Half a lifetime ago I was in Tralee escorting a Rose. Yes, that’s right, I was an escort at the Rose of Tralee. And you thought you weren’t handsome enough to apply?

It was 1995. I was asked to do the on-stage interviews at the Cavan Rose heat. The beautiful Michelle Maguire won and afterwards I asked her if she wouldn’t mind coming in for a radio interview on Northern Sound the following day. She did. In return, she asked if I would escort her to the Ulster Rose final. I did.

Michelle deservedly won and was off to Tralee. In those days, the Rose could bring their escort. Somebody urged me to be bold and ask her there and then if it could be me. Real bad manners on my part asking myself along, but Michelle, being a genuine lady, agreed.

I must have been near a week in Kerry. It was like a big, long Irish wedding with a touch of the Oscars. I was given the time off in lieu by the boss in Shannonside/Northern Sound on the proviso I do radio updates from Tralee. I remember doing a live piece with Joe Finnegan around 9.10am the morning after the new Rose of Tralee had been crowned.

On the way home to bed, after one hell of a party, I remembered to report for duty. Still in my tuxedo, minus the bow tie, I reversed the charges from a phone box outside the Cathedral, as a couple of fellow escorts stood guard outside. It was a wonderfully colourful and informative report.

A year on, it was back to the Slieve Russell Hotel for the 1996 Cavan Rose selection. This time, the fantastic Rosemarie Howden from Bawnboy took the tiara. I asked if she would do an interview on my radio programme the following day. She did. In return, she asked if I would escort her to the Ulster Rose event. I did.

She won. I was off to Tralee. Again, true story. The lovely Rosemarie received a lavish send-off from family and friends. Yes, we were flown to Dublin in Sean Quinn’s helicopter. Rosemarie officially met the other Roses and headed for the Kingdom. I had to find my way back to Ballyconnell to collect my car.

Then I was off to Tralee again, feeling like a veteran. Rosemarie’s mother, Rosaleen, was an O’Reilly before she married. My memory that year is of a unique photograph of two or three Roses, including Rosemarie, courtesy of her maternal surname and the Adelaide Rose, Genevieve O’Reilly – who went on to become a great film actress – along with two or three of us escorts all called O’Reilly. I haven’t been back, nor have I passed much remarks of the festival since. But thanks to that unlikely Cavan two-in-a-row success mid ’90s, I have a story I can regale year after year, this time every year. CL

Big mouths strike again

When or how are nutcases on Twitter going to be held accountable by defamation law? If a journalist or broadcaster was to publicly express what some of these organised campaigners, politically motivated influencers and demonstrably disturbed trolls deliberately vomit online every day, they’d be up in front of a judge or out of a job.

To cite one of any amount of examples, the level of moronic hyperbole and homophobia aimed at Leo Varadkar on his visit to Canada last weekend perfectly illustrates what a disturbingly lawless cesspit social media has become. Why should unchecked nameless trolls be afforded the same platform as other measured users and commentators? It simply wouldn’t be allowed in print or on air, yet this is meant to be the competition?