Me head’s still sore after the inaugural opening night of our new bar The Stickit Inn. The RTE TV cameras plugged into the mains, and filmed our first ever pub quiz night. Dublin legal ponce Gerald Keane and his tittytastic girlfriend Lisa Murphy were pitted against even tittier-tastic Amanda Brunker and T na Gee fanny magnet Daithi O’Se. Up for grabs was our star prize; a tin of USA biscuits, and by God the competition was fierce to get their hands on the chocolate rings! We decided to give the couples some catchy team name combinations, like all the famous couples have; Tom Cruise and Katy Holmes are known as Tomkat, Brad and Angelina are Brangelina and Miley and Biddy are Biley. So Gerald and Lisa became Team Geesa and Amanda and Daithi were Team Drunker (and as the evening progressed the name certainly fitted!) ....

We had some great rounds to suit everybody including our ‘Touch it, Feel it, Lick it, Suck it’ round were the teams have to guess what their mystery object is. Last night there was the Comfort Wipe, a device for fat people to wipe their distant holes with. Then there was ‘Nob or Normal’ where we were surprised that Team Geesa knew how much a litre of milk was, in fact we were impressed that they actually knew what ‘milk’ was as we assumed they wouldn’t know what that white fluid was that their manservant put into their Crapachino’s. The most disturbing part of the quiz was the ‘Sex –a-sketch’ challenge where the team members had to draw their favourite sexual positions and then reveal to see if they were compatible. Lisa was quite shocked to see Gerald leaping on top of her from a cupboard with an eight foot wanger hanging off him and Daithi and Brunker were spookily compatible as he drew himself at it in a train jacks in Clara station whilst she drew herself doing it on an aeroplane. It was a cracking first night and first show, but my head is started to throb so I’ll hand you over the brother for more first night insight.....

Podge....

 ....

I don’t know why Podge left me to fill ya in on the rest of the goings on in the Stickit Inn opening night as I’m bollixed tired and only after locking the door behind the last of the drunken stragglers. I just looked in on the jacks and it looks like Main Street, Gaza Strip! I’ll have to get the power hose at it!....

Anyway the brother has filled ya in on most of the quiz, the other rounds included were ‘Whose Skin and Blister’ where they had to guess a young one’s famous sister. We had a visit from none other than Sophie Price aka. Jordan’s sister who was a bit of a looker herself, but with only 10% of the bappage of her famous silicone sis. Actually there was a point during that round that I was almost overwhelmed by a boob haze! There was Brunker’s enormous funbags propped up on the table, Jordan’s sis, the amply endowed Lisa Murphy and our busty barmaid Double G Gina. There were so many semis from the male punters in the bar that the tables didn’t need legs! After the ‘Wank you for the Musak’ round it was down to the wire with a quick fire frenzy before last orders were called and Team Geesa won the biscuits, leaving Brunker and O’Se having to forfeit all dignity by singing us out in Karaoke style. This week’s tune was ‘Pokerface’ rewritten as a fitting tribute to Subo (Susan Boyle), entitled ‘Mow her face’.....

Gina, our new barmaid was quite reluctant when she heard there was going to be a camera crew filming quiz night, but since we have her passport she had to play along. There’s something more to her than meets the eye, Podge reckons she could be on the run and every time I decide to confront her about it, I get distracted by her enormous cleavage. I’d say we’ll be finding out more about her mysterious Sicilian background and possible Mafia connections as the weeks go…sorry, where was I? I was thinking of her boobs again!....

So now that we’re all ratified with our European neighbours in Lisbon does that mean that we can get rid of some of the rats scurrying around our capital? Like the rest of yis I was shocked, but hardly surprised to hear yet another expenses scandal. I remember when our politicians were all tut tutting when the MP’s across the pond last year were caught using public money to clean their moats and others keeping illegal immigrant housekeepers locked up in their basement. But of course it was only a matter of time when our lot would catch up and outdo their Brit counterparts. Our very own Clown Comhairle John ‘five star’ O’Donoghue, a man who was above politics, and now it seems, thinks of himself above us all. From the tally of outrageous expense claims, it looks like John thought he was Donald feckin’ Trump, not a public servant. He was so far up his own golden hole that he thought nothing of the taxpayer chipping in to pay, not only for him, but for his missus to travel the world, first class of course, and dine in the fanciest restaurants and stay in the swankiest hotels on offer.....

 “Can I book a limo to take me from my room to the foyer?” he’d say, “Why certainly Maharajah O’Donoghue”....

“I need to fly back to Kerry from Cannes for a proper pint of the black stuff and then onto Cardiff for a rugger match, then to Cheltenham for the gee gees and then back to Cannes again? he’d request, “No problemo, Commandante O’Donoghue!”....

“Can I hire a chimpanzee to wipe my hole?” he’d bark, “Certainly Sir John”.....

Yes, he’s been living it up at our expense but it’s finally hit the fan, and it looks like it’s death by a thousand limousines for our in-Sultan of Kerry.  I doubt he’s too worried though, as he’s already seen how the government has dealt with FAS freeloader, Sheik Rody Molloy. His punishment; a nice pension and a golden handshake! ....

Podge....

 ....

Unlike the politicians who can get us taxpayers to pay for their gifts to each other (and their families!) the rest of us will have think long and hard about what on earth we’re going to do this Christmas. That’s right readers, the shops are already optimistically stocked with shelves full of festive shite to tempt ya! But this is no ordinary Christmas, it looks like it’s going to be a Blue Christmas, what with the recession and all. Only a year or ago the kids were writing to Santy looking for jPods, XFoxes and Wee’s. Parents dropping thousands to keep the little brats happy for at least five minutes, but that’s all changed. We now live in recession Ireland where teachers are now asking kids to bring in their own jacks roll! The toughest lesson that the ‘children who had everything’ are going to learn is that they now can’t have everything! I can see Santy’s sack this year tightening up as parents with empty pockets will have to go back to more traditional toys (‘traditional’ meaning cheap as chips!) Can you imagine little Clayton’s face when instead of the Jonas Brothers Pix Micro digital camera he was expecting, he gets the Guinness Book of Records. What will little Francesca do when she unwraps what she thought would be a High School Musical 3 dance mat only to find a nice knitted jumper with her initials on it! ....

It’d be nice to see the children of Ireland out and about again, getting some fresh air, kicking a football around, doing the hula hoop, riding a second hand bike, playing with clackers, bouncing a paddle ball around or doing tricks with a Yo Yo. ....

They might scream and scream and scream, and the revolting tiger cubs, will start revolting, but perhaps, in the long run, the little bastard’s will be better for it! ....

The real question isn’t whether I’ll be voting ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on Friday, it’s more a case of will I be bothered getting off me hairy hole to stroll down to the booth at all. If like me, you’re stuck in the ‘undecided’ camp and like 80% of the country you haven’t bothered your hole actually reading the treaty document, then why not take pen to paper and write down three reasons to vote for, and three to vote against, and then see where you’re at. Here’s what I’ve come up with.....

Three Reasons to vote ‘No’:....

1.   The simple fact that Biffo and the Fianna Failures, the poxy Trade Unions and worst of all that luggage-stealing gobshite Michael O’Leary wants us all to vote ‘Yes’, is a good enough reason to vote No!....

2.   We’re being told that we must vote ‘Yes for jobs’! But since the dole money’s so good, why would I want to go ruining things by getting a job?....

3.   After all we’ve been through, everything from the famines to Cromwell, from 1916 to the Peace Treaty, do we really want foreigners to rule us again?....

Three reasons to vote ‘Yes’....

1.   Similar to reason one above, Declan Ganley, Jim Corr, the Shinners and worst of all the UKIP want us to vote ‘no’ therefore we should vote ‘Yes’....

2.   Our own government have done such a shite job running the country, maybe we’d be better off letting the frogs or the Nazi’s have a go.....

3.   Vote yes, so that more good looking foreign birds come over here for us fellas to oogle, because if they go home we’ll be left with the hatchet-faced double-bagger cailini we had before!....

So there ya have it, the pros and cons of the Lisbon Treaty in six simple points for you to mull over and then decide whether you’ll bother you’re hole voting or not. And don’t worry, there’ll always be Lisbon 3!....

Podge....

 ....

They’re telling us that we need to vote ‘Yes’ for our children’s sake. It’s their future that we must try and secure after the mess that we’ve made and Lisbon will be part of the process of ensuring a future for Irish kids. But have you actually looked at the cut of young people we have nowadays? I don’t think a ‘yes’ for Lisbon or Nama or anything else for that matter is going to help this lot.....

I mean back when we were growing up, we all looked like Irish children; we all wore shorts and woolly jumpers, we had bad haircuts done by your mammy, snot covered sleeves, scuffed knees and twenty major in the back pocket. But modern kids come in all shapes, sizes and colours. They have Judas Brothers haircuts, Miley Cyphilis white teeth, clothes from Abrakebabra and Finch, jPods, mobile phones and light up runners. In fact if you stood an Irish child side by side with an American child, you couldn’t tell the difference, not even by the accent! ....

Here we all are getting all stressed about our national identity being diluted by Europe, when in fact the children we’re fighting for couldn’t care less about being Irish, they all want to be from The Hills. For them the possible loss of our country’s neutrality pales into insignificance compared to the outrage that the youth felt when Kayne John West’s stole the mic from Taylor Swift at the MTV awards! ....

The fact is that we shouldn’t be so worried about being sucked into Europe as we’ve already lost our kids to America! I’m sure half of them think Obama is President of the United States of Ireland. ....

I hate to admit it, but it was good to see Pat the plank back on the telly. After ten years, the fella can relax in his skin without the fear of having to get up and dance with Brigitte Nielsen, being confronted by a looper calling him an ‘arsehole’ and trying to make conversation with brain dead reality show bimbos. Of course he’s as wooden as ever, but at least on a show dedicated to political debate he can let a few splinters fly and get all ‘Paxman’ on these evasive politicians. Meanwhile we’re busy ourselves getting ready for the grand opening of the Stickit Inn on October 20^th on RTE2. This week we’re sending our very own Pub Spy to the far-flung watering holes of the country to get the cut of our competition and play some Ballydung style pub games. In fact we’re taking a leaf out of Patsy “The Bog Hotel” Brogan’s book (who has a foreign bird pulling him, I mean pulling his pints), and hired our very own busty Italian barmaid Gina Macari. So come October if you’re passing through Ballydung be sure to visit our new pub The Stickit Inn, mind you, by then Ballydung mightn’t even exist if they bring in these new postcode yokes they’re talking about. Have the government nothing better to spend their money on than changing poxy addresses? And besides it only causes trouble, I mean look at Dublin; D4 and D6 became the post codes to have, with builders cramming as many apartments into those poncey addresses as they could. And the same will happen all over the country. People who used to be happy enough to share the address of ‘Cork City’, will be up in arms that their estate is designated C5 as apposed to C4. And if you’re reading this An Post, we’re putting dibs on the post code 69; which when you think about it would be the perfect address for us randy bachelors and the natural home for a pub called The Stickit Inn!....

Podge....

 ....

Now that we have a pub and we sold Ballydung manor and the hundred acres with it to the North Koreans (Mr.Li said it would be a great spot for burying their nuclear waste!) it’d be more appropriate for me to be celebrating Arthur’s Day than heading to Kildare for the National Ploughing Championships. Only a year ago I was competing in the Standard 3 Furrow Reversing competition, but now due to the recession, I don’t even have a tractor and the only ploughing I’ll be doing will be into pints from now on. But I decided to make the traditional bogger pilgrimage anyhow, for old times sake.....

And what I discovered was that it’s still a cracking three days whether you’re a farmer or not. First off we had the sexiest President ever; Mary McAleese opening the proceedings. As per usual there’s some great talks and presentations from the ICA birds; from Stories and Poetry by Sabina Kennelly to Patchworking with Ilene Bateson. There’s entertainment galore from musical geniuses like Barley Wine, Hillbilly Porter and the mighty Shamrockers (For culchies that line up is the musical equivalent of having U2, The Kings of Leo and Coolplay on the same stage in one day!)....

Then there’s beauty contests galore with The Most Appropriately Dressed Woman competition to the Bovine Beauty Contest. If you’re into ladies or animals there’s something for everyone. But my favourite event of the festival is going to be ‘hurling dung’ at the visiting politicians. Two points for a TD, five points for a Taoiseach. It’s not on the official programme of events, but everyone’s talking about it, and I have a lovely fresh steaming pat from a Belgian Blue bullock maturing nicely in my coat pocket with Brendan Smith’s name on it.....

So this week Athlone is home to the ‘Fianna Fail Think In’, should it not have been renamed this year, the ‘Fianna Fail, what were they Thinkin’?’ but I doubt there will be answers forthcoming from Biffo and the boyos that will help our sorry country’s state, as every week there’s something new and scandalous on their watch. Last week we saw the FAS bosses take the taxpayer for a ride with their expenses and instead of kicking them out on their holes, it looks like they’re going to get a nice golden handshake from sweary Mary Coughlan as they’re leaving. This week the expense circus rolled into town once again and in the centre ring was none other that our Clown Comhairle whose funny money antics caused a sensation! And fair play to the farmers for grabbing their pitchforks and making themselves heard, but standing outside some posh hotel whilst they - the Fianna Fail party faithful -  rack up some outrageous sandwich and mini bar expenses, probably won’t make have much of an impact. ....

I think the farmers should have all chipped in for a plane ticket to Shannon for the recently released Muntadar al-Zeidi, the Iraqi shoe thrower fella, and get him to sit in on the Fianna Fail soiree, and at an appropriate moment chuck a big mucky welly at Brian Lenihan and the Fianna Failures. Or perhaps they could get Kanye West to grab the mic off Biffo and exclaim that ‘Beyonce could do a better job running the country!’ Sometimes it takes an audacious and crazy protest act to get your plight noticed. ....

I wonder what they are thinking about at their ‘think in’? Is it; does anyone actually know how this feckin’ Nama thing works? Who on earth let that snake oil salesman Declan Ganley back into the country? And if Lisbon goes tits up again, can we get one-way plane tickets to South America on our expense accounts?....

Podge....

 ....

I heard that Fianna Fail is so desperate that they are getting Derren Brown in to predict the result of the Lisbon Treaty. But one things for sure, if they don’t get the ‘Yes’ vote they’ll need a magician to stay in government! But politics aren’t high on my agenda this week as I’m off up to Dublin this weekend for the All Ireland Munster final. I’ve the B& B booked and I’ve been in training for the pitch invasion; I’ve been leaping fences all week in anticipation of my right to be a culchie. ....

I think it’ll be a great ould match altogether with the tall boys from Cork once again meeting the cute hooers from the Kingdom. I can’t wait. Another thing I can’t wait for is to have a go on the latest craze to be sweeping the Capital; the Dublinbikes rental scheme. I might as well have a go on them, before they’re ruined or Brian Lenihan invents some way of taxing them. ....

I mean, it probably seemed like a good idea in principal, but this isn’t San Francisco or Paris; it’s Dublin! Does no one remember the arty-farty travelling cow parade? Dublin was the only capital in Europe where they were vandalised!  I’ve lived in this country for nigh on sixty five years and I’ve never seen a bike last more than three weeks before some little bollix has his way with it. Bicycles are to skangers what red rags are to bulls (or expense accounts to John O’Donoghue!) they simply can’t resist them. From buckling wheels attached to lampposts to nicking chains, from pissing on saddles to setting them on fire, that’s the fate of every bike in this country and these new fancy tourist ones will undoubtedly be the same. And what I want to know is who is going to foot the bill dredging the Liffey of five hundred French bikes come December? Well, like everything else discussed in Athlone it’ll be left up to the taxpayer!....

This week there was no point in getting het up about NAMA and property taxes, water rates, or Liam Carroll possibly getting away with it. There was little benefit to worrying about the Lisbon treaty, Bono’s fancy French villa going up in flames or Vincent Browne returning to our screens. No, the biggest concern this week for the upstanding citizens in towns around Ireland was that the Junior Cert results came out yesterday. ....

Y’see it’s bad enough when the Leaving Cert students start celebrating, but at least you can understand that after thirteen years in the school system, they deserve to let off a little steam. Sure meself and the brother, from the goodness of our hearts even bought loads spirits from the off licence for them. Y’see eighteen-year-olds, may be a bit wild, but at least ya can relate to them on some level, even talk to them. But fifteen-year-olds are a whole other kettle of fish. They’re like something from another planet. Every town quaked last night as hoards of zombie-like young fellas with barely a pube between them went on the rampage, all alco-pops and hormones. With their Twilight haircuts, their Bebo talk and the latest chart ‘shit’ blasting out of their mobile phones, these strange creatures can send a shiver down the spine of any adult passing by. Of course they grow out of it eventually, but these hormone enraged, toddler teenagers are unique and utterly terrifying. Unlike the Leaving Certers, the Juniors have no ‘off’ switch and as this is there first big achievement in life since their Confirmation; they go wild with it. Pissing in post boxes, waving their mickeys at nuns, vomiting competitions and drinking themselves senseless. There is nothing more scary in this world than Junior Cert celebration night….well, except maybe Halloween, when they congregate again and cause even more mayhem as they’re just a little too old to be trick or treating!....

Podge....

 ....

It’s bad enough to have to go up to Dublin in the first place and then to have them try and enforce their laws on us country folk. As a proud culchie, I have the God-given right to run amuck on the hallowed grounds of Croke Park if my county wins the final. I find it hard to believe that a red-blooded culchie like Christy Cooney doesn’t understand the urges and the passions of a proud GAA fan. What happened on Sunday when the Cats played another blinder and the pitch was invaded is just tradition. So what if the grass gets a bit squashed? How come it’s ok for U2’s audience to trample all over the place and it’s not ok for true fans to join their local heroes on the pitch when the championship is won? ....

And now they are seriously considering putting up a fence in Croker. That would be like what they did in Berlin in 1961. I know it feels like we’re living in a communist country right now what with food rations and blackouts, and dictators running the place with an iron fist, forcing taxes on us and telling us to say ‘yes’ to a treaty we had said ‘no’ to already, but at some point there will be a revolution and a poxy wire fence isn’t going to hold back 82,000  proud GAA fans. Like the great Bob Marley said ‘Don’t fence me in’ or was that Dr Alban? I dunno, but you get me point.....

As you can see I do get passionate about some things, the GAA is one of them, the new Late Late Show isn’t. I mean fair play to him, he did a ‘grand’ job, in fact he probably is the best man for the job, and pulling in 1.6 million rubber neckers is no mean feat but honestly, are you really going to bother wasting your ESB turning him on for two hours tomorrow night to watch what, let’s be honest, was Tubridy Tonight on Friday nights? Nah, me neither!....

The weather was abysmal and combined with the recession, it’s officially been the shittest summer on record. But can one man change our National Depression? Is it possible that this man could bring us all together and entertain us, bring cheer and warmth into Irish homes once again? Well, he hopes so. His name is Tubridy and he’s asking you and me to just give him a chance tomorrow night.....

But what does he have to worry about? Sure Gaybo, a jumped up squatty condescending little Dub somehow captivated the country for 47 years, even Plank Kenny, who had the charm of a bale of briquettes and the personality of the colour grey, lasted for 10 years. So Ryan, relax, as it appears no matter how shite you are, The Late Late Show will continue be top of the TV ratings in Ireland. It’s a total anomaly that has baffled scientists for years. It’s like how they get the figs into the fig rolls? Or why Derek Mooney’s radio show ratings keep increasing? We can complain and slag it off until the cows come home (or until Blathnaid returns to the Afternoon Show!) but The Late Late Show will always be No.1. It’s just the way it is!....

But who knows, maybe Tubridy just might turn the show around and make it watchable once again? Yeah right! Personally I can’t see how any one beyond the Pale will have any time for the young fogey with his jazz stylings and ‘Book of the Month Club’ wankology. And I have a shoe at the ready to fire at the telly if The Camembert Quartet dare make an appearance! The only good thing I can see about the new Late Late Show is that the owl is making a welcome return to the opening titles. However, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to have a new bird to suit the new host. Our suggestion; a cock!....

Podge....

 ....

Despite my many letters to RTE to put on a good Western every Friday night, they have decided to go ahead and ruin everything by putting the Twig on to the replace the Plank. Ryan says he’d like to put “a 21^st century twist” on the Late Late Show; that’s hilarious coming from a thirty-six-year old who has acts like he’s straight out of that TV show ‘Mad Men’. ....

But I don’t care, because I won’t be watching much of the all new Late Late Show as the brother is inevitably going to put a boot through the telly screen, and has sworn not to buy a replacement set until Tubridy retires. ....

So instead I’ve decided not to be so dependent on the telly and make my own entertainment from now on, but it’s got to be cheap as we’re in a recession. ....

Here some of my favourite new past times. For instance this week is an ideal time to start getting up bright and early and going for a spin in the car, and lashing through the puddles beside bus stops where school kids are waiting. It’s hilarious and satisfying. And If you fancy making new friends, head down to the dole queue. It used to be that you’d only meet scroungers and freeloaders on the dole, but nowadays you can get acquainted with all kinds of interesting people from all walks of life. There are teachers, nurses, bankers, builders and architects to converse with. But if you want to watch some drama, you don’t need TV, just head down to the nearest new housing estate and in the comfort of your car wait for the bailiffs to arrive to repossess a home from that overstretched young family! There’s screaming, shouting, cursing and tears. Who needs a Kerry Katona reality shows when it’s all happening live in your town!....

The town of Tralee is awash with pretty hairdos and lovely frocks for the fiftieth year of The Rose of Tralee; the blandest television event since the days of Mart and Market! Why not fall asleep as Ray D’Arcy attempts to extract an iota of craic out of these glorified typists from around the world? Listen to the girls tell you ‘what they like’, ‘how lovely things are’ and ‘what they do to help the under-privileged’. And despite embarrassing themselves with their ‘turns’; murdering well-known tunes, butchering some poetry or shredding a harp; one thing that you can be sure of is that they are all in fact ‘lovely girls’. Unlike poor Caster Semenya, the South African runner who took gold last week in the world championships. There’s no doubt she’s a lovely runner, but some serious doubt as to whether she’s a lovely girl.....

She wouldn’t have got a sniff near the Rose of Tralee festival with those levels of testosterone floating around her ‘alleged’ ball sack. But how did the judges not get a clue from ‘her’ name; for God’s sake it has ‘Semen’ in it! But I suppose mistakes can be made and now they have to go and spend a fortune on chromosome testing and DNA nonsense. I think in future, to avoid these kinds of mistakes, all sporting events should use the Podge and Rodge patented “How do you know if it’s a woman” test. It’s simple, cost effective and infallible. And here’s how it works:....

Test 1- Parallel Parking: If it can’t park snug to the kerb on the first attempt, then it’s a woman.....

Test 2- Map Reading: It’s a well known fact that woman are shite at directions. Simply start at A and tell them to go to B and if they can’t manage to get there; it’s a woman.....

Test 3- Assemble Furniture: Yes, they can go in and buy half of IKEA, but can they assemble a wardrobe? If not, it’s definitely a woman.....

Podge....

 ....

Here’s a joke for ya. What did Caster Semenya win the race by? Answer: A length! I heard someone telling that in the Stickit Inn last night. Thought you’d like that one. ....

But to be honest with you, I’m not in the mood for jokes as there’s some big news that’s been bothering me this week. It’s not that Tubridy is only a mere eight days away from ruining my Friday nights, it’s not the Wacko Jacko and his Dr Feelgood story, it’s not the economy’s continuing slide into recession. No, it’s bigger than all that put together; it’s Burger Wars! ....

I mean what the hell is going on? First there was the shock of Walsh’s saying that they weren’t going to make the spice burger anymore, then me and thousands of others campaigning to get the burger back into our chippers, and breathing a sigh of relief when they came back on the menu in July. So imagine my horror when I hear that the battle of the burger has taken a cruel twist and ended up in the High Court. ....

What the hell is our government doing about this? Don’t they realise this is of National Importance. Beside the humble spud, we only have two other indigenous foods; one is Tayto crisps and the other is the Spice Burger created by Maurice Walsh in his shop in the fifties. But now one of the Walshs has gone off on a solo run, taking the secret recipe with him and making his own burgers! I mean what happens if this Top Secret recipe gets out? We don’t want the North Koreans flooding the world with counterfeit spice burgers! I call on our government to get back off their holidays, and for Cowen and the rest of them to forget about bailing out the banks and start bailing out the burgers!....

We don’t care what’s in them and we’re probably better off not knowing, but I just want to make sure we can still buy them at 3am on a Sunday morning!....

There must be a full moon this week as everything seems a little weird. People doing strange stuff, mad news stories and odd TV moments. For instance isn’t it ironic that Kerry Katona is being fired by Iceland for snorting some snow? How mad is it that celebrities are getting their heads beaten off them in aid of hospitals on RTE’s ‘Charity Lords of the Ring’. Did you see Alan Shortt’s bloodied nose? I think most of the money that he raised for The Mercy Hospital in Cork will end up being used on him. And don’t get me wrong, we’re delighted to see our old pal Lucy Kennedy back on the telly, but is it just me, or is it not strange for a pregnant woman to be hosting a boxing show? As for the oddest of thing of all this week; Ireland’s most prestigious lovely girl competition ‘The Rose of Tralee’ is being held in a hotel owned by Ireland’s biggest debtor and loan defaulter Liam Carroll. I’m not sure what message that sends out to the rest of the world, but it makes me a bit uncomfortable. It’s like when people reminisce fondly about Charlie Haughey or Bertie. Two of the most notorious shysters that ever were! Charlie spending our money like there was no tomorrow, buying islands, mansions, yachts and dolly birds and Bertie borrowing money, forgetting about borrowing money and jumping ship when we the going got tough. But, oh no, there’s always the people who’ll sing their praises to the very end.....

I can hear them now, “Ah, sure that Liam Carroll fella is a real gentlemen. Sure you can hardly blame him for borrowing those billions, if the banks were doling it out anyway!” Yeah, Liam, like Charlie and Bertie might well be the type of down to earth man that if you bumped into him would buy you a pint at the bar, but don’t forget folks we’re the ones that will be picking up their billion Euro tab for the rest of our lives.....

Podge....

 ....

I am absolutely livid, as once again I have been banned from Tralee for the week of the Rose of Tralee festival. I was certain the court order that the Boston Rose had taken out in1975, would have run out by now. But apparently an escort arriving nude at a Roses hotel room is still frowned upon. I had even saved up a couple of hundred Euros to stay in Fels Point Hotel and contribute to the Liam Carroll ‘Stay of Jail Fund’. But no, the Garda letter arrived yesterday warning me to stay away or face prosecution. I’m about as welcome as a Traveller feud in Tralee this week! But for once I don’t care as my heart is elsewhere. Her name is Diana Donnelly and she’s Ireland’s entry into this years Miss Universe competition. If they hadn’t confiscated my passport I’d be flying off to the Bahamaland to cheer on our Dee and raise my flagpole in honour of her!....

I’m done with the Rose of Tralee Festival for good with it’s twee singing and dancing and ‘girl next door’ diddly eye. I don’t care which ones are taller than Ray D’Arcy or what Daithi O’Se thinks makes for a good Rose. No, despite what Joe Duffy’s listeners would like you to believe, 2009 is the year of the Irish bikini babe. Maybe it’s the recession that has them wearing less, but this year Irish girls are looking hot! Take double D-Diana, she feckin’ gorgeous and this weekend could give any of those Miss Universe babes a run for their money. And what about Georgia Salpa? If I was Neven Maguire I wouldn’t have wasted any time sticking some meat between her baps! Then there’s the other new bikini babes on the block; like blonde bombshell Nadia Forde, sultry Louise Kavanagh and I’d wouldn’t mind seeing Ruth O’Neill totally exposed! ....

So who needs to import Roses from abroad when we’re harvesting our very own from the totty fields of Eire!....