“If I have my time again
I would do it all the same
And not change a single thing
Even when I was to blame
For the heartache and the pain
That I caused throughout my years
How I learned to be a man
Through the laughter and the tears”
Mick Jones
In 1976 What Car magazine said this about the brand new Alfa Romeo Alfasud t1 1.3 :
“…this is a one horse race. The Alfasud is a superior car in almost every respect to the other cars in the group. It rides well, handles outstandingly, has a pleasant gearbox, excellent interior, boot accomodation, and good brakes.”
None of those comments applied to John Keaney’s 1976 yellow Alfa Sud in 1990.
In the early 1990’s I found myself working in men’s fashion shop on Liffey St. in Dublin called Hairy Legs. It was in a row with four other almost identical very reasonably priced menswear stores which faced another row of three very reasonably priced menswear stores. The only thing that these seven stores had in common was that none of their staff would ever be caught dead wearing anything that they stocked.
I shared a house with four student doctors on Belvedere Road. One of the student doctors, Paul McCormick, was my best friend’s brother, so there were two of us from Monaghan, one from Limerick, one from Clare and one from Sligo. The guys were serving their time as interns in Beaumont hospital and there was always someone who wanted to go out because they were about to go on nightshift, had just finished nightshift , or just wanted to go out. Our house was the meeting point for what seemed to be all of Dublin’s student nurses and doctors every night of the week. This directly led to two of my friends, both called Fintan, spending a lot more time in our house than my friendship alone warranted. In order to fit in they told all of the young nurses from Beaumont Hospital that they interned in St.James’ Hospital, and if we ever bumped into nurses from St.James , they said they interned in Beaumont. I told everyone that I worked in Hairy Legs, and they assumed that I was a dermatologist with a sense of humour.
At some point Owen , the one from Clare, decided that he needed a car. He arrived back one Sunday evening with a 15 year old Triumph TR7 which had cost him a staggering £200.This sparked a frenzy of car buying among the others and the kerb outside 26 Belvedere Road was soon populated with a collection of rusting bangers from all four corners of the country.
John Keaney, the one from Sligo , arrived back from a weekend at home with what had once been a bright yellow Alfasud. It was now a dull yellow, flecked with dust, and held together with his mother’s prayers, the cord from a St. Christopher medal and large amounts of Sellotape.
On one particular Monday evening I’d returned home from a busy day of removing 26” and 28” waist size labels from what were already painfully skinny jeans and replacing them with 30” and 32” labels. This skullduggery was very successful as most of our clientele were too busy or self-conscious to try on anything before buying it, and as the items were generally so cheap, couldn’t be bothered returning them. I was sitting in the living room having a lovely cup of tea , watching a repeat of The Young Ones, slightly dozing off when John Keaney, the one from Sligo burst through the door with several student nurses in tow and announcing that we were all heading to Bad Bob’s.
At that time Bad Bob’s was unique in Dublin in that it played country music on one floor, with a disco on another, which played slow sets, and served a sausage supper at midnight in order to navigate Dublin’s then archaic licensing laws. On Mondays they gave free admission to nurses and as a result it was jammed full of nurses, lonely culchies , student doctors, student teachers and every off duty Garda for a 50 mile radius.
“I’m wrecked John, I’m not going” I said straight away.
The nurses started a chorus of “Aww, go on, you will….we’ll each give you a slow dance…..” but , tempting and all as that was, I stayed resolute and said “No”.
“Will you at least drop us over in the car ?”Keaney asked.
“Did you get a car, or are you referring to the rusty canary outside ?” I joked. The girls laughed, they knew he was ridiculously proud of the car. “Will you drop us over or not ?” he snapped.
“Alright, I will.”
The journey over was uneventful. I pulled up on Dame Street beside Dublin Castle and let them out, all 6 of them, Keaney and the 5 nurses, Blaithin, Fiona, Monica, Orla, and Michele. Yes, that’s correct ,, including myself, there were 7 of us in what had once been a sports car designed for a family of two adults and two very small Italian children. They begged and pleaded with me to join them. I stayed resolute until they said they’d pay me in and buy me a pint.
I’d like to point out that my adherence to the drink driving laws in those halcyon days was a tad less enthusiastic than it is today. And , at that time, restricting myself to two pints whilst in Bad Bob’s that evening , would have been considered as almost puritanical.
And so at 2.00 am , now with the addition of Paul Mc , who’d joined us in Bad Bob’s straight from his shift in Beaumont, we all piled back into the Alfasud and turned back down Dame St. towards Trinity College. As we sailed through the traffic lights at the junction with North Great Georges St. I swear to this day that the light was amber. But as we neared Trinity College I saw the blue flashing lights in the rear view mirror, I pulled in at the Bank of Ireland to let them pass, they didn’t, they pulled in right behind us.
John and the girls were laughing hysterically. “KEANEY ! “ I shouted. They fell silent. “Listen up, I’m going to say I’m you. What’s your home address ?”
“Fatima House, Strandhill, Sligo.”
“OK, what’s the registration number of the car ?”
“EI 157”
“Who did you buy it from ?”
“Jimmy “The Dip” in Arnasbrack”
“Jimmy the Dip ??? Are you feckin’ joking ?”
“That’s what eveyone calls him !” Make sure you say that you’re a doctor, we’re always looking after the Garda in ER at Beaumont, he’ll go easy on you…….I hope”He started to laugh and the girls giggled nervously.
I could see the Garda approach my side of the car. I tried to roll down the window as he arrived beside me. After two turns of the handle the window fell suddenly into the door frame.
“Good Evening Garda !” I smiled at the young Garda who couldn’t have been much older than I was and who was staring at where my window had disappeared into.
“License please “he snapped.
“I don’t have it with me I’m afraid.”
“What’s your name ?”
“Dr.John Keaney, Beaumont Hospital” I said, emphasising the Doctor part, to loud sniggering from the back seat.
“Out of the car please “ He stood back to let me out and I mouthed something towards Keaney in the back which questioned his parenthood.
The Garda moved me on to the footpath standing with my back to the large round Bank of Ireland building and then asked me to stand up on the second step of an alcove where a statue had once been intended.
“Have you been drinking this evening ?”
Just one or two.
“Do you realise that you broke a red light there at the junction John ?” he said as he opened his little notebook which he started to scribble in.
“I could have sworn it was orange”.
He looked up sharply “What ??”
“I could have sworn that the light was still orange, it hadn’t gone red when I started through the junction.”
“Do you mean ‘Amber’ ?” ( This may seem weird and insignificant to you now , reading this in 2026, but in traffic light adverts in the North called the middle light in the traffic lights ‘Orange’, whereas, in the South , the adverts called it ‘Amber’, so it could be a giveaway that you were from the North, which could be troublesome in 1990 when the Troubles were still raging, and it was 2.00 am , and you’d allegedly run through a red light. Also, just for point of reference to readers from far away , and Dublin, Monaghan is in the South, but we got both RTE television from the South and BBC and UTV from the North.)
“Yes, the middle one.”
He stopped writing and looked at me coldly. “You’re in a lot of trouble John, you can’t afford to be ‘funny’, OK?”
OK
“What’s your address ?”
“In Dublin ?” I answered in a way I thought was clearly a question but he took as a statement.
He closed the notebook again. “What did I just say about being funny ?”
“No, I meant do you want my home address, or my Dublin address ?
“Home address as it appears on the license you don’t have with you”
Fatima House, Strandhill, Sligo.
“Is this your car ?”
Yes
“It’s not registered to you.”
I only bought it a week ago.
“Who did you buy it from ?”
Jimmy The Dip
The notebook closed again and he simply shook his head.“Stay there !” he barked and walked back to his car. The other Garda meanwhile was asking the rest of them in the car some questions , I couldn’t hear the questions but at one point I could hear John, Paul, Blaithin, Monica, Fiona, Orla, and Michelle shout out together like a football chant, incantation, or prayer :
“Dr.John Keaney,
Fatima House,
Strandhill,
Sligo, Amen.”
They might not have said the ‘Amen’ part, I was a nervous wreck by then and can’t recall exactly. That Garda left to join my Garda in their car and I could see them talking on the radio and comparing notes. My Garda got out again and walked towards me, taking out his notebook once more.
“One last question, John, what’s the registration number of the car ?”
My mind went blank, I couldn’t recall it at all. I closed my eyes. In a split second I pictured myself confessing to him that I wasn’t Dr. Keaney, that I didn’t come from Sligo, and it wasn’t my car, being handcuffed and led away never to be heard of again.
I looked up and was about to confess when I realised that he was looking at his notebook waiting to scribble my answer and , as I was standing on the second step , over his shoulder I could read the number plate on the gloriously beautiful AlfaSud.
EI 157
He wrote the number down, turned around and checked it off against the car, put a little tick in his book and closed it.
“You’re a very lucky man, John. What are you going to do now ?”
Go home.
“No, first you’re going to get at least four of the 7 passengers you’re over loaded with into a taxi and then you can go home. And what are you going to do first thing in the morning ?”
I’m going to go straight round to St.Francis Xaviers’s and light a candle for you.
“You just don’t know when to stop do you ? “ I looked at my feet and slowly shook my head.“Tomorrow morning you are going to call into Pearse St. station and show the Garda on the desk your license, car registration and insurance. Aren’t you ?”
Yes I am.
I went back to the Alfasud and as I opened the door Keaney, McCormick and the nurses launched into a chorus of “There’s only two Dr. Keaneys ! There’s only two Dr. Keaney’s”, I turned and glared at them and said that 4 had to get out and get a taxi. They did.
The next day Keaney went to the station and showed them his license, registration and insurance.
Keaney took the yellow Alfasud home to Sligo a week later to see his family but it never made it back to that Dublin again.
My Soulmate and I were up in Dublin last weekend, staying with our best friends Micky and Helena. By chance some of that Alfasud crew were meeting up too and , even though we hadn’t seen each other since Paul and Blaithin got married in 1994, within moments we were all the same giddy, naïve, and wonderful group we always were.
Last Saturday was a gloriously balmy day.
We sat up in Micky’s back garden chatting until 3.00am….exactly like we used to…
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This classic from 1990 , is a banger , like you.
