There's a particular grimness to discovering that Ireland has developed its own strain of far-right extremism.

There's a particular species of politician who discovers a problem only when it threatens to jeopardise their career. They wake up one morning, check the polls, and suddenly the blindfold falls away.

If you are of a certain vintage, you may have had a realisation, probably somewhere between your first pair of reading glasses and the unsettling knowledge that the last crop of Gardaí look like schoolboys, when you stop giving a damn what anyone ...

Should you so choose, with a single search online, you can view a photograph of Abraham Lincoln looking like death chewing a wasp.

With a little searching, you'll find a photo on the internet from Sharm el-Sheikh that tells you everything you need to know about Donald Trump's much-trumpeted Middle East peace deal.

We are witnessing a particular species of Irish government farce unfolding in the grey corridors of Leinster House where millions of taxpayers' money evaporates.

You know that moment at a dinner when someone's had too much wine and starts saying increasingly unhinged things, and everyone else develops a sudden fascination with their napkins? The decent thing would be to intervene, to gently suggest perhaps ...

So here's a thing. Apparently, I'm menopausal. Yes, me. Despite having never possessed the requisite plumbing for such an endeavour, I am now, according to medical fashion, experiencing my very own version of The Change.

You may recall the article of September 4th, with justifiable pride, outlining the stellar achievements of Ballina native Dr Patrick McNamara as one of the world's leading neonatologists, a pioneer in the field of neonatal hemodynamics in premature ...

What happens when September turns warm in Mayo and every flying insect in Connacht decides to visit? Here I sit, dear readers, at my keyboard in the townland of Castlebar, as another winged fury passes by my well-attuned ear before slapping the ...

You can tell everything you need to know about a culture by what it keeps in the larder for emergencies. The French hoard tinned pâté. Americans stockpile granola bars. The British maintain a strategic reserve of digestive biscuits.

How a Mayo man became the architect of miracles in America's most unlikely frontier of medicine

It must be unspeakably devastating to learn of your mother's death through a WhatsApp message.

The thermometer outside my kitchen window read 28 degrees Celsius yesterday afternoon - a figure so preposterously alien to the natural order of things in County Mayo that I was compelled to rap the glass smartly with my knuckles, convinced the ...

The professional classes have always been rather good at inventing reasons to feel superior.

If you'd told me ten years ago that Ireland's next presidential contest might pit a man whose feet were insured for $57 million against another who was recently the subject of a civil rape case, I'd have assumed you'd been at the poitín.

Last Saturday week, while most world leaders might have been contemplating matters of international diplomacy or domestic policy, Donald Trump was instead composing a social media post threatening to strip someone of their American citizenship.

On Saturday, July 5th, 2025, in the quiet parish rectory of Cannobio, overlooking the serene waters of Lake Maggiore, Fr Matteo Balzano reached a conclusion that defies our understanding.

In the shadow of the round tower, where history whispers through the corridors of Turlough Park, a leather bag tells a story that would make the most hardened cynic pause for breath.

Louis Theroux has always possessed an uncanny talent for making monsters seem ordinary, but in his latest documentary, The Settlers, he encounters subjects who have already mastered that transformation themselves.