Chris Kelly lives in a beautiful red brick home overlooking a scenic Victorian Square in a suburb of south Dublin. He spots me scrambling in light rain, trying to find coins for my parking meter, and comes out to give me a temporary pass used by residents. Kelly is neatly dressed, and we pass through a side-gate into a Japanese style anteroom across stepping stones laid above running water before entering his bright kitchen. Kelly moves swiftly, and although he is not a big man, he has the coiled strength of a martial artist. From the kitchen, we move upstairs,…

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