Bringing The Filth To The Door
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Last week, my roommate had his friend 'Stan' from London to stay. To say this guy looked crusty is an understatement. 'Stan' stank. As we were introduced I feigned indifference to his abhorrent smell and offensive fingerless mittens by shaking his hand and mentioning the fact that I had just introduced myself to Mr. Welsh.

'Stan' had some sort of an infection in his leg and he disappeared in the middle of the night to have it attended to. The next day, unusually, I locked the door of my room because I did not trust 'Stan' in the house on his own. When I arrived home from school with my daughter, 'Stan' was sitting on the couch with his gammy leg on the coffee table and the distinct odour of rotting flesh permeated the air around him. Now I live in a two-bedroom flat so I sat down at the table to do the Obair Bhaile with the little girl and the whole time 'Stan' sits there silently staring at the wall.

My roommate disappeared on a bender, without inviting his friend to join him but instead left 'Stan' asleep on the couch. The next day, whilst 'Stan' was 'out buying pasta' my roommate mentioned would I mind if he stayed another night. I asked him what 'Stan' was doing here, what was his business, where were his family and why did he need to stay another night? My roommate, already late for work, decided that he would ask him to leave and so we waited for him to come back.

An hour passed and there was still no sign of 'Stan.' My roommate was looking nervous and I was looking out the window of my room, stalking Irvine when five or six men walked past the window in quick succession. Now I haven't done much work in the garden for a while and it doesn't normally warrant such attention. But these guys were straining to see in the window. I went to the curtain. One of the men outside must have noticed the curtain move because he looked directly at me and there were suddenly eight guys out of nowhere banging on the door. I went out to my roommate and I said

- I think there's someone at the door for you.

It was the filth. An Garda Siochana drug squad and they turned the flat upside down. For four hours they held us there separately. We waited for another hour and a half till they got the sniffer-dogs. They said they found a bag of heroin in 'Stans' rucksack. But I didn't see anything.

There is a huge sack of polystyrene balls on top of the wardrobe in my room. I walked past the door on one occasion and a couple of ruddy cheeked Gardai were taking their pictures with a digital camera, holding up the sack of polystyrene, the biggest bag of smack ever hauled by Terenure DS.

They gave my roommate his bag of weed back. They left the place in a worse state than as if burglars had ransacked it. 'Stan' never came back to pick up his stuff.

The next day a bill arrived from St James Hospital infectious and tropical diseases Department addressed to none other than Mr. Irvine Welsh.