IT IS, at best, a troubled relationship. We have in this country a prof-essional group made up of individuals we all hope we never get to meet.

TO keep you on-trend this Christmas, I’m here to warn you against rushing out to buy a tablet computer for someone you love, because they might prefer a baking tin.

AN awards ceremony in Limerick. A newspaper apology in the US. The Gettysburg Address. This weekend crafted an odd connection between the three.

INANIMATE objects suffering from hypochondria aren’t as much fun as humans suffering from the same condition.

I CAN die happy. I have met Brian O’Driscoll. I haven’t just met Brian O’Driscoll, I’ve met Amy Huberman too.

So this author is being interviewed by Seán Moncrieff, who interviews a lot of authors and causes me to buy a great many more books than I really should.

IT’S always puzzling that recruiters ask the question: “Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?”

FROM the outset, the man in my life knew he was marrying the opposite of a domestic goddess. I told him, straight up, that I was a slob.

The reality is that not voting has no dire consequences. Nobody dies. Nobody goes to jail. Nobody gets fined.

WE HAVE forgotten how to die well. That’s the thesis of a doctor friend of mine. He has done a study of Victorian art representing the moment of death, the time leading up to death, or the period immediately thereafter. The paintings inevitably portray a scene of sadness but, at the same time, a scene of peace and tranquillity and quiet.