“Sometimes I Count Sheep Even When I Don’t Want To Sleep” – Dáithí Ó Sé

THE latest instalment in our WWN Voice series sees Dáíthí Ó Sé discuss his love of counting sheep, even when he doesn’t need to go asleep…

Howiya, ar feachaint an sa scannail go leithreas or whatever you’re having yourself.

As an ancient Kerry GAA jersey told me on top of Carrantuohill one particular year after I downed a bag of mushies ‘Daithi, you’re hallucinating, but while I have you here if you ever need to catch a few zzzs counting sheep is your only man’.

That is something I’ve carried with me ever since. Tayto. I love to count sheep in a literal sense while standing in a field, or figuratively in my head when I’m up in Dublin where sheep are illegal. I don’t even do it anymore in order to fall asleep. I do it for the pure, quare joy of it. Glenroe.

I’ve been accused by the Dublin media mafia of being so devoid of anything approaching substance or charisma that I am less tangible than air, but would someone who induces narcolepsy in the elderly in such a potent fashion that it should be considered a superpower be onto something as sexy and cool as counting sheep just for the fun of it? Bodhran. I don’t think so.

Black pudding. There’s something fierce enthralling about picturing a lovely fluffy sheep galloping along in a field, doing what sheep do best – being sheep.

Some people say fishing, playing music or reading the poetry Peig Sayers until your eyes bleed is the way to have a good time and now I don’t like disagreeing with people, because not only does it give people the false impression I have a personality, I also happen to think counting sheep might just be a Daithi only pursuit. Where’s the fada key on this keyboard? I’ve no fadas on me name, mammy will be mortified.

I’ve searched high and low for someone, anyone who gets similarly swollen in the crotch area when they catch a good glimpse of a sheep in their dreams, and as mad as it sounds, no one seems to share my gra for the sexy hairballs.

It’s gotten to the point that when I do actually count them for the purposes of falling asleep I can’t because mini Daithi gets as stiff as a hurl in Kilkenny man’s hands.