Full moon gives lunatics a sporting chance

A few years ago, a Bantry friend nonchalantly pointed at the full moon as we hurtled towards his hometown and predicted a night of violence, destruction and half-eaten chicken suppers.

Apparently laying in store for us and our humble road trip were streets awash with blood and garlic mayo all courtesy of the malicious lunar cycle. It was ever thus, he swore.

The rest of us were sceptical but he delivered his doomsday prediction with such eerie calm that we gave him the benefit of the doubt and adjusted our smug city slicker attitudes accordingly. After he was inevitably proven somewhat right (it was a notch above the usual fair, there was a palpable edge that night) I decided to place stock in the ability of the moon to gravitationally extricate reason from our minds.