independent

Sunday 20 April 2014

Ian O'Doherty: And you are who ... exactly?

I'm not exactly sure just what is that Roz Purcell (pictured) actually does.

Oh wait, hang on a second.

Isn't she the girl who went on to that RTÉ GAA programme and trained a football team wearing only her underpants?

Funnily enough, I had a coach on my team as a kid who used to do that – and more.

The last time I saw him was on the Six One News when he was being carted off in a prison van heading to jail.

I never did find out what it was he was meant to have done.

And now Purcell has come out and given the answer to a question nobody was asking – herself and Gerry Ryan's son, Rex, are most definitely not dating.

That's a pity. Because they could have had a great showbiz name.

Forget Brangelina and K-Patz, here comes P-Rex.

Well, that didn't take long, did it?

Last week's Connecticut school shooting was, even by the deranged of American spree killings, unprecedented in its sheer cruelty.

And inevitably, understandably, people are now looking for answers – and scapegoats.

I'm no gun nut but if you take away law-abiding citizens' guns, you're asking for trouble. In a country awash with weapons things like this are always going to happen.

And despite the fact that Americans are stunned and angry and beginning to rethink their love of hand guns, I was rather taken by the sentiments of one US commentator who said that in all the fuss about the guns, one thing had been forgotten – video games.

Ah yes.

You see, Adam Lanza was a dedicated gamer and this "would have vastly improved his aim and accuracy. He didn't miss a shot."

Actually, he did. Lots of them.

Still: Sorry sir, but I am going to have to arrest you for being in possession of a concealed copy of Call Of Duty.

Oh will you just go away?

I love the BBC Sports Personality Of The Year.

Nobody is going to quibble with Bradley Wiggins picking up the top gong.

And, of course, there was the amusing bonus of watching Kate Middleton desperately trying to not throw up all over the studio floor on live television.

Then she appeared.

Like the Ghost of Christmas Banal, Emeli bloody Sandé turned up. Twice.

What is this Olympics obsession with this unbelievably dreary and monotonous singer who just plonks away on her piano like a bad bar singer?

Can you imagine one of her songs being played in a dressing room?

Honestly, I've heard more rousing and motivational songs at a funeral Mass.

Not sure that's such a great idea

Taxi drivers get a raw deal these days. Sure some of them shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel of a car but it's a tough gig and I feel for them.

At this time of the year, can you imagine the kind of drunken idiots they're going to have to endure?

Now the authorities are piling on some more pain, by introducing strict new regulations about the condition of the car (and the driver), as well as doing a more thorough background check to make sure people with convictions aren't allowed to drive.

The only party to raise any objection to this was, of course, Sinn Féin.

They want an exemption for anyone who was released under the terms of the Good Friday agreement.

Really? When you consider that during the Troubles, simply getting into the wrong taxi could get you killed, you'd think they might have stayed quiet on this one . . .

I feel your pain . . .

A good friend of mine is having some work done in his house. And it's not going well.

Why anyone would risk wrecking their gaff in the run up to Christmas is beyond me. He says the builder promised he'd be done by now. And he's nowhere close.

We got work done in iSpy's secret lair a few years ago and I still haven't recovered from the trauma.

But that was nothing compared to a former colleague.

He got a call in the office one day from the builder who was working on his house.

Explaining there was an emergency he legged it off to his and didn't come back for a few hours. When he did he was ashen faced.

When I asked him what was wrong he simply stared at me and said: "Scaffolding. They've put f***ing scaffolding all over my house. Why? They're only working on the ground floor."

And then his bottom lip started to quiver.

It was funny – because it wasn't happening to me.

Irish Independent

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