Last night, a stag party for the old housemate. Kehoes then a restaurant called Venu then outside McDaids, I think.
Anyway, as I waited for my monkfish (edible but hardly transcendant) the brother of the man in question came up to me.
"How would you like to send Ronan Keating a text message?"
"WOULD I?" I responded. "In case I'm not being clear, I would, yeah."
I'm not sure how he got the number, with the amount of drink taken I'm having trouble recalling the finer points, but he called it out to me.
I texted: 'We're right behind you boss. Fair play and God bless.'
Sorrily for us the message wasn't delivered. Fucker must have changed up.
4 comments:
Hopefully the anguish he feels as a result of the split can be used constructively and artistically and from this pain he can pen many more Boyzone albums to keep us enthralled for years to come.
*In case I'm not being clear, that's as sarky as your message of support
You mean "love rat" Ronan Keating?
I saw he and his wife pictured in the lesser papers "in happier times" today.
Some cliches, it would appear, just aren't allowed to grow old gracefully and die.
Mook - I actually got that, despite hungoverness.
Regina - I'll be a happier man the second I don't see his forehead on the front page.
Who's Ronan Keating?
(Oh how I wish I really meant that)
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