Dave Robbins It was a fine day in late summer and the air seemed full of hope. I was in France, driving east from Toulouse, and then tracking northwards through the stately valleys of the Languedoc.
David Robbins There was a time, when you told people you were studying literature at UCD, they would lean towards you conspiratorially and ask: "How are you getting on with Joyce?"
Dave Robbins The annual January campaign to persuade me to quit smoking is well under way.
When I look back on it, I realise that 2013 was the year of travel. And that 2014 will be the year of paying for it.
Dave Robbins In my mind's eye, I see a Christmas from when I was a boy. It is hazy, but there are sharp points of delight, and of pain.
Dave Robbins It is the week of the school Christmas play, and my daughter is emitting spontaneous shrieks of excitement.
About this time 100 years ago, an asthmatic homosexual lay in bed in a cork-lined room at No 102 Boulevard Haussmann in Paris, correcting the proofs of what would become one of the most famous – least read – books of all time.
It's not even December yet and already I'm stressed about Christmas. We're having 21 people for Christmas dinner. How many Brussels sprouts is that exactly?
Roland Barthes was a French philosopher, but there was a little something Irish about him too. He lived with his mammy for 60 years and had the kind of devious mind we sometimes produce is this country.
David Robbins Maybe I have been wrong about Michael O'Leary all along. Perhaps he is the wise and thoughtful leader we have been looking for.
Our dog Pipsi . . . "Don't call her that," says my wife from the next room. "Why not? It's her name," I reply. "You only use her name as a reward. If she's done something good."
My uncle met Charlie Haughey only once. It was at an official government meeting and my uncle was assisting his departmental secretary.
David Robbins My daughter is dressing up as a plain, common-or-garden vampire. Dead brides are also popular among her friends, as are zombies, werewolves and scary schoolgirls.
In August 2007, we managed to blag a week at a relative's villa in France. It was a big place, with a main house, a pigeonnier and other outbuildings.
When the great Welsh rugby out-half Cliff Morgan was posted to Ireland in 1954 by his engineering company, he was faced with a dilemma.
David Robbins 'You want shave?" asked the man, pointing to the two-day growth on my jaw.
David Robbins There is a friend of mine who has taken on the role of champion to the downtrodden, oppressed middle-class male. It is a subject he can – and often does – speak about with passion and at length.
It was our last day of holidays. We were packed and ready to get the ferry. We had cleaned the house and swept the patio, emptied the fridge and hunted down missing socks. Mentally, we had already left.
David Robbins There is a scene at the end of Martin Scorsese's film Gangs of New York in which the two warring gangs – the Natives and the Dead Rabbits – are locked in a battle to the death.
My wife comes into the room. She moves towards the window. She sniffs the air and announces: "I think I smell something. I think it's dry rot."
My wife is fighting a rear-guard action against middle age, and she has enlisted me in her army.
David Robbins There were two of them, pints in hand, bedecked in their red Munster jerseys. They were slouching semi-aggressively against one of the concrete pillars at the back of the stadium.
David Robbins By the time you read this, I will have turned 50. I will be the other side of an invisible line, standing beside a sign which reads: "It's all downhill from here."
David Robbins My aunt and uncle's idea of a holiday was to 'motor' somewhere -- they would never merely drive -- and watch a golf tournament.
'There's 25p," my mother said, handing us our towels wrapped into a neat sausage-roll shape, with our togs inside. "I don't want to see you home until five o'clock."
David Robbins There is a certain kind of tourist who comes to Ireland much in the same way that David Attenborough might go into a tropical jungle: that is, in the spirit of scientific inquiry.
Societies in general -- and men in particular -- have been trying for centuries to work out what exactly it is that women want.
The other night, we had a few friends over for supper. Or was it dinner? Apparently, whether you call your evening meal "dinner" or "supper" is a key indicator of background and class.
The terrace of the Cipriani Hotel looks over the lagoon towards Venice. The slight distance is important: the hotel is of the city, yet not in it.
A thought struck me as I was sitting and looking vacantly out of the window of the Dart this week. A small thought. Not a full-blown pensée, mind you, but the germ of an idea that could lead to great things.
My daughter is enrolled in summer camp all this week. Although we are careful not to use the word "camp", and there is little call for the word "summer" either.
David Robbins I realised fairly early on in my sailing career that I was not Volvo Ocean Race material. The prospect of nine months of heroic battle against the elements, followed by a hell of a hooley in Galway was, sadly, beyond my reach.
David Robbins Outside, it was just another perfect day in Florida. About 80 degrees. Thunderstorm regular as clockwork at 4pm. People walking around, window-shopping, complaining about the heat.
David Robbins The President was due any minute now. Outside, the town band was waiting. A couple of gardai were on standby. A lone piper stood on a traffic island. The town square in Listowel was bathed in late evening sunshine. "We're poxed with the weather," someone said.
My family tree is more like a shrub. Or perhaps like one of those heavily pollarded specimens you see around French town squares, with foreshortened branches and knobbly trunks.
It was at the top of the fridge, unobtrusive in unmarked Kilner jars. It was the dairy equivalent of the top-shelf magazine -- illicit and reputedly a risk to one's physical and moral well-being. It was raw milk.
David Robbins I have just come up with a great idea for an academic thesis -- or perhaps even a book. Ready? Well, the title I have in mind is The Role of the Hyphen in Irish History. Catchy, eh?
My replica Titanic ticket informed me that I was John James Lamb. I decided to call myself "J J" for short.
David Robbins Queues are the crucible of human behaviour. If you can remain civilised in a queue, then you have reached a certain level of calm and wisdom. Queues have a way of testing our belief in our fellow man.
Despite frequent advice, inducements and even threats, I have managed to keep this column largely free of sex. It's true that there was that one mention of a swingers' scene at a local park, but that was for dogs.
David Robbins By now, the initial shock of the Mahon Tribunal's report will have diminished. More than a week later, deeper responses will be resonating in people's minds.
David Robbins Spring is the deadliest season. Encouraged by warmer weather and longer evenings, people undertake all sorts of strenuous activities. The result is injury, embarrassment or, at the very least, a nasty chill.
David Robbins If past St Patrick's Days are anything to go by, I am now sitting in my kitchen in a sea of green. I am wearing a plastic shamrock which my daughter has pinned to my chest. She is often a little over-eager, but the bleeding usually stops soon enough.
David Robbins You often hear professional coaches or analysts propound that their chosen sport "is a simple game". And, at one level, they're right: success is usually as simple as scoring more points than your opponent.
Journalists have a hard-won reputation for cynicism. Things that make ordinary civilians go "ahhhh" usually make journalists go "yuk".
My brother was a keen student of psychology, even from an early age. He knew, for instance, that our father would never sign the book club order form for the complete works of Charles Dickens bound in red leather and embossed with gold lettering.
The last of the de Valera line died and was buried this week. Like her father, Emer Í Cuív was blessed with long life. She lived to 93; he died just short of his 93rd birthday.
David Robbins There is a certain advantage to writing a small and seldom-read column tucked away in the corner of an inside page of a supplement which is in turn tucked inside the main paper.
For over a century, it has been the most sought-after address in Dublin. Now, Ballsbridge in Dublin 4 faces an uncertain future.
The suitcase was old. The springs and latches of the locks at either corner didn't work. Here and there, the leather had scuffed. The letters H O'H were stamped into the surface near the handle. H O'H. Harry O'Hare.
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