Humour:He's back . . . and he's broke. At the end of his last novel (the irreverently-titled Should Have Got Off At Sydney Parade) we left The Legend gazing adoringly at his new baby daughter, having endured a sympathetic (if that's the word) pregnancy complete with cravings; less babe magnet, more fridge magnet.
But now his life has hit the skids. Shamefully, his mother has become a best-selling bodice-ripper author. His father languishes in prison, awaiting trial on bribery and corruption charges, his only comfort the illicit contraband that's smuggled in to him (the sports section of The Irish Times). His school's rugby coach is dying. And still no call from Eddie O'Sullivan. How much worse can it get?
Well, a lot worse, actually. His marriage is heading for the rocks. At a friend's wedding (he's best man) he makes a lunge at the mother of the groom. His wife finally kicks him out when she catches him in bed with the nanny, and takes up with an accountant. Money's too tight to mention; CAB have swooped to gobble up his father's fortune. The money Ross made when he was forced to sell off his share in Lillie's nightclub has been frozen. Suddenly, his life is empty. As he says himself, he no longer has a reason to get up in the afternoons. Dejected, he heads to the Last Chance Saloon (the Ice Bar in the Four Seasons, naturally), splurges his last twenty on a cocktail and surveys the wreckage of his life.
What is it about Ross O'Carroll-Kelly? Numerous bestselling books, including a so-called travel guide to South Dublin. A weekly newspaper column in The Irish Times. And coming soon, a play. Like, hello? It must be more than the relentless fashion product-placement, the endless name-checking of Ireland's (and the world's) hottest women. This book is often bleaker than its predecessors. Anorexia. Bulimia. Marriage break-up. Death. At times Ross seems almost chastened by what he sees around him. Perhaps there is something else in here among the gags; something about modern Ireland, its vanity, its obsession with surface detail and material wealth. Maybe in laughing at Ross we are laughing at ourselves.
In the end, of course, Ross gets his life back on the rails, thanks to Ronan (his son from an earlier disastrous "relationship" with a Northsider, and a "one man crime wave") some dodgy dealings in Bulgaria and a chance meeting in Paris. He even restarts his rugby career, as coach to . . . well, I won't spoil it, but under the bleary eyes and beery breath of R O'C-K the country in question is certain to become a major rugby power by the next Rugby World Cup
BUT DO WE need A Message? I think not. What we love about Ross is his resolute political incorrectness. His grotesque self-confidence is refreshing, his humour all the more endearing for being utterly unconscious. This swagger has stood him in good stead. Readers concerned this latest book might sag under the weight of previous successes need not worry. Ross displays a bracing indifference to the Irish literary canon right from the first line. "Who the fo*k is Edna O'Brien?" he asks, and he is surely not alone. "I've never heard of her. That's if it even is a her." How enviable to be able to wear so lightly the mantle of literary expectation bestowed on writers by our own Dame Edna and others of her ilk.
Is there more where this came from? Why not? Think Bertie Wooster; think Adrian Mole. Think (dare I say it) Harry Potter. The parallels are striking: supremely talented young boy, educated in a very special school, though Harry's awkward lack of prowess with the ladies is an embarrassment compared to the vast array of riches enjoyed by Ross in The Love Department.
Now more than ever we need heroes like Ross. If the distressing form of the Irish rugby team continues, there will be surely only one name on our lips. "Where have you gone, Ross O'Carroll-K/ A nation turns its lonely eyes to you."
Pick up the phone, Eddie, before it's too late; and pick up this gloriously, uproariously funny book.
John O'Donnell is a poet, a barrister and a long-suffering Irish rugby fan
Ross O'Carroll-Kelly: W16
This Champagne Mojito is the Last Thing I Own By Ross O'Carroll-Kelly (as told to Paul Howard) Penguin Ireland, 359pp. £12.99