Diary of a Dublin Sex Man – The Grande Mocha Frappachino Enema Years

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[This is a sequel to the Diary of a Dublin Sex Man column, run in Piranha 2008. You can check the first column out here].

Monday 10 PM

Got a voice mail from the Rotunda. Letting me go- something about the bad publicity. Fuming!. Caught half an episode of Coupling on UK Gold. Three stars, ha ha ha. Fat Frank, the man with the blade from dormitory three, changed over to Ross Kemp’s Hard Men on ITV 2, so I went to bed. Mildly constipated today.

Tuesday 6.30 PM

Saw Fintan Gerard about the divorce. FG says if all goes well, I might be allowed to keep the Sasha Grey DVDs, but am defo going to lose the kids. Boo!

Wednesday – 11 AM

Twitter, Twitter! Everyone is talking about it. Wonder if it’s a good way to meet women? They won’t let me near the computer in the ward ’cause of the court case, but I bet I could get it on the mobile. Got another abusive letter from Niamh’s Mam. For an old woman she sure has a potty mouth.

Wednesday – 11 PM

Just back from the big concert! Shakira rocked the O2 to new heights. Went into the ‘mosh pit’. Lovely teeny at the very front rubbed her bum against us, pretty sure it was on purpose! Good times.

Thursday 8 PM

Frank found the diary. Said he’d show it to the staff if I didn’t do what he told me. Had to take it up the swiss to get it back. It wasn’t too sore, since Frank hasn’t much in the way of a mickey. But I couldn’t breath very well under him. Afterwards we watched Corry together in the common room, and Frank gave me a ciggy.

Friday 3 AM

Woke up in tears. Really missing Deirdre and Andrew. Missing all the gang from Parnell Moonies and the Voodoo Lounge too. It’s just me now, everything is different. Keep telling meself it’s just for now. Everybody makes mistakes, look at Jonathan King! Who knows, this time next year I could be the new Gerry Ryan. On the plus side, the constipation has cleared right up.

Friday 4 PM

Enrolled in a FAS course in radio production. Happy Days! Already know everything on the course, but it means free digs for a few months and enough pocket money for a quarter a week of wacky backy. Plus, who knows, could meet the love of my life out in Ballier.

Saturday 8 AM

Disaster! Woke up to the sound of shattering vinyl. Staff nurse breaking my collection! As soon as my head lifts off the pillow – Hello, Lionel Richie, smashing against me jaw. I leap out of bed – You Raise me up, crashed at my feet. You get the idea.

Only managed to rescue one record. They have their place, but no man can play Vengaboys more than three times in one set. I filled a bag with the shards of me broken discs, and left in a big hurry wearin’ naut but the old thermal undies. Big Frank blew us a kiss out the windows as I legged it off up Merion Square. Spent my last six quid on an iced coffee from Starbucks. Sat down on the board walk, and threw the pieces of me records one by one into the sea. The sun was coming up, and across the river I could see the buses carrying the mornings worth of teenies into Loretto on the Green. Couldn’t get too excited with the Frappachino in my lap, but they all looked lovely.

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