My job is actually quite a high-risk one. People don't realise this. For those of you considering a carreer in translation (thousands of ears prick up) this needs to be considered. The general public is not aware of the risks we bravely face on a daily basis. Not everyone is cut out for this line of work. There is a very real possibility of dying of boredom on this job. While there are no reported fatalities, this is all part of the government's cover-up plan. If everyone knew how many innocent translators died in the line of duty, official government policy on Irish would immediately lose public support and all translation of the Revenue Commissioners' Annual Budgetary Report would be promtly banned, no doubt resulting in the swift demise of the Irish language and indeed the loss of our very national identity. Just think about that the next time you pick up an Irish copy of the Department of Agriculture's Annual Review. Measures have been taken to counteract this most grevious threat to the health of translators such as their employers dressing up in giant ant costumes and dancing a six-legged jig while singing the national anthem of Andorra in Irish, to break up the monotony of the day. This initiative saw a sharp drop in fatalities but this slowly began to rise again as the ant dance grew to become part of the daily routine. The government is running out of ideas. It's only a matter of time before they ironically kill off all the Irish speakers in the country. You might say the government is caught between a rock and a hard place. Alternatively you might submit that they are damned if they do and damned if they don't. Either way this is bad news for Irish and for me. While I have thus far managed to narrowly avoid death, I have on occasion found myself lapsing into a vegatative state and paralysed from the neck down and I fear it is only a matter of time before I finally kick the bucket. I have managed to cheat death so far my pricking myself on my cactus to stay sharp. Needless to say this is quite messy and not good for the computer and I need to come up with an alternative strategy. Short of smacking my head repeatedly of the table for eight hours a day, I got nothing. I would appreciate your input so please send me your suggestions.
 In other news I got seven vaccines last week for my big trip this summer. They didn't have one for boredom.

So I have returned once again to the surreality that is Coolavokig (of course you don't know where that is because it is a magical land that exists only in the parallel universe inhabited by myself and the various figments of my warped imagination!) But yeah I'm back home. Once again an enforced schedule of sloth over the past week has allowed me to slowly lapse back into the sedentary rural lifestyle to which I had become unaccustomed. Several days were spent stabbing confusedly at the remote control wondering why I was unable to access more than four channels. I was intrigued and then quickly frustrated with the complete absence of broadband. I also redisovered the sky. In Dublin, the sky is really not worth looking at because there's usually nothing there bar an odd faint star here and there. However, in Coolavokig, one's insignificance is blatantly apparent following a cursory nocturnal glance skyward. Turns out there are actually a whole bunch of stars up there from which the false dawn of Dublin's urban glow protects its inhabitants. Looks like the sky has acne...in a parallel universe where acne is attractive. I am particularly pleased that the sun has decided to give shining a try just in time for my return. Despite the unpredictability of Irish weather, there is one aspect of this inhospitable clime that you can set your watch to. As soon as the heavy studying pre-exam period begins every year, the sun always reacquaints itself with the sky and as soon as the exams are over, it promptly tires of its sordid fling and goes back to its usual haunt under a duvet of depressing cumulus. This fling tends to last about four weeks - about the amount of time I will be spending here before jetting off to more distinctive climates. I feel so indescribably smug having circumvented this particular clause of Murphy's Law for just one year. No doubt the universe will find some other cruel and unusual way of punishing me for the undeserved suspension of my cold, wet sentence. As I was passing the rugged mountains of Guagán yesterday, farmers were burning acres of furze [FEN: a common method of quickly removing this prickly bush from fields] and the whole landscape was on fire. It was so impressive to see this already wild landscape oozing flame and smoke. You had to be there I suppose.

In other news, the last primary school I went to, Gaelscoil Ui Riordáin, had a reunion on Monday night. I think we were the class of '99. I think everyone struggled with the decision to go or not. I fully expected it to be a complete cringe. What do you say to someone you haven't seen since you were twelve and know nothing about? I expected every single conversation to go something like this: "Hey...wow...long time no see...how you doing?...good yeah?...so what's new with you...since you were twelve?...what you doing these days?...oh that's interesting..." In your head: "No it isn't...I don't care what you're doing now...I'm judging you...I'm judging you right now!" For the same reason a lot of people nearly didn't come - there were a few people who didn't come and several more who nearly didn't. I think everyone was very pleasantly surprised to have an absolutely wonderful evening. It was like being back in school again for one night...albeit in a classroom with food and drink. Nobody had changed a bit - the class clowns was still clowns, the quiet people were still quiet, etc. We were all slightly (I have to stress the slightly here) older and wiser. It was as if we had never parted ways. We were all eager to talk to everyone else and all the old catchphrases, stereotypes and interpersonal dynamics were dredged up as humour fodder. I'm pretty sure that everyone who came was very glad that they did. One girl had moved to Boston five years previously and had flown over specially for it!!! Despite this I had to call a guy who lived on that very street half way through the reunion to convince him it was safe to come on down. I was gutted that I had to leave at 11 when things were obviously just getting going because I was starting a new job the following morning.

Which leads me nicely onto the next subject - my new job. Well it's another translation job, this time in a private translation company called Bard na nGleann which is based nine miles from where I live. It's just for four weeks to make some extra cash for this summer's totally excellent adventure. It's almost identical to the job I had in the Oireachtas except that I actually have to get work done. The private sector is so different to the public sector. The public sector is all meetings, and discussing with a limited amount of doing. The private sector is all work, work, work with only as much talking as is absolutely necessary. There was a staff meeting today which had four people on a conference call on speakerphone because they have people working all over the country and even some in America. They have loads of big clients and so much work to do I don't know how they get it done! There are only two other translators because the company does several other jobs apart from translating including some kind of computer programming from what I can gather. I'm guessing this means they expect a 50% increase in productivity with me coming on board which probably isn't happening because translating legislation has got me into the bad habit of checking practically every word due to the precise legal nature of what I'm used to translating, instead of relying more on my own head. I'm hoping this is something I will quickly get used to over the next few days. I have a small potted cactus beside my desk...and that's about all I'll have to tell you about this job cos the rest is quite boring.

This week has been an emotional one. It's involved a lot of goodbyes…goodbye to my workplace, goodbye to the Dublin Gospel Choir, goodbye to UCD Tae Kwon-Do Club, goodbye to my flatmates and indeed goodbye to the fair city of Dublin. In a few hours time I will be on a bus with UCC Kickboxing Club heading back to Cork. I will be living and working at home for the next five weeks until I embark on what I have decided to refer to as my personal Odyssey. More on that in a few weeks.

            Since I finished work on Wednesday, my workplace was the first place to leave. I left having just barely completed the task I was there to do but I was happy that I had achieved what I had come for and that I had learned a lot from my experience. I went out for dinner with my colleagues to celebrate my departure. Crispy duck…mmmm crispy goodness.

            Then on Wednesday night I had my last ever practise with the Dublin Gospel Choir which was a particularly enjoyable one apart from the terrifying experience of being chased my a remarkably tenacious and malevolent wasp. I have a thing about wasps and bees. Not a big fan of anything that stings and flies actually. I'm going to have a great time in the southern hemisphere this summer!!!;) But I really really loved singing in that choir. It is definitely my favourite choir that I've ever been in and it is really frustrating to have to leave now just when I'm getting the hang of the songs and all! Ah well!

            And then of course there's so much I'll miss about this house in Dublin…the late night TV, multichannel, endless episodes of Southpark, broadband, playing Tekken 4 on Playstation, eating weird Chinese food…the list goes on…

            UCD Tae Kwon-Do Club – you see this weekend was the Tae Kwon-Do Intervarsities so my old club from UCC came up specially for the weekend which was lovely. Naturally we kicked UCD's ass but in as good-natured a manner as possible. We all went out together afterwards and had a bit of a shindig in Doyles – the quintessential Dublin grotty student hole. Unfortunately, I had to leave just as things were starting to get good. Some people were fighting the next morning in the WKA qualifiers (winning this gets you on the Irish Kickboxing Squad for the upcoming world championships in Germany in August). Before, meeting up with UCD in Doyles, UCC went to a Karaoke bar! Imagine about twenty-five people in a tiny room with microphones lots of beer and no talent and you can imagine the hilarious consequences yourself! So I probably won't see everyone in UCD Tae Kwon-Do again for quite some time which is kinda sad because we've had some good times, particularly that mad trip to Bundoran.

            So the verdict on Dublin? It's arite like! I won't really miss the city – Cork will always be home. At the same time it's not like I was longing to see the back of Dublin. I will be back here many more times and although I will never settle down here, at least I can now say confidently that Dublin ain't all that bad. And so I saddle up and ride off into the sunset once again, leaving behind me a trail of broken hearts that just don't understand that I gotta keep moving. Yup the road is home, I got the soul of a tomcat and that's just the way it's gotta be in this crazy world. Who knows, maybe I'll see you again if I ever pass through this town again…maybe I won't…but the road's callin to me now and I've got to go while the moon's still bright enough to light my way. So long…

Behold the third and final example of my journalistic endevours in an actual physical publication. This is the last issue of UCC's EX2 this year and my article is on page 12. http://www.ucc.ie/en/SIN/Communications/UCCExpress/ExpressOnline/UCCExpress0607/UCCExpressv1013-270307/DocumentFile,32632,en.pdf

Once again, I also strongly recommend any articles bearing the name of Gill not only because the Gill Bros. are my buddies but also...well because their articles tend to be quite funny/informative.Once again, I issue a disclaimer as to the content of this magazine and warn you that some people may find the language and innuendo contained therein to be offensive. Read at your own risk!

This week, Wei took me and some of her work colleagues to a Chinese restaurant. This time, we got a private room. It had a big round table with this mad glass top wheely thingy in the middle so you could put about ten dishes on it and then spin it around so everyone could eat a bit of everything. I want to get one of them! There was this big massive TV with karaoke on it…except it was almost exclusively Chinese karaoke which meant that, aside from one rendition of John Lennon's Imagine, it was mostly just Wei warbling on with some random Chinese songs. Also, try to imagine, if you will, two Chinese 'rock stars' on a massive screen, singing an extraordinarily poor version of American Pie and having the irony totally lost on them…or perhaps you'd rather not. But I assure you, the cheesiness of a popular Chinese band covering 'A Yellow Submarine' is actually hilarious and I spent the first half an hour in this restaurant just laughing at how utterly strange Chinese music is.

            Then, a few days ago I had the distinct pleasure of experiencing a somewhat more skilful vocal display. I went to see the National Chamber Choir. My sister's music class from my old school were up again to see some of their compositions being performed by probably the most technically proficient, accomplished and professional choir in the country. It was seriously impressive. Not just the quality of the performances, but the quality of the compositions. These kids had written choral arrangements that could well have been written by Brahms or Vivaldi. Respeck!

            And guess what happened this morning? The same thing that has happened every year since I moved out…I totally forgot this was the day when the clocks went forward and I found out the way I always do…by showing up to mass an hour late and feeling like a complete tool. Instead of mass, I saw a brand new little altar boy being shown the ropes. It was so funny. He had such a serious little expression of responsibility when he was practicing ringing them little bells. Who knew there was so much to it! It's all in the wrist apparently.

            I've got a lot on my mind at the moment because there's a lot of stuff coming up. I finish work this week, then I've got UCC Kickboxing coming up to Dublin for the intervarsities and then I'm going back home with them on April Fool's Day and I have to plan something for that! Moving back home involves a lot of hassle. Then I've got a brand new job starting at home in a translation firm for a few weeks before I go travelling. I've got loads of preparation and research to do for my big trip before I go! And before I can go anywhere, I've got two big long essays for college looming over me, flexing their mandatoriness. And then there's a school reunion coming up in a few weeks! I know a school reunion – it sounds like something that old people do – I'm not old enough to be having a school reunion right? It's actually a primary school reunion for Gaelscoil Uí Ríordáin, where I only spent the last year of my primary education. It's been ten years already! Unbelievable. Now as we all know from Hollywood movies about school reunions, they're all about seeing all your old classmates again and rubbing their faces in how much more successful than them you've become. Unfortunately, this probably puts me in a rather disadvantaged position because I imagine most of my conversations on the night will go a little something like "Yeah I'm still single. Yeah I know I'm still pretty short. Yup I'm still broke too!" No matter. Hopefully by the reunion of 2017, I'll at least be rich…right??? In any case, I hope that this reunion will at least be a toast to the past and to the future and maybe I can tactfully skirt around the subject of the present! Sláinte!

Well the world is slowly beginning to crawl out of bed today, holding their heads and wondering why oh why they had to get so little sleep over this most inebriating of weekends. People all over the globe jumped at the excuse for a big party. This was the first time I really celebrated St Patrick's Day. Every other year, I just enjoyed having a day out and no school. This year, however, was hardcore! It was my first Paddy's Day in Dublin and was always going to be an exhausting experience. Luckily it was also a very enjoyable one.

            I had a few American girls crashing at my gaff for the weekend. They live in Amsterdam (the shade of green I am right now is attributable to envy rather than the time of year) and came over for the weekend for a bit of a shindig and what have you… They came bearing those yummy Dutch chocolate sprinkles that they put on toast in Holland and that you can't get anywhere else and that I totally love ever since my sister brought some back from the Netherlands. It was fun to see them try to understand the Irish psyche - one of them thought that a cyclist who blessed himself as he simulaneously passed a church and us was doing so out of contempt for their blatant Americaness rather than simply because he was passing a church! Their presence and that of a few lads from Cork and Kerry made the weekend a rather hyperactive affair. First I took them to what was described as a luminarium. This is basically a giant inflatable palace designed around Muslim architecture and the inside of an anthill. The inside is full of atriums and alcoves, all lit up by what appears to be neon, but what is actually just natural light filtered through coloured plastic. It was literally a castle of air because it was supported entirely by air. It felt like being a foetus in a womb…or larvae in some kind of maggot nest…except more pleasant than either of these scenarios. That night, I took them to the Conradh na Gaeilge club down in a Harcourt St basement. For those of you not familiar with this venue, it is the last bastion of the Irish language and culture in the Pale and hidden in an underground bunker guarded by a heavy iron door so that those Sasanaigh will never find it. A side-effect of this is that nobody else knows about it either and it is usually virtually deserted. The night before Paddy's day though, it was packed. There was a riot involving about fifty people outside who were refused entry. It is by most standards, a fairly exclusive club. To get in, you have to stand outside the door until you are presumably scrutinized by a CCTV camera, then you are buzzed in and you sign the guest book. There were extra security measures this night though They had an Irish-speaking bouncer checking IDs and language proficiency. As one of my yanks presented a Missouri drivers licence I was sure we'd be turned away but instead the bouncer was just so intrigued by getting such a rare form of ID that his distrust of English speakers was temporarily weakened and we were let in. The place was full of people, many of whom were younger than myself and surprisingly they all spoke fluent Irish that flowed from their mouths as naturally as a mountain spring. I did not expect to hear this in Dublin. I certainly didn't hear Irish of this calibre being spoken in the Gaelcholaiste, which is supposedly a holy grail of Irish in the Cork city area. It was very encouraging. It was also great because this club's patrons, unlike patrons of other establishments in the city, would quite willingly strike up conversation with me despite me being a complete stranger, purely to revel in the aural purity of our native tongue. In this hardcore Irish setting, my American companions were immediately identified as being clearly not Irish, and were pounced upon by opportunistic and curious young teenagers eager to find out why the hell there would be three Americans in a club like this. You must understand that there were probably more Americans, with their conspicuously perfect teeth, in Dublin city centre that weekend than Irishmen but none had strayed so close to the heart of the true Gaelic identity as these three. Propositions of a certain kind were made to my companions in Irish by said teenagers, which quite naturally confused said companions until I began to translate. All in all, these Americans were extremely fortunate to stumble upon so uniquely Irish an experience as this one, given that several of my friends from Munster were turned away.

            The next day, we got up relatively early because we were going to educate the Americans about proper morning nourishment. They were to be taught the virtue of a full Irish breakfast. This involved a black pudding, a white pudding, a few pounds of sausages, several rashers, "homemade" brown bread and butter and just to continentalize it a little bit for them – pancakes. I invented a new breakfast roll whereby the ingredients are wrapped in a pancake instead of being stuffed into a baguette. Its way better…trust me. Then we ran down to the end of Dame Street in time to catch the parade at its terminus. We were very lucky with the weather. Normally I would never make such a mundane comment but the weather is really a vital ingredient to a successful Paddy's Day and I mention it now because over the course of Sunday and Monday it has been alternately raining, snowing, hailing and being sunny but freezing. I can only assume that it's that time of the month for the weather. Skyfest had to be cancelled on Sunday night. This is a fireworks/laser/giant inflatable fire-breathing river-dragon show which would totally have kicked ass. In a typically Irish fashion, the parade started late so we were hanging around for a while being suffocated by the massive crowd until it finally passed. It lasted a very long time and featured countless marching bands. Highlights included Michael O Muircheartaigh in a convertible, a rock band whose members were all pirates, a load of Sikhs in traditional dress and a human horse's ass. During the course of the parade, I was perched alternately on a rather tall gentleman's shoulders and on the railings outside Christchurch Cathedral. They rang the cathedral bells in glissando at the end of the parade. Afterwards we made our way to Earlsfort Terrace for a Céilí Mór [FEN:I explained this one before but it's meant to be a big organised Irish dance off]. However, this particular céilí was far from organised and was more like a giant green moshpit with a slightly more happy-go-lucky dancing style. Music was provided by the Kilfenora Céilí Band, the MC was Síle Seoige and there was some on-stage (on the gig-rig cos this was an outdoor party) sean-nós dancing by "The Cuninghams" [FEN: Breakin it down old-skool!]  Big dance circles were formed in the crowd, as were conga lines and human pile-ups. Most people had no idea what they were doing and didn't care. The night was spent talking, drinking and dancing into the early hours in various locations as was the night after that.

However, before the debauchery of Sunday night began, I had some more pious business to attend to first - my first public performance with the Dublin Gospel Choir. It went swimmingly with no major screw-ups and it felt wonderful. The church was packed and there were lots of foreigners up the front who were clearly enjoying it. Many of you will want to see a photo of me in the robes. I will therefore post one of me with the other tenors in the Paddy's Day album ASAP. Gold is so my colour.

So in conclusion…I really really had a great Paddy's Day this year. I realised something about Ireland this weekend, particularly during the Céilí Mór. The country is becoming increasingly multicultural, as evidenced by the huge amount of foreigners who were boogying down that day. Some fear that our own culture – the language, music and dance – will be lost in this sea of multiculturalism. But on St Patrick's Day there were thousands of people dancing on Earlsfort Terrace – black, white, brown and yellow people – and all I could see was a sea of green – a sea of incredibly joyful people having fun together and enjoying the infectious mirth that is invariably brought about by the Irish language, music and dance. Many of the foreigners there had better dance steps than the Irish. I'd wager that the vast majority of Irish people there that day couldn't tell a concertina from a cappuccino but it really didn't matter. I realised that I shouldn't resent the ignorance of the masses in relation to our own culture because it wasn't wilful ignorance. Most people who were raised in the pale [FEN: The greater Dublin area] just weren't lucky enough to be exposed to an environment where their heritage was everywhere around them but despite this, given the opportunity, they happily embraced it and rather than putting it on a pillar, brought it down to a human level and engaged with it in solidarity with everyone else who was there that day through some rather primal dancing! The realisation that there is so much goodwill out there among Irish people and among the nations of the world towards Irish culture makes me very hopeful and very happy. Furthermore, being able to host some Americans and introduce that culture to them was so personally rewarding that I feel I benefited more from their visit than they did from my meagre hospitality. It feels very satisfying and liberating to be able to pay back some of the karma I owe the universe as a consequence of so many Americans sharing their lives, meals and homes with me when I was a foreigner in America last year. But enough of this sentimental "I learned something today" crap. I promise my next entry won't be as gushy and preachy. Go mbeirfimid beo ag an am seo arís!;)

My second newspaper article was published yesterday and is on page 12 here: http://www.ucc.ie/en/SIN/Communications/UCCExpress/ExpressOnline/UCCExpress0607/UCCExpressv1012-130307/DocumentFile,32036,en.pdf

Furthermore, there's a full page spread on page 21 on how my beloved old UCC Kickboxing Club has been getting more and more wonderful in my absence: http://www.ucc.ie/en/SIN/Communications/UCCExpress/ExpressOnline/UCCExpress0607/UCCExpressv1012-130307/DocumentFile,32034,en.pdf

Sniff...I miss UCC...

I got my mojo workin…yeah I lost it for a while…my mojo. My uncanny ability to break it down seemed to have all but disappeared but then I discovered the secret to my problem. I was dressing too smartly. One's apparel has a subconscious effect on the psyche – on how one views oneself. I had been spending too much time constricted by high collars and weighed down by black leather shoes giving me an aura of austerity. One evening I came to Gospel practise dressed in increasingly uncommon casual wear. All of a sudden my shoulders and hips were demanding I gyrate unnecessarily. All it took was a little bagginess.

            Here's another random little bit of trivia. I found out last week that my new boss in Legal Division is Michael O Muircheartaigh's daughter! [FEN: he's a famous Irish sports commentator.] How random! I've been doing loads of work for them legal folk. I started off with translating a job advertisement for a European Court of Human Rights judge. That was a barrel of laughs! It was a bit more interesting than legislation though because it was actually printed bilingually in the major national newspapers the following week. So I actually got some of my work published in all the major newspapers inadvertently! And apparently the standard of my translating turned some heads because Foinse [FEN: an Irish language newspaper] called up the department and requested a copy of the ad for use in their own newspaper! They volunteered to run the ad! Of course it was a bit of an oversight that they weren't issued with it in the first place but the Department of Foreign Affairs are great when it comes to overlooking Irish language policy but we won't go into that…

            Then my next job was to help track down loads of international treaties that Ireland have signed but lost!!! Can you believe we've lost our copies of international agreements? We didn't even know about it until Michael D Higgins [FEN: prominent idiosyncratic politician] found out they were missing. I tell ya he's on the ball that fella! He wasn't too happy about it anyway so we had to go and find them and photocopy them all six times for him because Bertie promised him we would! We found loads of the EU treaties rotting away down in a basement of Trinity College Library. The only copy we could find of the EU accession treaty – the one where we joined up to the EEC as it was then known – was in book format making it very difficult to photocopy. I mean that's a fairly historic treaty – you'd think they'd have loads of copies of it lying around all over the place but no! The ole civil service isn't the most organized.

            Then my next job after that was to summarize recent developments in Irish diplomatic law in the 21^st century for a new edition of a textbook on diplomatic law. The author, who's a professor in University College London contacted the department so they could do a bit of research for her. It'll be cool to contribute to the material that will eventually form part of a book. Still haven't got around to it though cos I've got this big mad think that I'm working on now that I probably shouldn't even talk about under the Secrecy Act because it could potentially be sensitive and might damage diplomatic relations. Yeah…cool.

So I went to Donegal this weekend. It was my first time in Donegal. Also my first time in Leitrim, Roscommon and Sligo. I'm happy to report that all four counties have met with my approval having undergone a rigorous evaluation procedure consisting of me glancing at them flying past the window of the bus. Donegal underwent further scrutiny though because I spent two nights there – in Bundoran more specifically. It was essentially an excuse for a two day party with UCD's Tae Kwon-Do club. It was quite the party too! All weekend, there was a recording secretary on hand to write down any embarrassing or incriminating Freudian slips that slipped out of anyone's mouths. There were so many of these that a small book is now being compiled. The constant stream of alcohol up there ensured this. There was one girl in particular who began drinking on Saturday night and was still drinking when I left her in the pub in UCD last night. For all I know she's still drinking right now. It is more likely though that she's passed out.

            Was there any legitimate excuse for such a blatant weekend of debauchery you ask? Indeed! The main aim of the weekend was team-building and it certainly did that. Sharing a house with nine other lads really helps to create bonding. One has little choice but to work together or live in chaos. I held the much coveted position of "house leader". This basically meant that I had to keep track of the key to the house while everyone else was getting drunk. There were over twenty people altogether sharing three holiday homes. Half of these went surfing and the other half (my half) went climbing up things and jumping off them and stuff…more on that later. Bundoran is a surfing Mecca. The waves come from all the way across the Atlantic, building up momentum on the way. There is no sheltered bay to placate them before they hit the unforgiving Donegal shore, resulting in excellent surfing conditions. However, there is one little problem with Bundoran as a surfing destination – it's colder than a bartender's glare after you've drunk away the last of your money. Yes, being right on the edge of the Atlantic, and a little bit closer to the North Pole than Dublin, it can get downright freezing. This is why I decided to engage in land activities instead. Even on land, I found myself physically shaking from the cold and constantly reminding everyone around me that it was a good thing that we hadn't gone surfing. Ironically enough, the so-called land activities revolved around getting as far off the land as possible. It involved climbing up big poles, walking across unhealthily high beams, abseiling, climbing up walls with tiny fake rocks sticking out of them and all manner of amateur trapeze artistry. See the photos section for a more illuminating description. Suffice to say that at one point I was squatting atop a wobbly 25foot pole, clinging to it for dear life and yelling "No seriously, I want to come down now!" The guy who was instructing us was a bit of a joker. Before he would get us down from one particular beam, he insisted that we do a little dance up there – which was quite difficult given that we were standing on a narrow wooden beam about twenty feet in the air. I obliged with a little Bad Mama Jama at which point I was lowered most of the way. Then I had to spin upside down and sit there doing a Spiderman impression before he'd lower me the rest of the way. It was pretty cool though. Especially when it was over.

            If you ever get the chance to go to Bundoran, take it because even apart from the surfing and all that, it's surrounded by beautiful rugged landscape and strangely-shaped mountains that look like they were carved by some psychedelic giant (see photo). But for now, it's back to the grinding stone. Good luck!

Hey guess what! One of my (previously unpublished - never before seen here or anywhere else) articles got published yesterday in an actual tangible magazine that exists in the real world! Wahey! I am of course referring to the ever-quirky EX2, UCC's fortnightly chronicle of tomfoolery and randomness. I highly recommend you pick up a copy if you happen to be in UCC, not just because I'm in it but also because it happens to be a damn fine publication which is well worth spending an hour with...if you're not easily offended...otherwise you may find some of it shocking. Of course most of you will be nowhere near UCC. Many more of you would be unable to locate it on a map. Fear not! There is an online edition which can be accessed...heah: http://www.ucc.ie/en/SIN/Communications/UCCExpress/ExpressOnline/UCCExpress0607/UCCExpressv1011-270207/DocumentFile,31320,en.pdf

For those of you who are prone to become offended by coarse language, profanity and lewd editorialism, most of this can be avoided by skipping straight to my article on page 12 although I did say sh*t in it once and if you think the removal of that asteriks might just cause your fragile little mind to cave in on itself...well I'll leave it to you own judgement. If you think you're made of stronger stuff though, I would also highly recommend any articles by Donal Gill or Cian Gill for your reading pleasure. These two brothers in arms have hilarious and occasionally informative writing styles that I enjoy very much. You need Adobe Reader to read it. If you don't have it then you are living in a parallel universe where people go around not having Adobe Reader and you should go away and download it immediately.

Furthermore, my sporting exploits merited a mention in the sports section of the UCC Express, EX2's slightly more serious older brother. I'm in the Kickboxing column on page 26 and the link to the online edition is heah if you're bothered: http://www.ucc.ie/en/SIN/Communications/UCCExpress/ExpressOnline/UCCExpress0607/UCCExpressv1011-270207/DocumentFile,31319,en.pdf

Later.