According to a new poll – and don’t ask me where the poll was conducted, or what evil conglomerate commissioned it – the Irish moan for about 9.5 hours a week. Every week.

And I know …

All over the gaff, from all angles, there’s a lot of chit chat (veering into shit chat) on the topic of illegal downloading, or piracy for those of us who like to paint it as …

I promised myself that I wouldn’t write about The Rose Of Tralee this year.

But then, I also promised myself that I’d uncover the meaning behind that strange graffiti in the jacks of An Cruiscin Lan, …

With half the country out of work and annoying the fuck out of me by getting to lie in on Monday mornings, I’m hardly going to say that this bloody recession isn’t as bad as …

B*Witched. Stirrup leggings. Pat Kenny. Oh, the list of bugbears from my past that haven’t actually fucking stayed there would be much too long to post here,

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been too nice recently.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve been relatively cosy in my seat of late (read: arse got fat), and have lost the spark of righteous indignation that …

I found myself thinking today about what song I would sing if I were to appear on X-Factor (possibly out of a puff of black smoke, like the wizened omen I know I could be). …

Embittered hag that I am, I was not moved by the recent story that swine flu had claimed its first victim in Iraq.
“I’m sure,” scoffed I, “that the Iraqi people have more alarming dangers to …