Down South

I can’t not blog about speaking at a Journalism conference about new media.

I was just here.


In here.


The editor of the Irish Independent was on before me. No pressure following him, so.

I waffled for 15 minutes with some badly handwritten notes.

I was the only speaker not wearing a suit.

People laughed.

With me not at me. I think.

Yesterday Mulley picked me up from the train with a smile, a hug and one of these.



But you knew that already, right?

Am really pissed off I’m not going to get to see his speech. Even he’s wearing a jacket πŸ˜‰

He told me about it. I’ve likened it to the bit in Father Ted where he’s accepting the Golden Cleric and has his lists of “people who’ve fecked me off over the years”, “chancers” and such.

The Blog Awards? Almost full. No joking. You will be turned away.

The production of it? Almost as lush as the feckin Oscars. And with a much better scriptwriter πŸ™‚

EDIT – Oh, and there was a girl in the audience who was the spit of Scarlett Johansson. This was only mildly distracting.