Chapter One - the End

The Emperor's New Dining

We booked a table via the Irish Times Offer where plebs can go to places they'd never normally go to, like a Michelin star restaurant and the North-side or in Chapter One's case, both.

The afternoon began with a bump, a literal one. You have to be ring a bell on the glass door to get in, presumably so the staff can get a good goo at you to see if you'll be paying by card or in kind.

I rang it and a waiter with a Maitre D and goatee ( he did have a bad chin) approached and pushed the door towards me. I stepped back with a bump and with some degree of temerity at not being warned of this curious feng shui.

The staid dining room was the usual uppity affair where some high up bank employees where nosing wine, eager to get the last notes before the band stopped playing.

The bread was tough and the potato and leek soup a curious sellafield green with an english addition - dumplings. The English gave us many things, affectation for one which hopefully they'll take back in exchange for a government loan.

Everyone in the cheap seats left the dumplings which shows our palettes are rebelling, if nothing else.
The beef arrived in a roll. A roll! It was braized and reminded me of meat we use to get in the 70's -'bad cuts be braized'.

The wine was good and if I'd had a bottle it might have killed the memory of the food.

A lady approached with the bill asking if we'd enjoyed it and added 'the deal's a good opportunity for people who'd never normally come here'.

So there you are - we were being humoured all along. Sure what would we know what michelin stars taste like?

Let them eat braized steak and dumplings, hold the cake (unless you want to pay an additional €8.50).

P.D.W. R.I.P.

R.I.P Diddy

Show ponies are being sent off to the knackers yard.

The New Year has cultivated a new sense of awareness and if you're still driving a beamer, or similiar ilk, then you're for the social chop.

Years ago (sorry a year ago) when we were obssessed with property, status and cars, a few blondes might have shown you their 'most girl' if you'd thrown the keys to a beamer in the fruit bowl, now you might get a gay - but not a discerning one.

People are becoming embarrassed.

I had a client ( no it hasn't come to that) in the car the other day ( a ford fiesta 2000) and I asked him what he drove.

He pulled out a hanky and muffled 'an Audi' into it with a forced sneeze but was quick to add ' it's an old one.'

So there you are - the people who haven't yearned for a Louis Vuitton, not even a fake one, can rejoice.

These silly Getty displays of wealth are just that, silly - and P. Diddy - you're over.