My brother-in-law’s Spanish girlfriend Maria summed it up. “I love Irish funerals. They’re brilliant.” She’s right. Forget about the James Joyce, Riverdance and The Crack. Our greatest gift to the world is showing other races how do a proper send off.

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I’m nervous about people who go to the same place on the continent for their holidays every year. It isn’t the lack of imagination. It’s the smug stories about how they’re treated like locals at the village fete or how they taught the lady in the patisserie to say go raibh maith agat. Seriously, these actual locals probably think you’re cuckoo.

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Did you know that Turkish men never shave themselves? They just led the fuzz build up and then go for a bit of pampering at the local barbers once a week. I learned this yesterday at the Turkish place where I get my hair cut. And here’s the weird thing. I can’t wait for my hair to grow again so I can go back for more me-time at the hands of the Turks.

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2011 is a tricky year for your average Irish man. A lot of good looking women have left the country; he can’t get away from the kids; he’s expected to have a Masters in Economics and he’s growing a nice little belly for himself.

That’s only the start of his problems. How is any Irish man supposed to cope with these changes?

WOMEN.

These are difficult times for Donal. Just as he finally got used to throngs of gorgeous foreign birds walking up and down the town, most of them went back home. Now he’s trying to get back with Irish women who have developed a taste for foreign blokes. It’s a tricky business.

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If you are a man about to start working from home, here is a word to the wise. Refuse to have anything to do with the washing machine. Or you’ll just end up depressed.

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