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Bad shirt, busy year.


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We got this email from Des yesterday:

I was delighted to hear Ray D’arcy on his show on the 21/12 talking to Aoife Timothy, sister of missing person Blathnaid Timothy who is an old friend both my wife and I.

We are following the appeal on and helping out wherever we can. Is Ray Foley (of Today FM) aware that there is a person on with the user name Ray Foley making comments that are less than helpful?

Just alerting you to the fact as it looks bad for Today FM to have this lout making comments in a sensitive case like this. Thanks and keep up the good work.


This afternoon, Adelle took a look at all of the previous posts this user “Ray Foley” had written, and she informs me that while he/she initially set up his/her user account claiming not to be me, he/she has alluded to being me in subsequent posts on that website.

This person is not me. Adelle has written to the appropriate people and asked them to do what they can to clear the situation up, but it remains to be seen if that will happen. In the meantime, I would like to clarify:

I am not a user and haven’t been for several years. The person on that website using the username which is my name is not me.

Like anyone else who has read the troubling story of Blathnaid Timothy, I hope for her safe return to her friends and family.


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This pair:

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Have exploded all over the Argentinean version of Strictly.

Click the link to watch them “dance” – BUT I’M WARNING YOU! IT’S NOT SAFE FOR WORK!


ap snaps…

From The Apprentice last night, Niamh was in:


And the winner, 2010 – Michelle Massey:



Well, Matt Cardle just cost me three hundred quid on a bet for One Direction to win. The prick.

But TV land still has more to give us! The Apprentic final is tomorrow night – which reminds me: I never showed you these snaps from the last couple of weeks.


Yes, I look amazing in every one of them.


In aid of Barretstown.

Fair play to the dude in the background of this clip from RTE’s PrimeTime tonight:



This blog has really gone off the boil. That is, if “boil” is the expression that could ever have been used to describe it when it was actually busy round these parts. Occasionally (usually when I’m uploading a photo of some guest or other that’s visiting the show) I think I should write more words here rather than just uploading photos of guests who visit the show. But it seems like I never have time. That’s probably because I spend more time not writing elsewhere than actually writing words here.

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Before I ever had any ambitions to be on the radio, I always dreamt of being a writer, or more specifically, a journalist. I thought it would be a great job to have: chasing down the story, filing copy, hanging out with other journalists in the pub. I was so into the idea that I did journalism in college. Then along came radio which led me right off that path, but I’ve been fortunate enough that I’ve had the opportunity to write some stuff for a few publications as a side to my real job.

At first I couldn’t believe it. Getting paid? To type shit out and have it published for the whole world to see? Well, yeah! Of course!

My first ever article was a labour of love. I spent ten days on it, polishing it up here and there, rewriting paragraphs, dumping others, tidying up the ending until finally it was just right. I emailed it off to the editor, expecting a nomination for the Pulitzer to come back in the reply. It didn’t, just a reminder that my next deadline was a few days away. I lashed into the second article, drained from the first, but happy for the chance. Then the third deadline rolled round, and eventually it felt like they were ever twenty minutes.

I had imagined myself sitting like a wanker in a bourgeois coffee shop in Dublin city center, supping on a tall Americano, belting out the story on my MacBook in ten minutes before heading off to meet a gang of imaginary friends in The Bailey, but instead it just felt like homework, like a college essay that just… must… get… finished… as I run a word count check at the end of every line to see how much closer I am to the finish line.

Bizarrely, I’m writing this quickly and easily. That’s because it's actually something I feel like writing about. But when someone tells you to get something written on a particular topic, of a certain length and by a certain time? Then forget it pal. FML. That’s my entire evening ruined.

But I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Any muppet can write a few lines they feel like writing whenever they feel like it, but it’s only the really good muppets who can do it for a living, no matter how much they don’t feel like it.

And this blog is feeling the pinch because of it. As I sit, mashing my forehead into the keyboard, failing to work on stuff you’ll eventually read elsewhere, the flighty inconsequential guff is not getting written here.

I suppose a blog is an aspirational thing, like that novel you’re always going to write, or that screenplay you’re going to send off to Hollywood. Whereas really, a blog doesn’t have to adhere to the conventional rules of writing whatsoever.

If I feel like writing stuff I will.

And if I don’t

This is what it's like outside my house at the moment.