Fifty years ago, in the summer of 1975, in the bicentenary year of the United States of America, I spent six glorious weeks in sunny California. It was my introduction to the west coast of America.

The people who go back to education later in life are heroes. They really are admirable. They reach a fork in the road and they take a brave decision.

I made my First Communion in 1968. There wasn’t as much fuss at that time about special outfits, bouncy castles and caterers being engaged to provide lunch.

You know you are getting on when you can recall the day that you could buy eight pints for a pound, or was it a punt (for younger readers, the punt was old Irish currency, pre-euro) and could, after a hard game of handball, drink those pints before ...

The worthwhile article written by Liam Heffron in the Western People on December 31st last is a worthy one in a line of similar articles over recent decades. First some context. Most towns in Mayo have rarely been as populous as they are now.

“The standard of name-calling in this club is appalling!”The hurling trainer stood shocked on the stage, his outsized hands flapping in the air and sweat beads falling down his face.

Storm Éowyn left a lot of things in its wake. After days of disruption, cold and frustration, people all along the Atlantic coast and along the Border will be left reflecting on what this miserable experience means.

From my perch in Mayo, watching America's latest political metamorphosis feels like observing a peculiar theatrical production where the intermission lasted precisely four years.

All hail the ‘good’ room. The much-maligned and oft-underused ‘good’ or ‘sitting’ room is something common to most Irish homes my generation grew up in.

Everything costs something. And elections are no different.