It is the ambition of every rural village to have a famous son; a well-known footballer or a noted singer. The Ox Mountain village of Cloonacool, in south Sligo, has such a boast.

You couldn’t but be infuriated at the tale Ellen told on the Irish Housewife of the Year documentary on RTÉ recently.

I’ve been taking note of the number of people who have ruled themselves out as contenders for the role of Uachtaráin when the present incumbent, the great Michael D, steps down for a well-earned rest later in the year.

A wet June has arrived with all the unwelcome punctuality of a tax demand, and with it the dawning realisation that 2025 might be remembered as the year when the West's collective chickens finally decided to come home to roost.

Rory McIlroy and Shane Lowry are among the most famous Irish sporting superstars at present.

The man wore a New York Yankees cap, a beard and an oversized shirt, and he strode purposefully towards me while I stood on the pavement, watching the protestors gathered outside the Glendale Hilton Hotel.  As our eyes met, my heart sank.

Before any blood is spilled in Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, his razor-sharp dialogue delivers a masterclass in character and cultural commentary - all over breakfast.

A friend of mine gave me a few cabbage plants in recent weeks. I planted them, and despite the recent drought, they survived and are doing well.

When I was a boy, we were all taught that the Irish saved civilisation. It was a history everyone learned, a story set after the Roman Empire fell in 476AD when the last western emperor was deposed. Europe slipped into the Dark Ages.

The continuing decline in priest numbers in the Catholic Church – with the future heavily weighted by a phalanx of elderly priests – has created a mathematical certainty that within a few years a cliff-face is approaching when numbers will plummet.