¶ Last Christmas I was at a party in a hotel in Rossnowlagh chatting with a few of the boys. It had been a bad year electorally for the left.
I don’t know why this stayed with me. Three years ago and it’s halftime of Newcastle United against Manchester City at St James’s Park. I’m in the East Stand, cigarette smoked, queuing for burgers.
There’s an intellectual insecurity to the Irish ruling class, its political parties, its media, its blind followers. Driven by despair, it needs little encouragement, enjoys company and this week Catherine Connolly’s defence of self-determination was all it took.
Here’s the type of story you’re supposed to tell back west after working for Chinese state media.
Mum arrived late to an underage match of mine one summer’s evening in Dungloe. The family had moved there a few years before, in 1992, when Sam was in the hills and Daniel was on Top of the Pops.
