Day 15, and here we go… Oscar Wilde


Infinitely quotable, wonderful, Irish.


I remember when we got to the millennium, there was a very long, telethon-type programme to see us into the new age, and my mother wound up calling the BBC to complain.


Round about hour thirteen – not running out of things to say but perhaps scraping the barrel a little in terms of guests – the TV people brought out a soap actress, and asked her several questions about the difference between working on the small screen as opposed to the stage. She smiled and explained herself quite admirably. And then, it all went to hell.

They asked her who was, in her opinion, the most significant and laudable English author of the last hundred years. Her reply, after some dithering: Oscar Wilde.

My mother hit the roof, called the BBC, and spent some minutes explaining that Dublin is not in England.

I maintain some pride in that.