My Awkward Life | The Angry Taxi Driver


My Awkward Life | The Angry Taxi Driver

This woeful tale of a country fool in the big city begins on a cold and windy crowded street in Dublin in December.

Readers may experience a slight lack of interest and an overwhelming sense of underwhelming disappointment.

Except you, George, you’re free to go.

Here we go, I hope.

Let’s take it right from the beginning, shall we?

I’m in Dublin to meet up with my old college friends for what has become our traditional yearly reunion.

Things have so far gone swimmingly except for a slightly rickety and very squeaky luggage compartment on the train up (trust me when I say that it was loud, so very loud).

I’ve successfully navigated my way through the Dublin streets, catching two Bulbasurs and a Magnemite might I add (no biggie), and I make my way to The Spire where I’ve arranged to meet my friend, Will, another country bumpkin like myself, before heading to catch up with the rest of the gang.

After a few tourist short minutes underneath the giant monument in which I embrace my inner tourist and stare open mouthedly (gawking, if you will) up at the almost impossibly tall and dizzying point at the top (see terrible photo below), I decide to ring Will and see where he is.


The top of The Spire; photography, at its finest.

Feeling like a some sort of dealer with my large duffel bag on the ground between my legs (there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, I’m sure of it), I see Will approaching through the crowd and after a few minutes of chatting, we head towards the taxi rank and here is where all semblance of suave, sophisticayed adulthood maturity begins to unravel…rapidly.

There are two taxi’s in the rank when we arrive and after taking a quick glance at the ahem, anatomy and make of the taxi at the head of the queue, I quickly (for reasons which shall become embarssingly clear rather soon) make the executive decision to go to the second taxi in the queue.

BIG MISTAKE, it would appear.

The driver of the second taxi nods his head in the direction of the car in front of him and says rather quickly:

“Eh lads, yous should definitely get into that car lads.”

Feeling rather perplexed, I turn back the taxi at the head of the queue and am greeted with the very gruff and angry looking face of the driver of the front car.

“What’s wrong with MY car?!” he demands in a think Dublin accent, catching Will and I completely off guard, not knowing whether he is joking or not.

“Ehhhh….” I stutter.

“Do yous have a problem with me or my car?!”he asks again, his voice rougher and tougher than before.

“No, no! Of course not, we just happened to go for the second one…” I say rather sheepishly back, my voice catching once or twice.

“Are yous sure?! Are yous sure you don’t have a problem or yous don’t like the look of this car?”he says as we place our bags into the back seat and he sits back into the drivers chair.

“No, sir, it was just random really.” I reply sheepishly again, lying through my teeth, not wanting to reveal the true embarrassing reason why I chose to ignore his car.

What follows are some of the most awkward few minutes that have ever been experienced in a taxi…

“Can you take us to Terenure please?” I mumble, trying to re-establish that sacred bond of driver/passenger status quo that had been lost.

No response.

It’s this address, I try again: reading him out a text from my phone.

Again, no response.

I sit back slowy in my seat, unsure of whether he will actually now take us to where we are going or whether we’ll be taken to some unknown location and deposited there to fend for ourselves, such was this mans disdain for us after our dismissal of his car.

Slowly but surely though, he types the address into his sat-nav and we move off, joining up with the citie’s traffic and although still with a knot of anxiety in my stomach, I lean back in my seat and exhale slightly.

‘Bullet, dodged’ I think to myself smugly, when suddenly:

“So, why didn’t yous choose my car? Do ye have a problem with it or with me?”

Oh god.

Here it comes, the unescapable inquisition.

‘I’ll have to tell him’ I think.

‘There’s nothing else that I can say…’

‘It’s so ludicrous he’ll have to believe me…’

“Well, I mbbbmbmbbmb…” I say quietly before trailing off.

“What’s that? I missed what you said,” he responds.

‘Here goes nothing, the embarrassing truth,’ I resign myself inwardly.  

“Well, it’s just…that…I don’t really like…” I say.

“Go on…” the driver says, now looking at me in the rear view mirror.

“I don’t like the sliding side doors on taxi’s..they’re tricky!” I blurt out, leaving a breath of shame lingering in the air.



Right, umm, yeah.

“Are yous fookin’ serious?” he says, his eyes probing me through the mirror, but now with a hint of humour and incredulity about them.

“Yes…” I reply quietly, “they can be awkward to get open…and so when I saw your door, I just said to myself that to avoid any potential fumbling and grabbing, that we’d get just avoid the sliding doors altogther, okay? That’s the truth.”

Silence again.


“You’s are a fookin’ idiot” he answered before breaking into laughter.

Thus followed the single longest taxi ride of my short life culminating in the driver remaking to me as I got ready to leave the car:

“Do yous need a hand with that sliding door? They can be awkward.”






My Awkward Life | The Crow



My Awkward Life | The Crow

To my friends and loyal readers; AKA: one man, his dog Lionel and a girl from Eyeries; I have a confession to make: 

I write this post as a broken man; an ornithological hit-man, a disrupter of the Darwinian Theory and an enemy of the bird kingdom.  

This is My Awkward Life. 

Let’s just put it straight out there; I killed a crow today, by accident of course. 

I ran straight over him with my car, I heard a thump and then he was gone; I saw his lifeless body lying in the road through my rear-view mirror. 

It’s the first time that I’ve ever killed anything bigger than a spider and so, it came as a bit of a shock to my system. 

At first, I just thought that he was one of those prankster dare-devil crows that you sometimes meet; you know the ones; they wait until the last possible second to fly away to safety and you’re just left a big sweaty nervous mess behind the wheel. 

Those bastards. 

Unfortunately, for this particular crow though, he left it just a little too late to try and escape. 

Cool+side+of+the+pillow_ef150a_3247055I was on my way back from a work event; the sun was shining, the radio was blaring out summer songs and the breeze was as cool as the other side of the pillow. 

Yep, life was pretty grand.

I rounded the corner and that’s when I saw him.

The Crow. 

He was just standing there in the middle of my lane, doing crow things on his crow time. 

I kept thinking that he’d move, that’d he’d fly out of the way…

He didn’t. 

Legitimately, no word of a lie, I shouted the following sentence out loud to myself in my car:

“Get out of the way crow! You have to move! I’m going to hit you!” 

Picture that in your head, eh?

With cars coming past me on the other side of the road; I couldn’t maneuver out of the way, I could only position the middle of my car over him and hope that I’d pass harmlessly over…

This simple plan would have worked too if it hadn’t been for his meddling brain; poor stupid fool tried to up and fly away while by car was over him:





This fainest of noises could be heard as loud as a church bell inside my head as I quickly glanced in the rear-view mirror to check what had happened…

He was still alive when I looked back, trying in vain to move his wings and get off the road; it was not to be though and before I turned the corner and out of sight…I saw him stop moving altogether. 

Then, to show that the universe has either got some terrible timing or a sick sense of humour; this is actually line from the song that played as I caught my last glimpse of the bird:

“All these things that I have done” – The Killers. 

Heck, you really can’t write this stuff.

So now, my watch begins in this latest and saddest of all the episodes of My Awkward Life.

RIP, Mr Crow. 


Current Mood.

Hello darkness, my old friend. 



My Awkward Life | The Failed Cup Of Anything


My Awkward Life | The Failed Cup of Anything

This is not a terrific tale; this is certainly not even a tea-rrific tale; this is just a story of one man, a supermarket, bitter disappointment and a lesson learnt.

This is My Awkward Life. 

This tale of failure and social ineptitude begins, as a lot of my tales do, with me heading to some sort of fancy/non fancy occasion for work. 

The post on Facebook said that the event was due to start at 11am and so being the time diligent turtle that I am, I arrived bang on time at 11:15.

You know what they say; a wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.

Clearly in my head, I’ve replaced ‘wizard’ with ‘Fergus’ but you know, just run with it okay? 

No? Come on? Be cool…

Deal? Deal! 



Now, after realising that the actual official ribbon cutting for the shop wouldn’t be happening until 12, I had now got time to kill and so I meandered into town, fancying a nice cup of tea. 

Roysh, so to save myself from potential embarrassment, I won’t be naming the shop I was in; but here’s how my tale of failure goes:

I enter the shop and pass the security guard; it’s awkward as I had only been in this shop ten minutes previously to buy some pistachio nuts and now he’s probably thinking:

‘Hang on a second, why is that guy back so soon?’

It probably doesn’t help the situation that as I pass him, I’m rummaging through the bag of the aforementioned pistachios that I have stored in my pocket; I look shifty and suspicious, no question about it.

‘Play it cool, Dennehy, just play it cool; just find the tea counter and you’ll be golden’ I reassure myself. 

Looking like a confused sheep that has been suddenly roped into running for president and is now standing on a stage in front of the worlds press; I stand still for a second, looking bewildered as I try to glance around nonchalantly for where the magical and much desired cup of tea resides. 

‘AHA! Thar she blows!’ I cheer inwardly as I spy my white whale in the far corner. 

Heading over, with a renewed spring in my step, my heart sinks as the glossy sign above the station reads ‘GOURMET COFFEE’.

‘Curses!’ I mutter under my breath, my dislike of coffee has come back to bite me, it seems. 


Right, what to do now?

On the verge of quitting this quest altogether, I spy an option for ‘Hot Chocolate’ on one of the machines and my hope is renewed. 

Soon, after struggling for quite a few minutes to pull the paper cup from its holder, I press the option for ‘Hot Chocolate’ and we’re away in a hat and I’m already looking forward to the delicious chocolate warmth…


‘Why is there only milk pouring into my cup?’ 

‘Maybe they put the milk in first and the chocolate afterwards?’ 

‘That’s a lot of milk…’ 

‘Any second now, it has to…’ I reason with myself, expecting at any second now to see that brown liquid chocolate add itself to my drink.



The machine finishes its job and I’m just left staring at my drink.

‘Oh, God’ I whisper, staring at the now completely full large cup of frothy, curdling milk in my hands. 

‘This is not at all what I wanted; what do I do with THIS?’ 

That’s when I see the sign:


Well that explains it…

Realising that there’s someone behind me, I move away from the machine and cradle my drink in my hands, as if I actually care about it. 

Now very conscious of every employee in the store that could be watching me and that cursed security guard on my tale, I try to act as cool and ‘loosey goosey’ as possible.


Yes, yes we can.

‘Maybe, if I drink it, then they’ll think that I actually got the right drink and that I know what I’m doing’ I think to myself. 

‘No! You fool, you haven’t even paid for it…you can’t just go drink-stealing drinks…plus…it’s a cup of horrible looking steamed milk…’ my inner logic bites back.

‘Could I just pour it down a drain?’ I think, looking longingly over at the coffee machine drains;

‘They could work….or cause a blockage…or they could be decorative’ I ponder inwardly.

Looking around, I realise that I have only one other solution at this point…

So my friends; this is the tale of why there is now a large cup of frothy, curdling milk hidden deep in the recesses of the cold drink section of a certain shop here in town.

To the employee that finds it; know that I tried my best and I apologise. 

I left the shop empty handed and trudged back to the event; thirsty, disappointed but a little wiser nonetheless. 


This may be your reaction.








My Awkward Life | The Very Impressed Man


My Awkward Life | The Very Impressed Man

On this weeks all new and exciting episode; Darren invents a new word, Fergus buys an ice cream and someone somewhere answers a phone call.

This is My Awkward Life. 


Let’s begin. 

This is the tale of a man who was very impressed with something. 

Plus, me, who just happened to be there when he saw the thing that he was impressed by.

Impressed yet?


My Awkward Life | The Very Impressed Man

You betcha.

Anyway, let’s really begin this time.

Recently, I found myself with a few hours to spare from work, so I arranged to meet up with my recurring character friend; Darren ‘Tactical’ Truslove on his lunch break. 

Darren, who is currently interning/in a hotel here in town, was a man on a mission as he set about getting the prints on a reel of film, to quote his exact word, ‘denegatified’ for work. 

“Denegitified?” I asked him, “Is that a word? I don’t think it is…?”

“Shhhh, it is now!” he responded with a laugh. 

‘Denegitified, Denegitified, Denegitified…’ I repeated over and over in my mind, trying to get my head around both the spelling, knowing that it would bother me the rest of the day if I didn’t. 

‘I mean, how would you even go about defining that?’ I thought to myself, my mind now completely off topic as to what Darren was now talking about back in the real world.

*Insert Darren White Noise Here*

‘Could you say; taking the negative out of it maybe? That could work?’ I think. 

Somehow in the midst of my strange inner ramblings about the meaning of a made up word; my body, mouth and auto-pilot function had managed to keep up a relatively decent conversation with Darren throughout. 

I was in the clear!

(Well, until he reads this story that is; Hi Darren!)

With my apparent good conversational skills intact, we soon reached our destination; a local beauty shop which hides in its bowels, a photo processing centre. 

While Darren went up to explain what we needed done for work, I went about trying to look busy and not at all suspicious while standing in the shop on my own. 

That’s when I heard it. 

Mmmmhmmm, oh yes!” 

‘What the heck?’ I thought to myself. 

“Oh yes, mmmmhmmm, haha!”

I look around for the source of the noise and see a man, who by the looks of it must be  in his 70’s, staring up and down avidly at a display on the shelf, the contents of which I cannot see clearly from where I am. 

“Mmmmhmmm, yes, yes, yes! Mmmmmhmmmm!” this man continues, now bending down to look at the lower parts of the shelf, obviously very impressed with what he was seeing. 

‘Do I walk away from him? Do I ask him if he’s okay? I don’t really know the protocol here…’ I ask myself. 

‘He could be having a stroke? Are these the symptoms of a stroke? Making noises that sound like you’re impressed but really, you’re having a stroke?’ 

Right that second though, he gets up and just walks away and disappears around the corner. 

‘I have to know what he was looking at!’ I think, making my way casually over to the display; ‘What could have been so interesting that he—‘


Rows of condoms. 

The man, who looked to close to being in his mid-70’s and who was making very loud approval noises, was looking at rows and rows of boxes condoms. 

I mean, what do you say to that?


Oh, then myself and Darren bought ice-cream.

My Awkward Life | The Mysterious Baby


My Awkward Life | The Mysterious Baby

I was walking down the street this afternoon when a woman in front of me started talking loudly on the phone about a baby of some sorts that she knew.

Now, I’m certainly not someone who often follows random strangers down the street to listen to their conversations, but this time, I think it was acceptable.

I hope.

God, I sound like a right creep in this post.

I’m not, I swear.

Anyway moving on, this woman on the phone, she kept trying to say this one particular thing about the aforementioned toddler; but she was being constantly cut off mid sentence by what I could only guess was a very rude person on the other end of the line.

Just try to imagine yourself listening into this, be honest, you’d obviously want to know the full story aswell. Here’s how it played out:

“The baby is…”


“The baby is…”


“The baby is…”


Now, I was at this point far too invested in this woman’s story, all I wanted in the world at that moment was to find out what the end of her sentence was.

‘The baby is…what? The baby is…what? The baby is what? Finish your story woman!’ I inwardly pleaded with her.

I was just silently willing her on with all my might to finish her sentence, I NEEDED to find out the story of this infernal baby.

Sadly though, it was not to be.

‘Mysterious Baby Woman’, as she’s now been dubbed,  turned up a different street to me and now, I and consequently you reading this, will never know.


The baby is…gone.

My Awkward Life | The Door


My Awkward Life | The Door

I’ve just finished taking photos at an event and everything has gone smoothly.

I’m on my way out of the building where I meet two guests who I’ve photographed, they’re standing right next to the exit.

With a smooth flick of my hand, I bid them farewell and turn for the door, congratulating myself on being so suave.

I reach for the door and find it locked…

‘Odd’ I think.

That’s when I realise that I’m at the emergency exit, to be used, obviously only in the case of emergencies.

Well I for one, not wanting to turn back around and walk through the crowd of people after my shambolic mistaken door mishap, decide that my predicament equates to an emergency.

I slightly force (yes force) open both (yes both) of the emergency exit doors, praying with every fibre of my body that it’s not alarmed (it’s not) and make my way out.

With the door really not wanting to close behind me, I just walk briskly off…leaving the emergency exit door completely open (propped open with my enduring embarrassment) to whatever thieves, scoundrels and/or alcoholics that want to enter sneakily.

Some say it never closed properly after this.


I’ll just leave this here…

My Awkward Life | The Traffic Lights


My Awkward Life | The Traffic Lights

We’ve been waiting at the traffic lights a while now, my group of ragtag companions and I.

Well when I say companions, I actually mean the two separate individuals that I have no affiliation or connection with whatsoever and who I have just happened to stand next to on the street. 

There’s the very sweaty, grumpy looking bald man who, of course, I’ve chosen to name Fred. 

Then we have the leather jacket man who has tattoos running up the back of his neck, a weather beaten face and eyes that have no doubt seen too much.

I’ve, as you can no doubt guess, named him Joseph (Duh).

You see, we’re trying to cross the road and right now, we’re really not having much success at all. 

As the closest one to the all important traffic light button, Joseph is of course the leader of our motley crew and the person that I assume has pressed the button to allow us to cross said road. 

Eh? Maybe not, it seems.

The little green man who lives in the traffic lights and controls the flow of people over his road bridge like some of fairy tale troll has seemingly decided today that: 

‘Nah mate, gonna call in sick; be grand’. 

That scoundrel. 

As I was a late arrival to our merry fellowship and this quest, I’m sort of out of the loop as what our ‘road crossing’ plan actually is as a result. 

‘I mean, has he even pressed the button?’ I think to my self, looking longingly over at the round metal device on the pole.

‘It’s entirely possible that he hasn’t…he might have just assumed, like me, that it had been pressed by someone else…I’ll just give it a few more seconds,’

‘This has been a really long wait…he mustn’t have pressed it…I mean, seriously…who doesn’t press the button straight away…’

Treasonous thoughts suddenly begin to creep into my psyche, my mind suddenly beginning to question the leadership of this Joseph character. 

‘Maybe I should press it…’ my hand twitching ever so slightly at the thought of this. 

‘No! I can’t be that guy who just comes along and presses the button when someone has clearly already pressed it! Those people are the worst…I can wait this out’ I reassure myself.

Another thirty seconds passes with no sign of the little green man and his traffic slowing down abilities…

‘This is the longest that anyone has ever had to wait…ever. Why has no-one else (AKA Fred) not noticed this wait?’

I glance over at my bald headed companion and nothing; not a single look of wonder or confusion on his face about the delay.

‘Classic Fred move; cool as a cucumber that fellow, can’t phase him’ I think.

‘That’s it, I’m pressing it and to hell with Joseph and this social etiquette!’ I decide as I move toward the button and salvation

Suddenly though, a movement across the street stops me dead in my tracks.

A businessman, dressed immaculately in a pin striped suit, saunters up and just presses his own button, cool as you like.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

All of a sudden, the lights turn red, traffic stops and we’re crossing the road, all in the blink of an eye. 

‘Well, that escalated quickly’ I think. 

Now, in the end, I’ll never know whether it was the businessman pressing it that allowed us to cross or whether Joseph had actually pressed it originally and it just took a while to register, I guess that’s just part of the mystery of it all. 

Myself, Fred and Joseph all went our seperate ways at at the other side, I mean, we all had actual things to do that day.

And while we’d never actually spoken a single word to each other and they’d never ever know what silly part they played in the silly drama inside my head, we would forever be bonded as those people that waited far too long to cross a simple street. 

Peace out, hombres. 


That’s an exit.