Christmas is, well, Christmas. It demands our attention. It insists that we defer – even if only once a year – to liturgies, religious and personal, that we sense we need to remember and repeat. Practices that have become hallowed by time.

My father was born in December and 97 years later, he died in December. When I reflect back over his long life, December is therefore the month of the year that I most associate him with.

Lourda McHugh is a woman driven by the deeply personal experience of breast cancer to make real changes for those who find themselves in the same position today.

Amidst the winter influx of star vehicles churned out by the Hollywood machine arrives a Christmas jewel in the rough - Sam Esmail's Leave The World Behind, now streaming on Netflix.

Christmas is on our doorsteps. This is a time when the exile thinks especially of making their way home: long journeys; old memories; the best of days.

Last week, sipping a morning coffee in a local café, I unfolded the daily newspaper with unease. I read headlines of gardaí in 24-hour surveillance guarding the national treasure that is our rotating Taoiseach.

I went to see the new film about Napoleon. And just like that great General’s invasion of Russia in 1812, that was my big mistake. Had I not been there with a friend, I would have retreated myself about half way through.

Finally Friday comes around.

It’s a given wisdom – though our unionist fellow-Irishmen and women would not easily agree – that there is much the present residents of our divided and disunited Emerald Isle – North and South – hold in common.

I often ponder on the ruins of old cottages.