Martin OShea was born in Dublin in one of the less salubrious parts of that beautiful city. He would tell you he was raised on the wrong side of the tracks by loving, but totally incompetent parents. They just could not cope with looking after themselves, let alone the five children, of whom Martin was the eldest. Their house was a two up and two down on a housing estate where just about everybody was in the same boat. They were all skint. Furthermore they saw no prospects of ever becoming otherwise. The Irish lottery was their hoped-for fairy godmother but she seldom came up with the goods. His dad knew all the neighbours on first-name terms and indeed managed to join many of them regularly in the local pub, there to consume copious amounts of Liffey water from the Guinness factory. It was best not to ask where the money came from. Martins mother was one of those little women that you would pass in the street and never actually notice. Indeed you would be anxious not to notice her because she was able to talk the hind legs of a donkey without really saying anything. A sweet soul, but far out and without a constructive thought in her head. Thus it was that Martin, whilst still in his late teens, decided that to avoid the sterile condition of his family he must do the traditional Irish thing and seek his fortune elsewhere. He didnt fancy joining the thousands of former countrymen in America, preferring to be a bit nearer home should he feel the need

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