Ian O'Doherty: The name is Nightingale . . . Florence Nightingale
So, how was it for you?
We've all spent the last week and a bit having a good time and doing our damnedest to forget about all the pain that's coming down the pipe this year.
And if any nationality can exercise selective amnesia then it is surely the Irish – I met some friends of mine over the Christmas period who are absolutely broke yet they all insisted on having a good time and a laugh and pretending that nothing was wrong.
Sure, there was a vague sense of being in the bunker in Berlin in the last days of the war as people partied and – maybe, just maybe – laughed that little bit too much and too hard, but what else can you do?
But once again my plans for an idyllic Christmas were somewhat hampered – by Mrs iSpy.
There's a pretty nasty bug doing the rounds at the minute – you may have heard about it – and she came down with it two weeks ago.
And she hasn't stopped moaning since (in fact, I just asked her how she was feeling and she just sniffed and said, "a bit shite to be honest.")
But it was during this period of illness that I realised something – she didn't really care that much about the fact that I was being mildly discombobulated by her sickness.
Honestly, sick people are just so bloody selfish that they pay no attention to the feelings of others.
Hooray! Reasons to be cheerful
I'm sure there is a reason for Kim Kardashian's existence.
Now, I'm not sure whether that reason is one for good or whether her very presence on this planet is a sign of the looming apocalypse (the smart money would be on the latter).
But now news has emerged that says The Kardashian is spawning.
Yup, one of the most vacuous, pointless, self-righteous pains in the bum is having a kid – with the equally insufferable Kanye West.
Now, any time I look at West I just think of that memorable South Park episode which lampooned his lack of humour and sense of self-importance so brilliantly – in fact, every time I hear the phrase 'fish sticks' I start to giggle like a 12-year-old.
But one aspect of the story really got my attention.
Apparently, once the news of Kardashian's pregnancy became known there was a massive spike in sales of her sex tape.
Now, I'm no prude but . . . what sort of person hears that someone is pregnant and immediately thinks: "I know, what I really need to do is watch a video of what could have been the conception?"
Really? You sure about that?
What are the main stresses in your relationship?
If you're a girl, it's probably about the fact that your man doesn't leave the seat of the toilet up (or down, I can never quite figure that one out).
If you're a bloke it's probably resentment at being nagged.
If you're me it's being pissed off that the wife has been sick and moaning for the entire Christmas period.
I might have mentioned that already, I'm not sure.
But a survey over the Christmas (oh thank you Beelzebub for surveys on a slow news week) has discovered that one of the main causes for disruption in domestic bliss is . . . smelly dogs.
Yup, 110 people out of the 2,000 surveyed admitted that their relationship had floundered over rows about the pooch ponging.
Now, I'm no expert, but in the middle of all these rows, did nobody just stop and say, "why don't we just give the bloody dog a wash?"
Honestly, act your age
I did something I never do the other day – I found myself in a pub for a Man Utd match.
Now, I like pubs and I love United, but the two just don't mix.
In fact, any time when I have had the misfortune to be in a hostelry when United are playing, the levels of absolute eejitry from the people around is enough to make me start supporting Liverpool. Well, nearly.
And so I found myself meeting some friends for the second half of the match against Wigan and my prejudice against Utd fans in pubs was utterly reinforced.
When Van Persie scored, a man in his fifties and wearing a suit – yes, a suit – actually ran in front of the telly in the bar and dropped to his knees to celebrate.
Yeah, you heard me correctly – a man. In his fifties. In a suit. Dropping to his knees to celebrate a goal on the telly.
And as if that wasn't horrifying enough, the people I was meant to meet didn't even turn up until the bloody game was over.
Well, it's a hobby
I've interviewed Meat Loaf on several occasions.
During one post-interview chat, he was genial and smart and obviously extremely well read. During another encounter, he was boorish and aggressive.
I chalked both of those experiences down to the stresses of being on the promotional trail – some days you're in the mood to talk to strangers and some days you're not. But I must admit that I was rather taken aback to see that he has sued a Meat Loaf impersonator, Dean Torpington from Burnley in England and won £18,000 (€24,000).
The unfortunate tribute act turned up at a Meat Loaf gig dressed as his idol and when the show was finished he was summoned to see the singer – who then told him to stop doing the tribute show and to hand over his website domain name.
Now, was this a question of a bloated, egomaniacal rock star pushing his weight around?
Well, maybe not so much.
After all, Dean had registered his site as www.MeatLoaf.org.
So I think we can kind of see where the real Meat Loaf was coming from.