Adrian O'Neill, Irish ambassador to the UK, had a letter in The Spectator last week complaining about a "snide and hostile" article by Robert Hardman, querying why the Irish Government refuses to rejoin the English-speaking Commonwealth it left 70 years ago, yet has recently enthusiastically embraced junior status in the French-speaking Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (OIF).
I was caught unawares last Tuesday on BBC Radio Ulster's Stephen Nolan morning show by Mary Lou McDonald's latest gaffe. I had come on to talk about votes at 16, but the person I was supposed to be disagreeing with wasn't there so I was asked to comment instead on what Ms McDonald had said last Monday night about the selection of the next PSNI Chief Constable.
'I want to build a Belfast, which is a City for All," wrote SDLP Councillor Tim Attwood in a recent letter to a Belfast newspaper, protesting about an attack in Belfast City Council on the late Paddy Devlin - one of those proposed by all parties except Sinn Fein as a suitable subject for a commemorative statue.
'Whoever is responsible for this bomb in our Beautiful City tonight," tweeted Fiachra McGuinness, proud son of Martin, last weekend after the Derry bomb, "live in Planet hate." Irritated by his sheer effrontery, I responded: "They are merely doing the kind of thing your father organised for decades, Mr McGuinness. Fortunately, unlike him, this time they didn't manage to murder anyone."
I write this from a land imperilled by the Brexiteers "who espouse a romantic notion of returning to the British Empire's glory days, characterised by an independence in trade, free of the shackles imposed by Brussels, while knowing deep down in their hearts and minds that leaving the EU can only mean a much poorer future for most citizens in the United Kingdom".
I'm struggling with my latest satirical crime novel, Death of a Snowflake, which is set on a campus dominated by virtue-signalling, no-platforming, trigger warnings, safe spaces, trauma councillors, animal therapists and hysterical accusations against anyone transgressing against fashionable orthodoxies. When events seem to be beyond satire, times are tough for satirists.
Try as I might, I can't yet find a candidate to cheer for in the presidential race. It may be that in the line-up there is a dark horse who might surprise us all, but they'd better get a move on. Mind you, with Ireland in its present mood, I guess we should be grateful that the electorate aren't being given the option to vote for Ivana Bacik, Panti Bliss or Dustin the Turkey.