December 15th, 2014

Lunch with Brendan Kennelly. Unfortunately I don’t remember much of it, as I spend an hour and a half battling the urge to squeeze his cherubic cheeks. They sit either side of his captivating smile, like the upended shiny buttocks of two tiny elves.
After our repast Brendan says “So, that’s okay with you then?”
I nod my assent, not sure what I’m agreeing to, and I try to avert my eyes. Brendan seems pleased.
The cheek squeezing urge only deserts me twenty minutes later as I spy Michael Colgan making his way across O’ Connell Bridge. I have heard tell of the modern term “unicorn chaser”, perhaps Michael is the physical embodiment of its antithesis.
Home, where I find Benjamin poring over the allegedly “let them eat cake” cover of the Sunday Independent Life Magazine. He holds the page millimetres from his eyes and squints:
“Who’s that, Johnny?”
“I have no idea.”
“And who’s that?”
“Miss Ireland? Somebody who models? I’m not entirely sure.”
“What about her? Who’s she? She has lovely hair.”
“That’s Barry Egan.”