Billy Keane: Ale's well that ends well for rugby fans
Over on the other side of the lonesome street, a bonsai is growing out of a chimney pot. A bird must have brought the seeds in from Japan.
Further down the street my old pal Larry from Cashel is lining the road before the traffic comes. Larry came out with a profound statement in the pub the other night.
"Here's the secret to road lining," he told us in a whisper, as he looked over his shoulder in case a rival company sent an industrial spy. "The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, unless you're going around a bend."
I make a mental note to ask him to draw two yellow lines outside the house of a referee who wronged us.
I check the internet, looking for something to write about. There's no way I can do rugby this week. Not even about the Sexton-O'Gara substitution or the man in charge of the interchange, who looked like he was auditioning for the part of the collie in One Man And His Dog.
I scan the papers yet again. Same story, different day. Tony Mowbray gets fired after Celtic are beaten 4-0 by St Mirren.
Maybe Dermot Desmond, who pays Robbie Keane's wages, will pay Alex Ferguson's wages if he takes over Celtic. He's some man, that Dermot Desmond. A Corkman. It's a well-known fact most of them are that cute they must have been born before.
In this week's episode of Chelsea: The Soap, Wayne Bridge, who is only on 32 grand a week, allegedly offers Vanessa Peroncel a bare three grand a month to mind their young lad. She's supposed to be looking for 10. Nappies must be a terrible price in England.
Wayne's lawyers allege Vanessa was paid £800,000 shut-up money from John Terry after he allegedly had an affair with her. She denies the claim. I wonder why I bother to put in all the 'allegeds'. Sure there isn't a hope in the world Terry and Vanessa will bother to read this column.
If Terry did pay £800,000 he was definitely overcharged. I know a man who paid €299 for a holiday for his missus in Torremolinos and he got a whole fortnight of peace and quiet.
I better stop writing about affairs and gossip. This is actually a sports column. It's not easy, though, what with the way the country is turning out.
There's no stopping the baby boom. Births are up a third, and more in some areas. Now that people cannot afford to pay for Sky Sports, who pay Wayne, who will have to pay Vanessa, it seems that the nation has discovered a new pastime.
That's the reason why there were such big families long ago. There was no Sky Sports and Setanta was Cu Chullainn's name before he put the dog down.
Back in the '60s Oliver J Flanagan said there was no sex in Ireland before television. Now it seems that there is no sex in Ireland until after television.
It's great news. We will have a much bigger pick for our national teams, even if half of the kids will have to emigrate.
The papers are full of the Good Friday Disagreement. It is reported that former GAA president, Dr Mick Loftus, who proposed turning the Sam Maguire into a colander, is against the opening of the pubs in Limerick on Good Friday for the Munster-Leinster match.
He's right about banning the filling of cups. I witnessed a man drain the entire contents of a greyhound cup full of brandy and red lemonade. The glutton had to be brought to Tralee General to have his stomach pumped. I was told he demanded the slops back, but I'm not sure if that's true.
Fr Egan, head of the Redemptorists in Limerick, is also against the exemption. We must ask the objectors just one question: are the fans being forced to drink by the publicans?
Here's how it's done. You catch the drinker's nose between your thumb and the neighbouring finger. Squeeze the nose. Next you ask the punter to open wide, in your best dental tones. Insert a funnel. Pour the devil's buttermilk down the supporter's throat. Happens all the time.
Judge Tom O'Donnell, who ruled in favour of opening the bars, got it 100pc right. Cop on prevailed. The man who died on the cross all those years ago had a good send-off. The Last Supper was a party and it might well have run into the early hours of Good Friday.