A lot of lyrical waxing has been done about the Irish pub, about the intangible qualities that make it a superior night-time venue. 

CAN I borrow your pen?” asked the man in the bank queue. I tensed visibly. Searching my pockets for another pen, I realised that I had to give him the one I was hiding. My good pen.

I was in the attic, looking for something else, which is the best way to find anything, says Colm O’Regan.

THERE was a strange moment during the last 10 minutes of the Ireland-England rugby match last weekend. England were attacking the Irish line. It was a situation for phrases that evoke warfare: ‘battering’, ‘pummelling’, ‘last-ditch effort’, ‘holding on grimly’ and ‘Paul O’Connell’.

BEFORE I start, I should say that the Irish Examiner website is my gateway into the world. Occasionally, though, I will look at other newspaper websites — just to see what second- and third-best look like.

TO PARAPHRASE the Hal David and Burt Bacharach song: If you see me walking down the street and I start to wince, walk on by.

Some people love theirs. Others hate it and would change it if they could. It’s your name — not just your first name but the whole package.

It had been a while since I was in one: The old-style restaurant. By old-style, I don’t mean a mediaeval tavern where food is served by lusty maids who slam down jugs of ale in front of you while looking at you lasciviously. I mean pre-2000 old-style.

A man called Andy talks gently in my ear and I’m at ease with that. It’s part of a New Year’s Resolution.

YOU don’t see them in coffee-table books. They don’t appear on JustAnotherListWebsite.com’s ‘20 Reasons To Visit Ireland Before You Die’. They get a bad press.