I’ll be saying goodbye to the tea set so. Morning Serena. Do you have a load of silver? I hear prices are going up.

Deadly! Though I long suspected Joe had a rake of biddies in a garret in Clontarf, womanning the phone-ins.

To the many vampires of hate, our love is fresh blood.

Clontarf soggy. Poor Joe Duffy! And the Ards peninsula iffy.

Storm between the high tides. Walked to Tullan with the wind behind and returned with a facefull of rain and wind. Been in worse in the hills! Quiet though. The east got smacked. Old haunts like Dundalk and Blackeock.

I preferred the original versions - Feed the Rich/Feed the Wannabees. Evening Éanna. How’s the wind/power/rain?

I would love it if AI could write stuff that wasn’t shite! I had an old typewriter I bought for parts for my lawnmower and it wrote better stuff than AI even after dismemberment. Afternoon Cynthia. I made youse all a Christmas song! More of a hymn really.

Pitiful! When I were a gasún we didn’t even have a home to which we could be sent. And we had no clothes either. Young people today! Youse are spoilt rotten.

When we run out of oil to burn maybe we can burn solar panels? Afternoon Serena. Hunkered here for the storm.

It’s a classic Belfast phrase. His head is full of wee sweetie mice - to denote a dreamy otherworldly person.

No options! Physio tomorrow. 45 minute drive each way. Evening Éanna.

I am ignoring the innuendo. ‘Waiting for the kettle to boil’, ‘jigging’. I’m a respectable man.