Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year

Tripping Along The Ledge


eoin butler irish times

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

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Oh God… It’s 3.30am. I’ve just transcribed about 2,000 words – roughly two thirds of the interview I did earlier this evening. It’s due in the morning. Went to the kitchen for a glass of milk. Came back. The computer is frozen. My work is not saved. I take a photo to remember it by. Bye bye…

And I’m outtahere…

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Right, I’m off. We need some time apart. It’s not you, it’s me. Actually, I’ve been persuaded to do some real work for a change, so I’ll have to take a few days off from here. Needless to say, I’m motivated and relishing the challenge. But first, some tea and biscuits are in order…

Tripping Along the Ledge: Still Vertical After All These Year

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Tripping Along the Ledge is one today. Now personally, I don’t celebrate birthdays. I consider them kinda effeminate. But this my website’s birthday we’re talking about. And a one-year-old website is kinda like a child. And well, fuck it, I can’t think of anything else to write about today. (Shit, the anniversary isn’t even really until Sunday!)

So what the hell… Read the rest of this entry »

You did what?

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I whisper it again. “I think I just exposed myself to a little old lady”. She buries her face in her hands… Read the rest of this article here.

“WILL YOU HAVE A DRINK THERE, KANYE?”

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Our friend Sean is a recently qualified doctor. He’s a quiet, unassuming chap but, this afternoon, he’s copping an unusual amount of flack. The lads aren’t too impressed with the expensive watch he’s wearing.

“Flash bastard,” is Dec’s verdict.

“Ballyhaunis’s King of Bling,” reckons Brendan. Read the rest of this entry »

THIS IS FUNNY

(autumn edition)

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What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a pile of leaves? Read the rest of this entry »

NO JACKET REQUIRED

jacket001[This is from a very early issue of Mongrel. I ambushed this guy backstage at the Temple Bar Music Centre after a gig. There is no word in the English language for drunk I was. An hour or so afterward, my friend Scally tracked me down at the counter in Zaytoon (kebab house) on Parliament Street trying to order a round of drinks… Not my finest hour, I’ll be the first to admit.] Read the rest of this article here.

Published: Mongrel magazine, April 2004

NO JACKET REQUIRED

jacket001[This is from a very early issue of Mongrel. I ambushed this guy backstage at the Temple Bar Music Centre after a gig. There is no word in the English language for drunk I was. An hour or so afterward, my friend Scally tracked me down at the counter in Zaytoon (kebab house) on Parliament Street trying to order a round of drinks… Not my finest hour, I’ll be the first to admit.] Read the rest of this entry »