The 10,000 emails of “who’s playing today” and the millions of replies may seem, on the face of it, dull, but they are a social history of their own, writes Colm O’Regan

Screentime — a phrase that has become laden with all sorts of panic, writes Colm O’Regan.

Here’s your weekly journey into the mind of Colm O’Regan.

The Atlantic storms name list is out. This year could be a turning point. A sea-change, if you will.

Sometimes life just imitates art. The art was the Tea Master episode of Father Ted when Ted gives Mrs Doyle an automated tea-maker.

I heard the roar outside of the engine and ancient instincts were reawoken.

Well that’s good news. Maybe I can relax a little. You see they reckon slacking can be evolutionarily advantageous.

Spam: the disappointment in your inbox. The notification that turns out to be nothing. It is angrily disposed of.

Walking up the street after a night-out, home at a reasonable hour to let the babysitter go home, we saw it. A nightclub queue. One that was of proper Celtic Tiger length.

I swear they’re doing it just to spite me. They know it’ll drive me mad. One more insult. There is nothing more galling than two — no wait there’s another one — THREE FLIES at it hammer on tongs in the corner of the telly screen as you’re trying to catch up on episodes of a dark psychological Victorian thriller.