I used to love to rummage in charity shops. The only thing that changed since I was on the Late Late Show is that I no longer have the same freedom to do that. I'd have no problem holding one sleeve of a jumper and saying to the woman holding the other sleeve, "Back off biatch or you'll get two in the temple" in a Breaking Bad voice.
I miss that, and the way the chutzpah thing works there. Eyes on the prize: you see the jumper, it has your name on it and you go in for the kill. Effrontery is the name of the game.
For this reason, I've decided the next time that Tubridy turns up in my garden, shouting up at my window for me to come on the Late Late Show, I'll say clear off outta that and go and get Beyonce for yourself and leave me to my sleeve-tugging war of words with Grindle from Galway. I don't care how much my daughters like him.
A child called to the door asking me would I like to buy a line, I said no thanks and closed the door fairly quickly. I felt a bit rotten about it later on. She couldn't have been more than five if she was that at all. She was probably someone's granddaughter from the street and the real me said, no thanks. Your first response is the true you. Goethe says, we never learn about ourselves by thought but by actions.
This fella I know is a right chameleon, he used to train pine martens to do the Siege of Ennis, but he lost interest after one of them attacked him down below.
Today, in town, he intoned that he had a crate of electronic ankle bracelets he bought cheap in Rio and he was selling them on for a song. He was holding them in a bunker near the back of the Piscatorial School in Claddagh, and as they are selling the school, he has to move them.
Back in the day, the Piscatorial School was used for teaching boys how to make nets and girls were taught to sew and spin.
I always liked that building; it has character and its own history. It's also a listed building. It stands majestic next to the Dominican church. My fear is it will end up smothered in flats or be turned into a giant knick-knack shop, or worse. The Dominicans own it and they know the value of C-notes. They are asking €500,000 for it.
A few days later, two kids called to the door selling lines. Of course I'll buy a line, I'll buy the whole book, and here, take this gold watch and here you might as well take the car, I've no need for it. When we have time to think, we are all Mother Teresas.
Guilt-free and giddy, I headed off to meet the guy about the electronic ankle bracelets. Sure I might as well take a few of them off ya. What harm would it do to have a few, for a rainy day?
Since I had to put the dogs down for throwing the neighbour's python so far in the air he landed on their own electric fence and fried, I've no security at all. At least this way, if Marco puts his big hoof over my back wall…
Marco de Sade, I've hardly a knicker left after him. He's after my shocking pink ones for ages, but they are my Cryanair ones and he can't have them. The next time his size 13 lands in my backyard, he'll land in a manacle.
How are you so sure? Cos I'll take them all and have them strategically placed that's how. I'm not loving the grey, have ya got the bracelets in any other colour? Did they sort out that ticket-touting thing in Rio yet?
The boxers who put on a couple of bets, they'll be the fall guys. They'll be demonised the length and breath of the country.
Note to self: never accept invitation to read at La Salle Secondary school in Ballyfermot, even if they did finally give in and allow Paddy Flynn permission to attend.
It's who we really are. Back to Goethe, not by thought but by actions do we know ourselves.
A few days later, I'm heading out pushing the twins around the estate when I see the little girl and her grandmother. They were waiting for the bus. The grandmother looked at her watch. The little girl looked straight at me.