Ian O'Doherty: And the silence is . . . deafening
Frankly, there's something rather fishy about the whole Osama assassination affair.
When you have conflicting reports coming from the same source, as we have seen with the American side of events, then it's always a good idea to be slightly sceptical.
How long did they know he was there? Who was protecting him and providing a safe haven for the most wanted man in the world?
And, of course, it just seems very convenient that battlefield reports came back and said that he tried to use his wife as a human shield.
Now, I have no doubts that he was the kind of person who would do something like that, but the speed with which that information was released would lead a suspicious mind to believe that this was a piece of post-mortem black propaganda designed to besmirch his reputation in the Muslim world.
But not everyone thinks trying to use your missus as a human shield -- well, this lot tend to have more than one wife anyway, so perhaps they're just disposable -- is wrong, as Hamas came out yesterday and condemned the killing, saying that Osama was a "martyr and a Holy Warrior".
They then went on to say that his death would be avenged, no matter what the cost.
Okay class, today Uncle Ian has two questions for you -- firstly, how much money does Hamas receive from America in so called 'humanitarian aid', and secondly, have any of you heard any of Ireland's normally voluble friends of the Palestinians making any comment on their precious mates in Hamas virtually beatifying -- if you'll forgive the mixed religious metaphor -- the most wanted man in the world?
Nope, thought not.
A very Irish summer
We've just had two long weekends in a row and, for once, both Bank Holidays actually saw some decent weather (although I was particularly tickled by the Irish politician who wants to change the name 'Bank Holiday' because of the shame the banks have brought on us), which led inevitably to two things: we all virtually disrobed and we all had a barbecue.
There are certain signs of summer -- if you're a culchie, it is probably something to do with birds or bees or something. If you're a Dub, however, it's the sight of your mates wearing Bermuda shorts and standing at a barbie behaving like Gordon Ramsay and shouting at anyone who comes near them.
So, if you're going to do a barbecue any time over the next few days when you get home from work, here are some vital iSpy hints: Remember, food such as burgers, spare ribs and sausages are not properly cooked until they are completely carbonised and black all over the outside. Some people might say that looks burned, but remember, you're an Irish barbie cook, so you can tell them that actually the correct phrase is 'blackened'.
And then you can also loftily inform them that because the food is also completely raw in the middle, the two extremes cancel each other out.
Drink is important, so imbibe as much as you can before putting some more petrol on to the flame to improve the heat redistribution.
And finally, remember this: there is no such thing as salmonella or botulism, just ungrateful guests with sensitive tummies.
Don't ask, don't touch
The American military is in something of a quandary at the moment.
On the one hand, they are celebrating because they killed Osama bin Laden, as I exclusively revealed a couple of paragraphs ago (waddaya mean you heard it somewhere else first?).
On the other, a federal judge has not only overturned Bill Clinton's 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy when it comes to gay people but has also suggested that the average grunt be given 'sensitivity training' to teach them against the evils of homophobia.
So there ye have it -- Private First Class Buck Murder has killed dozens of Taliban with his bare hands -- while also being sensitive and respectful of the emotional needs and sensitivities of those who choose to live an alternative lifestyle.
I can't see it working, meself.
And who are we to argue?
We've had some interesting people claiming to be God in the past.
You know the drill, people like Jim Jones, David Koresh and numerous cult leaders have all convinced their gullible followers that they are the Almighty and anyone who thinks otherwise is going straight to Hell.
And now there's a new addition to the pantheon -- Mike Tyson.
The former boxer said in an interview yesterday that: "There are days when I wake up and feel like God. It's a good feeling and helps to keep the anger at bay."
And you know what? If Mike Tyson wants to say that he is God, I for one, don't have any problem with that.
Well, none that I'd say to his face, that's for sure.
Okay, now we're old
There are certain signs to look out for to let you know you're getting older. This might be developing an appreciation for Sunday evening tea-time dramas on the BBC, or it could be tut-tutting at the antics of young people. There is, of course, the old favourite of finding yourself saying 'in my day' but yesterday I got the ultimate sign.
I was talking to a mate of mine who shall remain nameless -- except for the fact that he is called George and writes about cinema for the Herald, but after that my lips are sealed -- who said that over the weekend himself and his missus/partner/ better half (I haven't a clue how to refer to people these days) went to Skerries.
Was it to see some mutual friends who live out there? Was there a specific destination?
Nope, he said -- they just went for a drive.
Okay, when you find yourself going a for a nice Sunday drive just because you . . . fancy having a drive, then you're definitely getting older.
After all, isn't going for a Sunday drive what grown-ups do?