The Celtic Cub Hits The Town: Krystal With Miss Spin...

Part 1 here

Yet to get over the heartbreak of the Irish defeat last week I’ve been stuck in a boardroom all week and I’m absolutely ‘Alan Shattered’. To top it all off, having put her off for the week, I’ve to meet Jessica now.

I pull in just outside Tribeca, touch the wood on the dashboard, and hope not to get clamped.  I’m meeting Jess in this little spot, ‘The Town ’, does a fantastic piece of meat.

 “Jess call that waitor over there” I nod in the direction of the waiter in her eye line. However a young attractive waitress shuffles over to the table and asks if everything is okay, I’m thinking to myself, I wouldn’t mind flirting with this girl and I quickly analyze the situation in my head. I’m about to make a dickhead complaint and I’ve got the Gestapo of the Southside sitting opposite me so I opt against it. “Taste that steak there love” as I offer a piece to the waitress which she declines on restaurant policy, “well I ordered a rare €40 steak and this is clearly medium rare; it’s bloody ransit and does not compliment this Matsu I was recommended anyway”

The waitress leaves taking my plate with her. Jess is going on about how rude that was and whatnot. Saying I shouldn’t behave like a spoilt brat in front of a previous Miss Spin. The sad thing is she actually refers to herself as a previous Miss Spin. The unpleasant meal goes on as Jess outlines her peace treaty to me declaring ‘ The Luce ’ a no go bla bla.

I settle the bill, say my toodaloo to Jess and  head on outside and the Carrera is clamped. F**k. ‘Hailo’ a taxi and head on home for an early kip. Tomorrow is a big one.

The alarm goes off and I decide I better get out of bed, I don’t want the cleaner thinking I’m lazy and besides I gotta go the mopchop for the big night ahead.


New f**king haircut

Feeling f**king fresh with my new haircut I begin the leisurely walk home, whip out my to do list, and ring off the relevant targets. Clamp sorted. Car collection sorted. Look at the time, 1pm, better give Damo a call. A half blind banter merchant I know from back in the Trinner days “Damo, whats the BANTER, Fran here, yah fran, do me a favour and sort out a table for the boys tonight, on it in a big way!... yeah cheers bud that’s franfuckingtastic”

VIP suite sorted.

Feeling bloody brilliant with my productive day I give Robbo a ring. We’re out tonight to celebrate him getting off drink driving charges based on the Oinks misspelling his name. Absolute gift. “ Robbo, bant? Got the room sorted, gonna be absolute triple G tonight, aka ‘the goose’, the girls and the g spots.”, and Robbo the absolute gas administrator is already on it with Rocko and he’s currently motoring, one day after being cleared, to the next beer garden on his Saturday pub crawl/drive.

Next up on the to do list: Head to the gym (Ben Dunne, lol jk, Riverview) and give it absolute socks. I'm in all my Leinster gear as to trick the birds present. I'm going gung ho on the curls and I am literally a magnet to the female presence here which can be very frustrating as well as totally satisfying and ego-boosting.

Head on home, put on my party suit and send out a communal snapchat to ‘the ladies’. Cheeky bicep curled around the back of my head. Guilty. Send to:All girls, terrific.


9.15pm and Robbo collects me in a taxi. He’s steamed and wearing his S medal. At least he’s not driving I think.

'Guess why I'm wearing the one medal Fran?' he asks me and honestly I've no idea, rugby was never my thing after I unfortunately had to retire with a severe case of laziness and academic ambition but I entertain him and ask him why. He requests the 'Joey' turns down the music and announces 'I'm only wearing the one Fran because the 3 of them together were weighing me down and besides i'd look ridiculous wearing 3 medals Fran, I'm out of school 8 years!" He is proper gargled here and why not?

 9.35pm and we arrive at our room in Krystle. The boys and the girls all on the shots and I’m quite literally getting goose bumps at the thought of the Banter about to unfold.

 11pm and my pal James an absolute mate from schoolboy days. He’s fairly hunky doried, I'm quite sure he's been on the Columbian marching powder, and he’s going on about his dad being sorted now.

“He rode the recession like Charlie Sheen on cocaine, and now it’s all coming good again bro, he’s got investments in like the Congo or Africa or one of those Asian countries and its like all fucking dandy, it’s literally the good times all over again bro”. I nod in agreement. It’s true it is all f**king dandy I think.

 2.10 pm and the room is proper bopping. Choruses of Kanye West’s ‘The Good Life’ are being met with absolute obnoxious approval and we love it.  ‘The goose’ is basically on the tap at this stage and let’s just say I’ve been on form with the birds tonight. I’m quite literally Robbie D in the Deer Hunter and I can hear David Attenborough commentating on my every move.


"I'm a hunter"

 2.30 pm and this young wan is maccing all over me and I’m bulging with excitement quite literally. She looks like a kinky mix of Alba/ Kunis. I’m just laying back soaking it in. Standard.

 3pm and I slip out incognito (at least I thought) with Miss Spins younger sister (the Alba/Kunis Mott) and you won’t believe this but current Miss Sun and bring her back to the apartment (soon to be penthouse after my fat settlement; another day's chat)  and show her the master bedroom if yaknowwhatimean. I say to her ‘welcome to boom city love' and that's not just a saying I literally have 'Boom City' written above my bed.

Wake up next morning, head banging, but thinking absolutely worth it. Turn to the side – oh shit I literally just slept with the ex’s 19-year-old sister a day after peace talks and the only thing going through my head at this moment is whether they gave me low fat milk with my cappuccino in the Barbour yesterday because I did forget to specify. Wounded Celtic Cub out for the count.


Other work by the author!

Andrew O'Reilly

You may also like

Facebook messenger