"They're back!" When I heard Larry Gogan's voice on the radio ad it seemed like the impossible had finally happened.

My mate Dermot said it best with his text message: "A Horslips gig and Dublin to win two All-Ireland titles in the same year. I've the first part of an unlikely treble."

Knowing the logistics involved, if it's been possible to get Horslips to reform for a couple of major concerts 29 years after their farewell gig in Belfast, then both the Dubs teams are worth a punt!

We'd played a couple of TV shows over the last few years.

There was an enjoyable stint in St John's Church, in Dingle, for Other Voices and then a more raucous session for TG4's Ardan, which saw the band extend their repertoire in front of an audience that created a mosh-pit atmosphere in the Montrose studio. Deadly.

Thrilling though these outings were, they were like a minor match compared to the All-Ireland final production planned for the O2 Arena and the Odyssey in Belfast.

However, there'll be a name change on the programme.

The band's drummer (that's me), and goalkeeper (I have the St Finian's team photos to prove it!), will be replaced by a man from the subs' bench. This time out I've asked to be the Maor Uisce (The water carrier is an important part of every Gaelic football team).

As the goodwill messages flooded in, I was glad I'd encouraged the band to accept the offer to stage these shows. These gigs are going to be special. That I guarantee.

Riffs

I've spent a few days playing the old songs with the band and was amazed at the ease with which the riffs came flooding back.

When the promotions people at MCD revealed the tag line for their radio advert - "The anthems that defined a generation" -- the renowned Horslips' wit resurfaced. "The aunties who defamed a generation," quipped Gerry, the sound engineer.

It reminded me of the day back in the 70s when we had to urgently decide on a name for this band of mates who were about to appear on TV for the first time. Because there were five of us, a friend suggested we call ourselves The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (It was the 70s!).

"The Four Poxmen of the Horslips would be more like it," was the reply. The Poxmen didn't seem suitable so we settled on Horslips, expecting to change it the next day. But it stuck.

Nine years, 12 albums and thousands of gigs later, we decommissioned.

"You must be mad not to want to play the O2," said a young friend, unaware that back in the day we played venues in the States, Germany and Britain that would make the Dublin gig seem as cosy as his kitchen.

Charlie Watts once lamented that his life as a drummer with the Rolling Stones involved about 20 years of hanging about.

I know how he feels. Soundchecks, load-ins, tuning sessions, rehearsals and all the rest of the necessary stuff that goes into getting a band together for gigs drives me bonkers.

Believe me, there's nothing worse than a bonkers drummer. Except, maybe, a bonkers accordion player.

Weird

Opening the Herald yesterday, I saw a full-page ad for Horslips opposite one for Beyonce. How weird is that? Answer. Extremely!

Charles O'Connor threw his fiddle into the audience the night Horslips played their last gig.

Today he's buzzing on the idea of turning the volume on his new one up to 11.

Barry Devlin overcame his reluctance to perform and told a journalist that he's doing these gigs to prove to his kids that their father was once a rock 'n' roller. Screenwriter Barry also has a new movie due in the autumn, so he's going to be a busy man.

RTE producer Jim Lockhart, who astonished audiences by playing two tin whistles at the same time, is contemplating an addition to his armoury of keyboards. It could be a grand piano. But I'm sworn to secrecy.

Before Johnny Fean joined Horslips he'd been touring County Clare playing banjo with Ted Furey. Yes, the father of the famous group. Today, Johnny is living in the Banner County with guitars that could tell some stories!

Ramshackle

Barry Devlin recalled that our first planned appearance, in Navan, had been banned by the local curate. "Bingo priest bans pop group" was the headline at the time.

It as just as well as we were a decidedly ramshackle outfit at that stage. Ploughing through live recordings we did in America and Germany reminded me of how tight the band had become by the time we disbanded in 1980.

Having encouraged the fellow bandmates to embark on this venture, I was press-ganged into taking part in media schedule.

As a journalist, that was weird. I spent hours doing interviews with reporters I normally work alongside.

Some of the younger ones didn't have a clue about my secret past. Now they know that I once hung out with Robert Plant, Jason Orange and Big Tom, I feel they might be viewing me with suspicion.

It may sound like something you'd find in a Chinese cracker, but rock'n'roll can change your life. It changed mine. It might do so again.

Horslips at the O2 in December might not be a life-changing event for anyone. But it will be one hell of a party. I might see you there.