"The real deal, guys, the body-shutting-down, spirit-crushing lurgy that’s been flying around Cork faster than that rumour about the hurlers in the dressing room at the All-Ireland final."

Christmas lists are definitely on the agenda.

Get over yourself, Christmas dinner

Esther McCarthy on a goal for the ages — and a cheeky wagon who insulted her

Keep him in a constant state of slight bafflement. Bonus points if you ever catch him staring at himself in the mirror, questioning his sanity.

The fridge light feels like an interrogation lamp exposing my culinary failures. “Explain this furry half lemon wrapped in tinfoil, you monster.”

"The medium told me I'd have daughters with the confidence of someone who didn't think the rube across from her would take meticulous notes and use them 15 years later in a revenge column. AHA! ALL WRONG. Got you, Melinda, you fraud!"

It’s a chance to hit the reset button before the festive season kicks in. (Why is it earlier and earlier every year, for the love of GOD, give us Halloween before we’re hit with Elves on the Shelves, please?)

"The scary things that sideswipe you when you least expect it: The calls with the worst news in the middle of the night; the devastating diagnoses; and all the major and minor disasters that are simply the cost of living."

"It reached peak nostalgia nuttiness for me when I saw the Oasis boyos selling out concerts for ten billionty euro a ticket just so Jason from Mayo can don his bucket hat with a side of swagger and pretend he’s 18 again."