Save Blackcock's Feather

I first saw my husband in Blackrock Baths. He was twenty two and I was eleven. If anyone told him then that he would marry that skinny kid with freckles, glasses and braces on her teeth he would probably have run a mile. Standing behind him was this other skinny kid, with an inverted chestbone and a nose the length of concord. He doesn’t remember this but everyone was laughing at the contrast. I made my choice there and then. Little did I know that this other kid would traipse around Dublin after me with his gob open and an unfilled, hungry desire in his eyes as he observed my every move.

I want to reopen the Blackrock Baths and drown him in there, in the kiddies pool half filled with piss.

Then I want to go up to the chipper in Georges Avenue and meet the Teddy Boys or maybe the Bay City Rollers – dangerous, maverick, and aloof - me any my cousin secretly thought they were gorgeous and went out of our way to walk by them feigning indifference but looking unbelievably grown up and seductive, or so we thought holding a bag of soggy chips. Except the skinny guy pretending he was Les McKeown – he was a total dick and I have spent the rest of my life avoiding his unwanted affections.

Please help me get this problem resolved for once and for all. If you have any old memories or him, or photographs, or Bay City Rollers memorabilia, please send them to Sydney Parade Avenue immediately. He has nothing to do on Saturday afternoons, as his wife has gone to play golf.