Ross O Carroll-Kelly

It was no country for young men. Or women ...

Unemployment, emigration and do-it-yourself hair colour kits were once again a fact of life. Taxes were on the up, the IMF were on the way and there was a cash for gold outlet in Foxrock Village.

But the signs for recovery were good - for me, at least. I was the chief executive of one of the few businesses turning a profit in this town, a shredding company helping to dispose of the Celtic Tiger''s dirty little secrets. And I was getting plenty of love action - as the boy-toy of an attractive sixty-year-old woman who was totally rolling in it. I never imagined myself ending up as a gigolo. But, as the saying goes, where there''s a will, there''s a way-hey-hey!

With presents galore, sex on demand and a hot meal on the table every night, life was storting to look up again. All I had to do to aovid focking it up was to keep my chinos buttoned. And, well, you can probably guess how that went.