Their paths crossed in the most unexpected of places and the chemistry was immediate. But could their torrid May-December romance survive in a cold, hard world perhaps not quite ready for such as they?

Some suggest the answer lies in the photo on the wall behind them. For now, I can only promise the photo's secrets will be revealed, along with much more, as the account of Your Humble Scribe's recent sojourn to Carlow, Ireland and London, England unfolds.

Ah, the tales I have to tell...

Tales of someone known and beloved to us all who went tumbling ass-over-tea kettle down a muddy hillside in St. Mullins Cemetery in Co. Carlow to heap humiliation upon himself.

Tales of a man who claims to have 400,000, yes, 400,000, "beer artifacts" in his home and is most certainly the sort of man you'd believe entirely capable of such a thing.

Tales of double-decker busses in the rain, of wandering the late night streets of SoHo with a man in a pin-stripe suit, of superb beer and immortal art and of, almost but not quite, Paris.

All that, plus the one and only (real) Michael Jackson defending American beers and the sordid tale of how Mr. Kerry J. Byrne, founder and president of the Byrne Foundation for the Advancement of Beer, Football, Wild Game and the American Way (whatever), was caught outright in a heinous and unprovoked theft of (what else?) beer and thus brought shame upon us all.

Did I mention the high-ranking member of the Conservative Party in the House of Parliament who partied with us all night (except when he was sleeping)?

The truth shall set you free...and the parts I've, um, "enhanced" (it's the Irish way) ain't half bad either.

Promise.

The gang.