By way of introduction: the story so far

I spent the majority of the Irish economic boom years, somewhat stupidly, gallivanting around the world, working in menial jobs and generally seeking out the cheapest thrills that pocket money can buy. But hey, I was safe in the knowledge that I came from an economic powerhouse where jobs grew on trees, chimney sweeps drove Jaguars and even children were given loans to develop property. Imagine my surprise when I returned from New Zealand to find our bubble had burst. Suddenly, I was pushing 30 with no real experience of any great worth to society. I began searching for employment with my head held high. Who wouldn’t want to hire a highly educated/well travelled young man? After all, I knew how to have a night out on less than 5 kiwi dollars. I also knew how to make flamboyant cocktails from all manner of mundane household liquids. Well… it transpired that my skill-set was less in demand than I had anticipated. Far Less! I would scour the internet for opportunities. I would arrive early so as to make a good impression. The only problem was that everyone else seemed to have the same Idea.

And above all… of course… Wanking F@*%ing Bankers!

I was waiting in a line of 2000 people for an interview to the position of ‘2nd Assistant to the Junior Toilet Cleaner’ at my local Tesco Express when I struck up a conversation with the man in front of me. It turns out that his property developing enterprise had gone the way of the Titanic. He had sold his mansion in Donnybrook and moved to cardboard box number four in the adjacent alleyway. He missed the trappings of wealth but assured me that he had always enjoyed the great outdoors. His neighbours were a bust dotcom entrepreneur and an economist who had made a living travelling the globe and patronising poorer countries with tales of Irish economic prosperity. They frequently visited each other’s boxes to discuss the issues of the day and enjoy an a la carte selection of mosses gleaned from the cracks in the footpath.

It occurred to me that I needed a plan – An escape – A great escape. Armed with an MSc in Political Science, a social conscience and an inflated sense of self worth, I would cross the Irish sea, like so many of my kind before me, and make my fortune. The plan was watertight. The plan was threefold. The plan was Simple:

Step 1: Go to London.

Step 2: Become a young Adam Curtis.

Step 3: Marry Victoria Coren.

Progress Report:

Step 1: No issues. I found a house with friends in the Rock’n’Roll epicentre of London known as Tooting Bec. I got a job in the local Irish bar and subsequently lost it.

Step 2: I didn’t know how to use a camera, edit or write a documentary. I also had no contacts in the industry. After much soul searching, I enrolled on a media course which would both educate me and prevent a less than triumphant homecoming to Ireland.

Step 3: No chance.

So, I have been asked to create a Blog as part of my course. I’m not really an expert on anything. I have opinions on most things but they tend to be quite fleeting. I need to write about Media and theory. It’s an interesting experience. I’ll write about whatever comes into my head. I’ll also post some academic stuff which I find is wonderful for inducing sleep.



If you have an interest in the Irish economy and a sense of humour please regard the following:


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