ll arrive to collect her and she won’t want to come. She’ll tell me she’s staying put. But for now, at least, she greets with an affectionate poke in the eye.
The carer fills me in on what I’ve missed today. Lola is not my daughter, she’s my niece. And this is one of those times when that distinction is most pronounced. Only a parent could possibly give a shit how many times a day their child has crapped itself or eaten turnips. But I listen politely and after that we’re on our way. Read the rest of this entry »
Bloody tourists…
Look, I’m delighted they’re here. I’m delighted they’re clogging up the footpaths. I’m even cool with the leprechaun hats, if they absolutely have to. What really offends me though, as the years go by, is the way tourists still, to a man, refuse to ask me directions.
They’re here each summer, these nice American (and French and German and English) people, standing helplessly on the street corner, mouths and maps hanging wide open in the breeze. They’re lost. I’m on hand and willing to help. But who will they turn to? For reasons unclear, the answer would be anyone but me. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s the last ever outing for this column
“By the way, Butler’s paying for everything,” says Aidan, before we sit down. “Why the hell am I paying?” I ask. “I’ve given you enough material over the years,” he says. “You’re lucky I haven’t sued for commission!” I suppose, the man has a point. Read the rest of this article here.
The Bull & Castle
It’s the last outing for this column. Aidan and I are celebrating at the Bull & Castle in Christchurch. We’re joined by our friend, Johnny, briefly home from the States. “Butler pays for everything, by the way,” says Aidan, as we take our seats. “Why?” I ask. Aidan snorts. “I’ve given you enough fucking material,” he says. “You’re lucky I don’t sue ya for commission.”
He has a point. Read the rest of this entry »