I am on first name terms with a dozen gardaí I’ve never met. I telephone them. I don’t mean to telephone them, but I dial the number and they pick up.

SHE ran. That’s the marvellous thing. She ran. He told her to vacuum his car.

YOU wouldn’t know who to boycott these last few weeks, so many worthies are turning out to have feet, knees and in some cases thighs of clay.

DEPUTY Liz McManus says the time may come when we all have to march empty-handed onto airplanes. She may be right.

WHETHER you’re reading this on a beach, in a park or at an open-air café, it’s fair to predict you’re within line of sight of a bare midriff or two, a few dozen pairs of flip-flops and countless legs topped off by shorts.

WHEN the judgment of history is passed on media during this decade, it will cause a lot of turning in graves.

MY SON starred in a Labour Party political broadcast when he was two years old and has been threatening to sue ever since. He had no great ideological objections to participation. He just resents having done it for free.

THE rescue photos were heartwarming. Children smiling. Grandparents hugging them. Parents looking tired but relieved: we’re out of the war zone and home safe.

HER employer sends a Lexus to her apartment each morning to pick her up and bring her to the office.

YOU may prefer a Michael Crichton thriller or a bit of chick-lit on the beach, but this July offers a new vacation possibility: Reading for Columbine.