The 18th Baron Inchiquin and chief of the 750,000 strong O'Brien clan, has taken on a new challenge. "At the age of 59, I went off the rails completely and took up motor racing," he says happily.

Having conquered the Phoenix Park mini handicap in his Mini Cooper S and raced in Mondello and on English tracks, O'Brien races an Aston Martin DB4 Lighter and any day now a picture of his Lordship in racing gear will probably hang among the very formal ancestral portraits in the hallway of elegant Thomond House, home to the Inchiquins since they sold Dromoland Castle to American billionaire Bernard McDonagh in 1962.

He prefers to be called Conor, but while he's proud of his title, he likes his other title much more - "The O'Brien" chief of the clan.

"It's the sixth most numerous Irish surname. The Murphys are the most plentiful. The O'Briens and the O'Connors were too busy fighting while the Murphy's were up to other things."

He set up the O'Brien clan foundation, a new tribal concept which involves all who bear the name. Rather than just taking out membership of an association, they can achieve a sense of belonging by contributing time and effort, and money if they want to."

He is refreshingly frank when he explains how the O'Briens of Dromoland managed to hang on to their lands and keep their aristocratic bearings throughout all the vicissitudes of Irish history.

"I can't change history," he says. "But we managed to hold on to our lands, firstly, with huge good luck, but also by fighting on the right side at the right time, and by sitting on the fence when it was most expedient."

But then he admits that they did lose a huge chunk of the Dromoland estate when the Land Acts were passed. It went from 28,000 acres to 6,000. Today his farm consists of 600 acres, some of which is used for grazing but a lot of which is leased.

Incidentally, a portrait of the famous Young Ireland leader, William Smith O'Brien hangs in a place of honour among the afore mentioned ancestral pictures. The painting sums up, in a very unique way, the complexity of Irish history and the capacious nature of Irish identity.

"He was a great, great, great, great grand uncle. We're very proud of him. He was sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered following the failed Young Ireland uprising, but was transported instead to Van Dieman's land," says Conor.

Having a title is no big deal in modern egalitarian Ireland, he says.

"But I use it now and again when I want to pull rank and get a good seat somewhere."

*He inherited the old Gaelic and later Anglicised title, when it "went sideways" to his father and then to him. But he was born in England. "I came here first when I was about seven years old on holidays to the castle," he explains. He never did live full time in the old castle, but his cousin Grainne Weir was brought up there. He and his wife Helen have two daughters, Slayney 17 and Lucia 15.

And contrary to widespread belief, he never did have a seat in the House of Lords either. "For Irish peers, that all ended in 1921." But then he explains the title Marquis of Thomond was actually a British title conferred by King Henry. But that's of little consequence now, because "Tony Blair threw us all out anyway."

These days, Lord Inchiquin runs a charming guest house in Thomond House, taking the overflow from Dromoland Castle. It's very popular with brides and their families. The castle now caters for 80 weddings a year and many of the brides stay at Thomond House and leave for the wedding ceremony from there.

Conor is also involved in a syndicate which runs a commercial pheasant shoot on the estate every year at the start of November. The estate also hosts an Easter Point to Point and they used to run hunter trials there annually.

But car racing is currently his favourite pursuit.

"It was something I always wanted to do. If there's something you want to do, you should just do it. You won't be around tomorrow," he advises.

He likes the new Ireland, says we're lucky to have had politicians in the past who invested in education and gave the economy a kick start, but he wouldn't be a politician himself for anything. Also he does have some regrets over what we are losing in the Irish way of life.

"I think we are losing some of the charm of the Irish," he admits. And some of our spirit too, it seems.

"I can't understand how a people with the fighting spirit of the Irish gave up smoking in public without even a whimper," he says.