I’m sure that I’m stretching my readers’ interest and my editor’s patience by returning to a papal theme for more times than I care to remember but this may be the last bite of that particular cherry.

Beep. Beep… Beep. I passed the undersized granola, a tin of tuna and something vaguely healthy in a green translucent tub (which my wife swears she loves) over the scanner at my local grocery store.

There will be bluebells growing under the big trees  And you will be there and I will be there in May. These are the opening line of Patrick Kavanagh’s poem, Bluebells for Love.

There was a time when the extended thumb was Ireland's most eloquent digit. A silent semaphore that spoke volumes about trust, community, and the casual choreography of our national transportation. Now, like Latin, it's a dead language.

Before I was even born in Breaffy, there was a very successful camogie club in the village. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, Breaffy were the queens of camogie in Mayo.

The eponymous host of All In with Chris Hayes has long lost his incredulity for what passes as politics in the United States.

It couldn’t happen, could it? Nigel Farage as the British Prime Minister? No, surely not. Well, following the recent local elections in England, many are no longer so sure. Farage’s Reform Party got 30% of the vote.

I had my mind made up that I would not go to the Connacht Final. It would be too much hassle and I did not expect much from Mayo.

What an extraordinary time the last few weeks have been for the overwhelmingly positive media coverage the Catholic Church has enjoyed. The illness and death of Pope Francis was followed by the election of our new pope, Leo XIV.

Anyone who has ever been to the beautiful Inishkeas off the coast of Erris can attest to the magical nature of the islands, an otherworldly feeling to the place.