CAN embarrassing garden gnome Paddy Moloney leave no one alone?
He has browbeaten the great, the good and the frankly bleeding terrible at one time or other into some shamrock shovelling, elevator muzak CD that he and his band of ancient winking Hobbits goes on to tour around Irish theme bars full of Americans in green plaid.
Now he's turned his giant wiggling noggin in the direction of Imelda May, who was within spitting distance of breaking free from all that is excruciating about Ireland.
Then somewhere in the rockery of a little green cottage, Paddy put down his wee fishing rod and gave Imelda a tinkle.
"Will it be on me 50th anniversary album you'll be after singin'?" he yelped before the tiny buckled shoes on the end of his chin broke into a jig.
Being the pro she is, the Liberties girl agreed. And fair play to her. But then Paddy has to go and ask the platinum-selling international swing siren ... to play the bodhran on his record as well. Urgh.
"And will ye dress like a leprechaun and balance a pint of the black stoof on the top of yer green top hat for all the folks in de Merika?" Okay, he didn't say that last bit, but why can't we let new talent spread their wings without smothering them in paddywhackery?
Imelda has a shot at being a global success at what she does. Leave her be, for crying out loud.