Nick Webb is business editor of the 'Sunday Independent'. He is co-author with Shane Ross of two bestselling current affairs books, 'Wasters' and 'The Untouchables'. Originally from Shankill, Co Dublin, he lives in Terenure with his wife Rebecca and four children Tom, 14, Sarah, 12, Millie, 9, and Edward, seven
I met Mario in first year in Trinity, about 1989/1990. I ran a satirical magazine called Piranha; its entire role was being horrible. Mario came on the radar because he was very much an act-or; there he was in his Aran jumpers, carrying copies of Marcus Aurelius around, so instantly he got up my nose.
We mentioned him in my first edition – we’d print lists of people and what was wrong with them. But we’d common friends and we just sort of started to hang out. He was a rascal, I was a rascal, he got past my being mean about him. We became much closer about a year-and-a-half later when we went off to Germany together in 1991, on one of those summer things.
We just sort of clicked on that holiday. He’s a very warm kind of guy but with a touch of sulphur – you need a touch of that about people or they could be very boring, and Mario’s definitely not boring.
We left college at different times. Then at 25, I got married. Mario was my best man: he organised an epic stag night and made a speech at the wedding that did not go down well. Later, we kind of drifted apart. I'd freelanced for all sorts of publications, for Commando – it's a second World War comic – and for weird things such as European Potato Buyer and Caravan Monthly before the Sunday Tribune offered me a job.
Then Mario and I had a bit of a falling out – it was silliness, I think we both have different views about what caused it. We didn’t see each other for four or five years, I missed his wedding. It was quite sad. Then I met him on Liffey Street one day in the mid-2000s. It was like we hadn’t seen each other for 20 minutes: we were straight back in, went for a drink, there was “I’ve missed you” kind of stuff. We caught up.
Shortly after coming back together, we went to a rugby match: as we walked down from Smyth’s pub, every two seconds people were asking could they take a photograph with him. It was the first time I’d gone out with him in five years and it was amazing. I used to hate it when he mimicked people back in college, and now it’s turned out to be his career.
Mario’s more open, more touchy feely than me, I’d be more unreconstructed man. But that said, I’ve never seen a man take a punch like Mario – that was when we were up to rascalry back in the day; it’s a great life skill. I’m not sure if he still has it.
It’s a bit of an old cliche but the strongest thing is that friends are people you grow up with. The shared experience is the glue in all this.
Mario Rosenstock is an actor, comedian and impressionist whose career began in college, playing the doctor in 'Glenroe'. Since 1999, he has presented 'Gift Grub' on Today FM, and more recently, his own TV show on RTÉ2. His third stage show, 'Gift Grub Live 3', has just started. From Waterford, he lives in Blackrock, Co Dublin, with his wife Bláthnaid, son Dash, 7, and daughter Bellamie, 19 months
My first encounter with Nick was in Trinity: I was mad into acting and was in Trinity Players – my year included people like Dominic West and Cathy Belton. I was going around in my silk scarf, real pretentious, and then I read this college rag, Piranha. On the back was an abusive diatribe about the latest scum to have infested Trinity, namely thespian scum with unpronounceable names like Mario Rosenstock.
I thought, who would write such disgusting vitriol? I wanna seek him out. Thinking I was going to meet this low-level tabloid scum, on the contrary, I meet this effete, croquet-playing, Pimms-drinking, ever so hoity-toity man-from-Del Monte-jacket-wearing toff called Nicholas Arbuthnot Webb – and he’s making fun of me!
But the guy I met was charm central. He was very gregarious, warm: I realised his horrible writing was just a front. One of Nick’s dominant features is his dry wit – he’s quick as a flash, witty, acerbic, sardonic. He’s a kind of Terenure Angus Deayton. He’s also got a touch of the Clarkson about him – he feigns this misogynistic laddish character, but in fact he’s sweet, cuddly and sensitive.
I was involved in a car crash and was sent to Munich for the summer, figured working there was a quick way of making cash to repay the damage. My brother had secured a very nice flat; Nick came but we hid him for two months because there were too many of us.
Then Nick and I left college. We used to play football together every week and I was best man at his wedding. I wrote an eight-page tome, learned it off by heart, stood up in front of 400-500 people and started reciting verbatim. I lost my audience in about 30 seconds – but they had to endure another 40 minutes. We stayed friends after that, a testimonial to our friendship.
A few years later we fell out in an argument, I think over collecting money for football.
A couple of years on, we met on the street and made up very quickly. I’d got married in the meantime, and regret to this day that he wasn’t at our wedding. We moved on, realised friendships are important, and it’s stupid to fall out over small things.
He’s godfather to my son, Dash, I’m godfather to his daughter, Millie. It always helps if your wife approves of your best friend, and Bláthnaid does – and Nick’s wife Rebecca and I were friends in college. Nick is one of the funniest, most acerbic writers: his ideal job would probably be editor and owner of Private Eye.
Mario Rosenstock's Gift Grub Live 3 tour continues tonight in Killarney with a further 12 shows until November 29th, mariorosenstock.ie