WHEN Peter McKenna died, he was alone, in terrible pain, and frightened. He didn’t know what was happening to him because he couldn’t.

A NUMBER of years ago, I was part of an Irish delegation to the United Nations. It was my first time in the Assembly Hall, and a fascinating place it was. To my surprise, all of the delegations were arranged alphabetically.

NEXT week I’ll be 55. So I hope you’ll indulge me in a personal statement. When I was younger, I used to think that ages ending in seven were always the turning points in life.

Fergus Finlay column

WHAT kind of madness is this? €100 million a year on spin? €2 million a week?

JIM McDAID has character. Perhaps not every ingredient that goes into that elusive characteristic, but he has a lot.

FIVE euro. That’s what it costs to land a passenger in Dublin. To put it more precisely, that, on average, is what it costs an airline to land a passenger in Dublin.

IT’S 2005, maybe year 13 of the Celtic Tiger. Fantastic growth, incredible wealth, Ireland leaping up the economic league tables.

I WANT to get rich, famous and laid. Three modest (or immodest, depending on your point of view) enough ambitions, I suppose.

ROCK Hudson died in October 1985. His death convulsed the world not because a handsome if minor star had passed away, but because of how he died.