The impact of a throwaway TV soap line
Thursday: The gloves were off on Fair City tonight as Niamh jumped at the chance of filling husband, Paul, in on her night of extra-marital activity.
The good woman and I had been discussing how Celia Murphy is quite a fine actress and should be given meaty scenarios more often, when the sitting room door opened and in strode a restless young lad.
Just as Niamh delivered the killer/comedic line, describing her night in the arms of a younger man to her under-fire spouse – which was 'he lit me up like a Christmas tree' – the young lad stopped in his tracks. I looked at the good woman, and she looked back at me, gobsmacked.
To our relief, he fell onto the chair laughing. 'Lit her up like a Christmas tree? Did he wrap lights around her and turn on the switch? Or did he put a star on her head?' he chuckled. 'What a thing to say.' And we thought so too, as we scrambled nervously for the remote.
Friday: There is no sidestepping the fact that in Ireland we are currently undergoing a robbery blitz.
I met a lad tonight who was the victim of a recent burglary and he lamented how much power the criminal holds when it comes to the letter of the law.
He explained that he was told if the gardai arrive at the home of a suspect without a search warrant, they are only permitted to search within the immediate area of the person they have pursued, and not have a poke about the greater property.
Surely the gardai should be allowed more powers of search without having a chance of resolving a crime being jeopardised by red tape? Time is a crook's great ally.
Sunday: The tracksuit went back on today. While jogging, (ie shuffling and wheezing), my way past a nearby housing estate I noticed an unusually high number of birds perched along the telephone wires. I read an article recently which reported birds had been torpedoing themselves at power cables and wreaking havoc on the residents of an Irish town.
As I jogged a bit further I saw two big plump crows sitting on a fence, eyeballing me. I inched closer, expecting them to fly away, but they didn't budge.
They waited until their beaks and my beak were within touching distance, and I could see into the dark pools of their eyes.
Then they just sat there, playing 'Chicken' with me. Birds, it appears, are becoming braver, more comfortable around humans. Then I panted on, with thoughts of Hitchcock sending eerie shivers down my sweaty spine. While the crows' beady eyes burned into my back.