Ross O’Carroll-Kelly is an enigma wrapped in a paradox and shrouded in a Leinster rugby shirt. The man certainly doesn’t look like one of Ireland’s most preeminent literary figures.

Hot Press finds the legendary writer, as arranged, propping up the bar in Kielys of Donnybrook. There’s an array of empty glasses, two mobile phones and an ostentatiously stuffed crocodile skin wallet lying in front of him. It’s shortly after midday, and he’s drinking what appears to be his third mojito.
A well-drawn, well-built and moderately handsome type, it’s difficult to put an age on him. According to his weekly column in the Irish Times, he’s 35. However, in his most recent book, Keeping Up with the Kalashnikovs, he claims to be 33. Meanwhile, his stage play Breaking Dad – which is about to open for a second run at the Gaiety Theatre – has him at 42.
He refuses to divulge his exact age. “As my old man says, age is just a myth – like climate change.”
Whatever about his age, his success is both undeniable and inexplicable. Ross O’Carroll-Kelly – or ROCK – first came to public attention as a Castlerock College student via his weekly newspaper column in the now defunct Sunday Tribune. Previously he was a well-known figure in the world of schools rugby, most notably as the captain of the Castlerock College team that won the Leinster Schools Senior Cup in 1999 (he was later stripped of his medal following a drug scandal). O’Carroll Kelly’s column first appeared in the Tribune in January 1998 and later transferred to the Irish Times, where it still appears weekly in the Saturday magazine.
Journalism is just one string to his bow. The ROCK series now comprises 14 novels, three stage plays, a spoken word CD and two other non-fiction books.
Last Christmas the one millionth ROCK book was sold in Ireland. To mark the occasion, his publishers placed plaques all over Dublin, marking his various haunts. The one in Kiely’s is over the urinals in the gents toilet and reads: “This plaque has been erected in honour of Ross O’Carroll-Kelly who hit and missed here for many years.”
Amazingly, despite all this literary activity, he also holds down a day job. A father of five, he is the managing director of his own father’s confidential document disposal business, Shred Focking Everything. According to his own website, he is a legendary socialite, libertine and seducer, who has been described as “Ireland’s most eligible married man” and “the greatest Irish player never to actually make it in the game.”
But what’s he really like? That’s what I’m here to find out.
“Roysh, let’s get this shit over with,” he says, his voice almost a parody of a South Dublin accent. “Much as I enjoy sitting in here and talking about myself, I also have a social life. First question.”

OLAF TYARANSEN: What’s your earliest memory?
ROCK: I’m five years old and I’m standing in the gorden of our old gaff in Glenageary slash Sallynoggin. There’s, like, a hurricane blowing and my old man is throwing a Gilbert ball at me at full force to try to improve my hands. He’s shouting, “A future Ireland number ten – mark my words!” That day I ended up with my first concussion. My next memory was my tenth birthday. I sometimes think it explains my legendary thickness. (Hard neck?)
What kind of upbringing did you have?
I was the only child of a loud-mouthed, financially crooked former county councillor and a gin-soaked, self-obsessed, plastic surgery-addicted mother who was too busy trying to make the world a better place to know what was going on in her own home or when her son’s birthday was. So, yeah, I’d say it was a pretty normal South Dublin upbringing.
Was it a religious household?
I remember once suggesting that we all go to Mass. My old dear went, “People like us don’t need to pray, Ross. We have everything we need.”
Do you believe in God?
I definitely believe in, like, something? I just don’t think it’s something that wants me to be spending my Sunday mornings down on my knees saying prayers that he then has to go to the trouble of answering.
What do you think happens after we die?
If we’re really good, they build statues to us.
Were you popular at school?
Is that a joke? (snorts) I was the star kicker on the senior cup team. I had a body like an Abercrombie and Fitch model and a jawline with a cigar shop Indian. Every guy wanted to be me, every girl wanted to be with me. It’s a genuine miracle that I never turned out to be a complete dick.
What age were you when you lost your virginity?
I was 15 years old and living with a family in Finglas as part of a cultural exchange programme that the Jesuits thought was a good idea at the time. It was called The Urban Plunge. Anto, the kid who came to live in our gaff, stole everything that could be easily fenced. And meanwhile, in Dublin 11, Anto’s older sister, Tina, was filling in the blanks in my biological education after coming home from The Broken Arms pub one night with four Satzenbraus on board. The result of those seven minutes of nasty-nasty was a son, Ronan, who I love, despite the wrong turn he’s taken in his life. He’s a professional soccer player.
Your abs are spectacular.
Yes, they are. They’re like speed bumps. That’s the comparison that always gets made.
Can I touch them?
It might be a bit weird.
In the interests of research.
Fire ahead and I’ll tell you if it’s weird.
There. Was that weird?
It was fine. I’m not saying any more than that.
Have you ever had a gay experience?
Occasionally, when I’m making love to a girl, I’ll seek to delay the climax – especially if it’s her birthday or Christmas – by concentrating on something else. Often, I’ll name the three Leinster teams that won the Heineken Cup, one to fifteen, in my head. Sometimes the odd name will slip out between grunts. Does that count as a gay experience?
When did you have your first drink?
About an hour before you arrived. There is a tab, right?
Have you ever experimented with illegal drugs?
I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I took performance-enhancing drugs when I led Castlerock to victory in the 1999 Leinster Schools Senior Cup. Well, I did make a secret of it, but I came clean when I was caught bang to rights and I’d exhausted the appeals process. The drug was methamphetamine – the same drug that Hitler was supposedly doing when he turned to his generals and went, ‘Let’s go and invade Russia!’ He failed to take Russia. I took the Leinster Schools Senior Cup. I got better shit.
Have you ever tried cocaine?
Jesus!
What?
These aren’t the kind of questions you get from the likes of Tony Ward or Gerry Thornley.
It was just a question.
You’re not a cop, are you?
No, I’m not a cop.
What did you say the name of this magazine was again?
Hot Press.
Hot Press? Is it voluntary?
What do you mean by ‘voluntary’?
Is it, like, a community magazine? Make people work for their dole. I can’t help but notice that you don’t dress very well. Are they Converse?
Yes, they’re Converse.
No man over the age of 30 should wear Converse. That’s a tip.
Thanks for that.
Hey, I’ve done well out of life. I’ve never had any problem with giving something back… Hot Press. Why have I never heard of it?
I don’t know. It’s a very prestigious magazine. And ‘Have you ever tried cocaine?’ would be a pretty standard question for us.
I’m going to say ‘no’ then. Tell the readers of your Hot Press that I’ve never done coke in my life. I’ve a bloody good idea what it smells like, though! Actually, put that in – that’s a good one (laughs and knowingly taps nostril).
When was the last time you threw a punch?
It was two months ago in Flannery’s of Limerick when I tried to order a mojito and the door staff formed the opinion that I should leave via the nearest exit.
When was the last time you cried?
I had a bit of a teary moment when I ordered a round in Wetherspoon’s in Blackrock and was told they weren’t doing Heineken. But the last time I really cried – as in actually cried – was when Brian O’Driscoll retired. When I see people who I knew at school retiring at the end of long and successful rugby careers, I start to think that my chance of playing rugby for Ireland one day has possibly passed.
Despite your “legendary thickness”, you’ve written a string of successful books, stage plays and newspaper columns. Do you get any help?
I could tell you that I sit down at a computer every morning and spend between ten and twelve hours engaging in self-analysis and reflection. But that would be as hard to imagine as Rory McIlroy and Caroline Wozniacki. The truth is that writing is very similar to housework or raising children – it’s much easier all round if you pay someone else to do it for you.
Has any celebrity ever complained about something you’ve written about them?
I got this text about an hour ago from a very famous Irish woman: “Just finished reading your account of our night together. Wanted to add my thoughts to it. Having sex with you was like having a vending machine fall on top of me with a tube of Smarties sticking out of the dispensing flap.” I’m afraid her name will have to remain unanimous.
Who are your favorite authors?
I would say Leo Cullen. I would say Bernard Jackman. I would say Johnny Sexton – twice. I’ve also read Brian O’Driscoll’s autobiography – or, as it’s known in our gaff, ‘The Book’ – five times, from cover to cover. It actually gets better with every read and I’ve yet to finish it without crying.
You give your parents and their friends a very hard time in your column. How do they feel about it?
I spent two years of my life talking to my old man through two inches of prison glass. My old dear has a face like a fire-damaged waxwork of Pete Burns and a body like a sack of wet washing. He’s a criminal and she can’t face the morning without three mouthfuls of vodka inside her – focking Angelina Stoli (angrily slams glass down on table). Sorry, I got a bit worked up there – what was the question? Oh, how do they feel about the stuff I write about them? I don’t know, to be honest. Like me, whenever something critical was written about me during my rugby career, they pretend not to read it, but I know they do. I just think I’m entitled to be an embarrassment to them just like they’ve always been an embarrassment to me.
You recently sold your millionth book. How did you celebrate?
I hired a chopper for the day and me and the goys played 18 holes in the K Club, followed by dinner in Shanahan’s, then drinking cocktails until half-eight the following morning. It was like a typical Tuesday night back in the days of the Celtic Tiger. Anyway, I paid for literally everything – the whole thing cost me, like, five or six Ks. It turns out I misheard the voice message on my phone. “You’ve got a million books,” the bird from Penguin said. “Books” – not “bucks”.
Exactly how wealthy are you?
Poorer than Dermot Desmond, richer than David Drumm. That’s about eighteen million snots in new money.
How are current relations with your long suffering wife?
Hey, I’ve managed to stay married to Sorcha for, like, 11 years now, proving all those people wrong who said I wasn’t mature enough to handle long-term marriage. I don’t know if you can believe this, but a lot of my divorced friends say to me, “Dude, you’ve got it made. What is the secret to a happy marriage?” And I look them in the eye and I said: “Two mobile phones.” Seriously, Dude – the way to achieve domestic bliss is to keep your love life and your married life totally separate.
Has fatherhood changed you?
I would say massively. I’m only out three nights a week now on average.
Your son, Ronan, is signed to Manchester United. How do you feel about that?
Obviously, at first, I was devastated when my son told me he wanted to be a soccer player. I mean, no one wants that for their child. My old man contested the 2002 General Election, remember, on a platform of “Tough on soccer – tough on the causes of soccer!” When Ronan told me that Manchester Soccer Club wanted to take him on as an apprentice, I would have actually preferred if he’d told me was on drugs. I think most South Dublin parents would feel the same way. But then I thought about it again and I just figured, yeah, no, Ro’s got to follow his own path in life – and I can always try for another son. Father Fehily, my old coach at school, had this theory that every ball game in the world would eventually become rugby. Soccer and Gaelic football just happen to be going through ugly stages in their evolution right now. Until about five years ago, the only time I ever sat through ninety minutes of soccer was when Escape to Victory was on Channel 4 late one night and I was too pissed to find the TV remote. That had Michael Caine and Sylvester Stallone in it and they still couldn’t make it interesting. I’ve been to see quite a few matches with my son since then. He’s a massive supporter of Ta Bohiz and I’ve been to Dalymount Pork with him maybe thirty times. I’m usually the one shouting, “Pick the focking ball up and run with it!” I’m still hoping, deep down, that the whole thing ends up in tears and he comes back home to play rugby for The Ster.
Outside of sporting figures, who are your role models?
Charlie Sheen. You just have to look at his numbers. They don’t lie.
What kind of music do you like?
Loud.
What was the first gig you ever attended?
My old pair hired Il Divo to play at their 25th wedding anniversary. It was in a morquee.
What’s your favorite band?
I’m not really, like, a bands guy? I’m more into individual songs, especially romantic shit. The best album I ever bought – and I currently own it on cassette, DVD and MP3 download – was the Pretty Woman soundtrack. I always have a copy in the cor in case I’m entertaining.
That’s, em, quite an admission.
Yeah, you can drop that sneery tone. Girls love that album. I’m telling you, within six weeks, it had paid for itself in pussy. Can I say ‘pussy’ in Hot Press?
You can say worse words than pussy.
As in?
F words. B words. C words. Let yourself go would be my advice.
Yeah, no, I might just leave it at pussy. Sorcha cuts my interviews out and sends them to her grandmother.
So pussy’s fine then?
Yeah, no, leave it at pussy.
How many women would you say you have slept with?
When it comes to matters of the bedroom, I’ve never been one to talk. Even in my books, I’ve always drawn a discreet blind on what goes between the sheets, mainly out of respect to the birds I’m riding. I think it’s crude to talk in terms of numbers. But, ballpark, I’d say between three-and-a-half and four-thousand.
Does that include women you’ve slept with twice?
I don’t make a habit of sleeping with the same woman twice.
Have you ever had a threesome?
Hilarious. That’s like me asking you have you ever had a Twix. Of focking course I’ve had a threesome! I’ll tell you a funny story actually. When I was in school, the biology teacher brought in this video about, like, human reproduction – the sweaty mechanics of it. It opened with a man and a woman lying on a bed, engaging in a bit of boreplay. I was the one who shouted out, “I think the cast of this movie is one short!” That was a famous line of mine.
Have you ever been with a prostitute?
Seriously, Dude, are you wearing a wire?
I told you, I’m not a cop.
Let me see are you wearing a wire. Lift up your shirt.
There.
It’s just these questions are weird. Normally, I get asked who’s going to win the Six Nations and do I think a massive, massive regret of Brian O’Driscoll’s is that he never got to play on the same rugby team as me… You could do with losing a bit of weight, by the way. You’ve a bit of a tyre there.
I’ll ask you again. Have you ever been with a prostitute?
I’ve never gone rugby league, no. I’ve never had to.
Do you think that prostitution should be legalized?
Prostitution has been helping ugly people to have sex since beds were invented. I’m very ‘whatever’ about it.
Have you ever been to a lap-dancing club?
Loads.
And how was that for you?
A woman fakes interest in you, keeps asking you for your credit cord details and then refuses to have sex with you. It’s very like being married actually.
Who is Ireland’s sexiest woman?
I would have to say my wife’s sister.
How will your wife feel about you saying that? And her grandmother?
That’s a good point – maybe don’t quote me as saying that. Put someone else in. What do people usually say? One of the Seoiges. Both of the Seoiges.
I’ll, er, fix that when I transcribe the tape.
Definitely?
I promise.
Cool.
Do you go to the theatre often?
Is that a serious question? The last time I was in a theatre, I was shouting, “Behind you!” at Maureen Potter.
Surely you went to see Breaking Dad when it first opened?
Yeah, no, I did the whole red corpet thing, which was great, but I slipped out the stage door before the curtain went up. Watching scenes from my life played out on a stage is not my idea of a fun time. I had to live it, bear in mind. I’d be scared I’d stort getting, I don’t know, Vietnam-type flashbacks.
Have you hung out with the actors to help them prepare for their roles?
Yeah, but they couldn’t last the pace.
Will there be a ROCK film at any stage?
There have been many films (smiles), but Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara, my old man’s solicitor, has done a great job in making sure they’ve never seen the light of day.
Who would you like to play the lead if a film was made of your life?
Jack Reynor. But he’d have to get in the gym and buff up.
How will you be voting in the upcoming marriage equality referendum?
I’m a massive, massive believer in equality. If gay people want to get married, I’m cool with that. They’re entitled to be every bit as focking miserable as the rest of us. I say, Make Gra the Law.
Have you ever flown on a private jet?
Dude, I’ve been on private jets more often than you’ve been on public transport. Actually, you might reword that answer for me to make me sound less of a dick.
What was the most embarrassing moment of your life?
I once pulled a bird in Eddie Rockets who looked fantastic at the time but who turned out to be wearing roller blades. I will never forget the sense of burning shame I felt as I walked up Grafton Street with her skating pirouettes and whatever else around me. I seriously considered spinning her around a few times and focking her through the window of Laura Ashley to get rid of her. Then she went and got her skate caught in the Luas line. The wheels clicked in pretty securely. She stood on one leg and I had to put two hands on her orse and push her up Horcourt Street to Peter’s Place, where the track went overground again and she slotted out. I remember passing Copperface Jacks, thinking, ‘That’s where I’m going to go to pull in future. At least you know what you’re getting in there. I can’t say this is any better than being with someone from the country’.
Do you ever go for a pint with fellow Irish Times columnists Fintan O’Toole or Vincent Browne?
That is by far and away the most ridiculous question I’ve been asked since the ATM this morning went, “Do you wish to conduct this transaction in Irish or English?”
Can you speak any other languages?
No. I remember a teacher at school saying to my old dear at a parent-teacher meeting, “Ross is learning to speak English as a second language – I don’t think he’s figured out what his first language is yet.”
You attended Castlerock College, one of Ireland’s most expensive fee-paying schools. Are any of your old classmates in the public eye?
Johnny ‘Wingnut’ Lumpkin, who played on the wing for us the fourth time I repeated my Senior Cup year, went into business and is about to star in TV3’s upcoming reality show, Ireland’s Next Embezzler.
Somebody hands you a locked suitcase containing a million euros. If you turn the key and open it, two things will happen: the money will be yours but somebody you don’t know will die a horrible death. What do you do?
Are you kidding me? I grew up during a time when we didn’t think of consequences. I’m a child of the Tiger. I’d open that suitcase if I heard loose change rattling around in there.
Your most recent book, Keeping Up with the Kalashnikovs, largely concerned a rescue mission you made to Africa. What were your impressions of the continent?
Like a lot of people, I tend to judge entire countries by the experiences I have with the handful of people I meet when I go there. In the case of Uganda, the only people I met introduced themselves to me down the barrel of an AK47. So can I see Thomson Travel adding it to their list of sun holiday destinations? Not in the short term.
Do you ever read your reviews?
No. I’m big-headed enough as it is.
What is your most treasured possession?
I would have to say my Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal. And obviously my children. I’d say my children first and then my medal. Well, no, I’d say my son Ronan first, then my medal, then my daughter Honor. I’d also add my wedding ring to that list, except it might sound naff. And I don’t know where it is.
I thought you were stripped of your Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal?
Yeah, no, I was technically stripped of it – the cup was retrospectively awarded to some knuckle-dragging swamp people from Newbridge – but they never physically took it off me. I still wear it around my neck – look.
That’s, em, really something. What are your future ambitions?
To become the oldest player in the history of rugby to win a first international cap.
What is your greatest achievement?
Being described as the greatest unfulfilled talent in the history of Irish rugby by Declan Kidney.
What is your greatest regret?
Telling Laura Whitmore that I don’t date past the Dargle.
Do you have a motto in life?
Eat nerves, shit results.
Can I touch your abs again?
Go on – last time (raises rugby shirt).