in his youth Sean would have been stripped to the waist, dripping with sweat amongst the strobe lights and dry ice, a bottle of amyl up one nostril and a Vicks up the other dancing like Hiawatha to the latest untz-untz track by Dougal or Sharkey. He’s Irish after all. Nowadays he prefers to eat gluten-free banana bread while lounging on his whicker armchair, listening to ethnic-voiced wishy-wash haus from the Dixon stable.
