Carbon in the atmosphere is creating climate change. We all know this, writes Damien Enright.

I would dearly love, on this fine autumn morning, to write about the glory of the trees in their mantles of gold leaves, of the sun piercing through the branches and making silver dollars of the ivy on their trunks, of the carpets of crisp brown leaves beneath our beech trees, of the vivid green grass in the field beyond.

First, the perennial question arises of who or what is responsible for the condition of the venerable paterfamilias snoring, mouth agape, in his armchair post Christmas dinner, while his wife and children make like mice so as not to disturb his “well-deserved” rest.

I see that I can’t see the Milky Way as I used to. It may be my eyes, but it seems I’m not the only one. 

The birds were being modest for good reason, writes Damien Enright

Tommy Barker reports on an exceptional harbourside home, in impeccable order inside and out.