PRAISE God, Allah, Zeus and global warming for the combined gifts of this current warm spell and the propensity of the Irish female to shed layers at the first glimpse of the sun.

It is as if many of our glorious womenfolk are petrified of dying from a gross deficiency of vitamin D, and as a result try to expose as much of their skin as possible to natural light when the opportunity arises.
Like clockwork, as soon as the temperatures come within an ass's roar of 15, the show begins with shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops, pedal pushers and string tops all broken out. Walking through the city centre, rather than being a means to an end, again becomes a worthwhile pursuit in itself.

I'm not sure, however, if I share the same eagerness for seeing these huge-framed dark sunglasses on ladies as I do the other plethora of summer skimpies.

Apart from looking like a visor torn from a motorcycle helmet, this "fashion accessory" can also have the effect of making a perfectly presentable Bridget look like a frankly reprehensible Paris, which should never be encouraged.

It's not all one-way traffic, either, when it comes to which gender can enjoy the "fruits" of the warm weather. For several years now, I have been cultivating a scattering of hairs on my chest and this summer, at the ripe old age of 23, I feel they are finally plentiful enough to unleash on the female population.

So watch out ladies, when you're basking about the city in your summer wear, I'll be the guy with his buttons open down to the belly button, proudly showing off my newly acquired, finally-arrived, super-masculine rug-chest.

Frolics in the park

IN AN attempt to take full advantage of the summer - and take in the aforementioned "fruits" - I decided earlier this week that lunch in the park might be a nicer prospect than eating our gruel in the canteen.
While gathering a posse for the venture, I sent an e-mail to, who I thought was one of the girls in the office, but was actually a similarly-named lady who was one click below my intended recipient in the e-mail address book.

Can you imagine the reaction of the poor woman, whom I only e-mailed briefly for the purpose of writing a story, when she got a message asking if she'd fancy going for a "frolic in the park?"

To her eternal credit, she e-mailed back to say that she was too busy to go for a frolic on that particular day but that she might take me up on the offer at a later date.

This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.


Spam Mail

I FEEL sorry for viagra salesmen.

This underrepresented demographic has had their lives made hell by purveyors of spam mail who seem to deal exclusively with the unscrupulous sale of their product.

Like every other office worker in the country, I am inundated on a daily basis with unsolicited e-mails offering the cheapest, most explosive viagra allowed by law and every day I delete the damn things.
However, while ridding my inbox of the umpteenth such e-mail this week, I considered the plight of the genuine salesman of the magical pills.

How is one supposed to make an honest living when their industry has been infected by a multitude of verminous spammers? Is SIPTU willing to do anything about this? Am I the lone voice speaking out for Ireland's hard-working bringers of virility?


Heineken Cup

FIVE men living out of a Toyota Corolla for four days might not sound like everyone's idea of fun and they'd be right. However, this is the price that four of my cronies and I are forced to pay if we wish to attend this year's Heineken Cup Final.

Having a minimal number of brain cells to rub together between us, we waited until last week to book a trip to the final and the travel options were limited to say the least.

Each of us had a moral objection to giving an airline almost €500 for a flight that's barely an hour long so we looked at the prospects of travelling by sea. The best deal we could come up with was a four-hour sailing from Dublin to Holyhead on Friday morning and coming back in the early hours of Monday morning.

No accommodation. No match tickets. No problem if they win.

However, if they lose and we are subsequently stuck in the Valleys for almost two more days, the remainder of our trip should be about as much fun as a gay pride parade in Iran.

So Declan if you're stuck for words when trying to motivate your players prior to the final this year, just tell them to win it for the five eejits who are willing to sleep with a handbrake in their back for three nights just to see them lift the cup again.