My cooking is in a rut. I can remember a time when I was trying out a new kind of dish every other week; now I just churn out the same four or five dishes every week. That’s the slippery slope. I’m 44 now, an age when you start to get very sensitive about the slippery slope. Thirty more years of the same five meals, two months of being fed through a tube and that’s all folks. Yikes.

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Here are the twelve pillars of the Great Irish Christmas.

The Returned Emigrant

Dave is bitter after being ‘forced to go and live’ in Australia last year because there were no jobs for people with a Masters in Greek and Roman Civilisation. And now he’s back for Christmas to tell us all that Ireland is a backward dump with shit weather and by the way you’re all ugly.

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TK Maxx has turned me into a woman.

I went into town last Saturday to buy a coat for the winter. By town, I mean Cork city. Shopping in Cork as a 40 something male is a reminder that Buddha had a point: life is suffering.

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Blame Eamon Dunphy. When he started his Last Word drive time talk show on Today FM in the 90s, Dunphy and the producers had a Big Idea. Unlike the elitist crowd in RTE, this show belongs to the listeners who will be invited to text in their views on everything from the peace process to Alex Ferguson. It worked.

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Picture this. It’s the final day of the British Open next year and Rory McIlroy and Padraig Harrington have a putt each on the 18^th green to claim the championship. Whose putt do you want to drop? If you say McIlroy, then you’re lying.

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