Each and every winter, around this time, I always get thinking of a small house tucked away in an estate in Newbridge that belongs to 71-year-old Jack McKenna. It’s not out of some festive decency or part of wider new year reflections; rather, it’s the sight and sound of darts on TV that always throws up an image of him sitting fireside, a practice board plonked on the far wall and a plaque over the...
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