Edna O’Brien, once Ireland’s most scandalous woman, arrives in the lobby of the Merrion Hotel and praises a scent that she traces to an arrangement of flowers on a table. “It’s eucalyptus,” she says with delight. “Wouldn’t it be nice to sit outside?” she says, and we go out to a little courtyard where she carefully positions cushions on the wet chairs and worries that the sound of builders might disrupt my Dictaphone recording. She’s funny, which she knows flies in the face of her public persona. “I think I’m very funny,” she says and laughs. Those Were the Days, by Terry Wogan: a gorgeous love letter home Until Victory Always: A Memoir: Jim McGuinness is more than a football man The Clasp...
↧