Irish Fiction

I felt like I was living in a world teetering on the brink ... Life as a stay-in-bed husband turned out to be a lot more complicated than I expected. My wife was pregnant with a baby that possibly wasn't mine. My old man was engaged in a war with the feminist movement that he was never going to win. And my old dear was making a lot of unexplained trips to Russia.

So there I was, roysh, twenty-three years of age, still, like, gorgeous and rich ... when all of a sudden life becomes a total mare.

'So there I was, roysh, putting the 'in' in 'in crowd' ... But being a schools rugby legend has its downsides.' This is where it all began: the formation of the phenomenon that is Ross O'Carroll-Kelly. With a new introduction by Paul Howard, Ross's representative on, loike, earth?

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

Gives you the low-down on South Dublin - a land which boasts of more yacht clubs per head of population than Monte Carlo, where girls talk like Californians, where rugby is the number one religion and where it's possible to buy a Cappuccino - at Champs Elysee's prices. This work contains what you need to know about this region.

Ross O'Carroll-Kelly is broke and out of love. His wife has gone to America, taking his daughter with him; his mother has become a celebrity chef on daytime television, with a particular skill for handling phallic ingredients; and his father continues to languish in Mountjoy Jail.

It was no country for young men. Unemployment, emigration and do-it-yourself hair colour kits were once again a fact of life. But the signs for recovery were good for me, at least. I was the chief executive of one of the few businesses turning a profit in this town, a shredding company helping to dispose of the Celtic Tiger's dirty little secrets.

Shrewsbury Road has become a ghost estate. Marks and Spencer are selling microwavable coddle. And a Euro discount store is about to open in the Powerscourt Townhouse Centre. And he was only unconscious for twenty-four hours. But never mind all that. The main thing is that whoever tried to kill him missed all his vital organs. All his vital organs.

Since inheriting a pile in Killiney, the author can add a new string to his not inconsiderable (you know what I mean) bow - lord of the manor. This title tells the story of how he tackles his new responsibilities.