In a bizarre but vivid dream, I’m sitting in front of a blank notebook thinking of writing a poem about how my elderly mother never listens to me, how one of us is above our station (all fur coat and no knickers), and how sad I am that she doesn’t really act like my mother any more.

The poem materialises like magic in the way some poems do, and after several drafts (not my usual zillion, billion, lots), gets a public airing. Several readings in front of appreciative audiences later, I change the ending, moving the punchline to where it really belongs.

Fast forward a couple of years, and the poem helps to win me a literary award and  €1,500 – and for 48 hours, a pub in Dublin is renamed in my honour. The story is all over social media ( just as everyone is talking about leaving Facebook, I embrace it), and people I haven’t heard from for years are making contact again.

And then I wake up.

Or not. This has actually been happening to me!

Someone remarked on how  I’m not being very cool about my Hennessy Literary Award. Cool? Of course I’m not – I’m f*****g blown away by it! And I’m gushing because although I wanted to win, I didn’t expect to win, so my delight is genuine.

As someone who has rather more candles than I’d like on my birthday cake, I really thought I’d left it too late to  expect much in the way of success in creative writing. I’ve been a commercial wordsmith (whatever that is) for a long time (hell, I even  used to edit a 166,000 circulation weekly newspaper, which is a lot of readers),  but I never expected to get so much new enjoyment out of writing, and so much pleasure from connecting with the readers of my poems and fiction.

And I had a pub named after me. Watch the video here.

I. Had. A. Pub. Named. After. Me.

Thank you Hennessy Awards!