David Robbins: There's no 007-style adventure for me, but at least I'm on top of the laundry
I'm not sure when my father became disenchanted with his lot and started to hang out with those bad boys, Arthur Guinness and Dimple Haig. I'm wondering whether it was around the time he woke up one morning to find himself married with two kids and living in a semi-d in suburbia.
Perhaps he wondered how he, a man who had supped with Behan, Kavanagh and Myles na gCopaleen in the Palace Bar, came to be living on a Blackrock housing estate.
Hadn't he dined at the Shelbourne with Lord Killanin, and consorted with the Anglo-Irish horse-racing set?