Peter Goulding rails at life from the comfort of his Dublin suburban armchair mainly through the medium of humorous verse. He has also had a modicum of success in the field of serious verse, though his writing is nowhere near obscure enough to warrant a published collection. He has written a novel that sank without trace even though it mentions the phrase ‘custard creams’ more often than any other book (52) He is currently working on a biography of a nondescript ancestor who achieved a sort of fame by getting killed in the Easter Rising of 1916. And he still can’t put up a shelf without bringing down the gable wall.