Ah, pre-election nerves. That volatile time between nailing propaganda posters to every stationary object and the rain washing them away, many months and moons later. As Christmas is the time for break-ups, so the couple of months run up to a general election puts us all in danger of total social meltdown. Harsh words are spat. Brothers turn on brothers. Profitable partnerships are dissolved over contentious sideswipes at Alan Shatter.

Certainly, in my own social sphere, political argument ...

I’ve been doing a lot of writing these past few days. I’ve been typing so much that my fingers have splayed at awkward angles; if you turned me upside-down you could use me to rake up leaves. I’ve been churning it out, except for last Monday night when I was down in the pub bitching about Mary Hanafin and the way she might gawk at you. Oh, and except when I’m out walking, too. I haven’t mastered the art of typing whilst trotting (smartphone and all); the only thing my fingers have t...