My wife and our four dogs on Playa Honda.

Woke today still incredibly affected after watching Small Things Like These last night. It's an amazing film with ne'er a bad performance but Cillian Murphy literally suffocates you with his portrayal of a man trying to deal with what he's accidentally witnessed.

Wilson and Tommy Robinson 🇬🇧 released from prison today.

I was VERY fortunate to know the main protagonists of these albums. The Triumvirate of Wildean Punk from my youth in Cork. All passed now but their creative genius will be forever in my drainpiped genes. L to R: Cathal Coughlan, Mick Lynch and Finbarr Donnelly.

They're back from the parlour all beautifully coiffeured and fragrant and relaxed after their massages. MASSAGES!!! I ask ya. €50 for the two of them while I begrudge myself a €15 bazzer.

Yeah. The scene where you come back to the motel completely worn out from all the shenanigans and just collapse on a sun lounger. The image completely grabbed me by the liathróidí. I owe ya five spot.

Nugget. The eternal optimist whenever I'm eating dinner. Mouth constantly open. Just in case.

I miss him terribly. Especially when Ireland soars to 20° Celsius. And I'd know he'd be hovering over his phone, ready to call me a prick as soon as I typed my Spare A Thought For Our Ginger Friends post. And the Irish Summer never really began until he called me a prick.

Got a pretty ok report back from the doctor yesterday after the full MOT. A couple of tweaks here and there and I should be hunky dory. So what does the typical male do after that? Go for a shlap of pints and an ould vodka and coke. More expensive than my prescription.

Even the cover looks cheap. But I really hope the book sells well. Otherwise we'll never hear the end of this bollocks. If he makes enough money he might fuck off to Ibiza. Fingers and eyes crossed.

Only an Irish mammy could describe their four year old child as a 'pain in the hole' and mean it in the most loving and affectionate way.

If it's ever required, I always give up my seat on a bus to someone who looks like they need it. But I do so by letting out a little groan, a sharp intake of breath and walk with an embellished limp to the handrail and vigorously rub my knee for about thirty seconds.

Wife is watching repeat of BGT. I just happened to be coming from outside and spotted Amanda Holden. Jesus Christ!!! She's the same colour as a frankfurter.

The neighbours' dog started barking at three this morning. I got out of bed and the wife said 'What are ya gonna do?' 'I'm gonna sort it'. When I got back to bed she says 'That dog is still barking. What ya do?' I said 'I brought him into our backyard. See how THEY like it'.

Having my day off pint of €2.50 San Miguel but the ambiance is being totally ruined by this noisy little spadgie whose chirping like a ref's whistle and inflaming my tinnitus. My own fault for giving it a couple of my complimentary nuts. I've named it Adele.

Watching The Heretic. Mister Hugh Grant is fucking superb in it. We're watching it cos my wife read reviews and insisted we watch it tonight. Spoiler Alert: She is now horrified that she didn't read the synopsis before we watched it. But I'm LOVING it!!!

Working with this cool kid for the last six months. We introduce each other to new music and despite her years, she has a HUGE music knowledge. I popped on The Specials cover of Dem A Fe Get A Beatin'. And SHE says 'That's my dad on trumpet'. Paul Daleman is her dad. Da fawk!

My neighbour, Victor, was playing Pulse at Vol. 8 tonight on his balcony. When he realised I was on mine, he asked if it was too loud. It wasn't. He said if I wanted to hear my choice of tunes just give him a list. I wrote this in three minutes.

If you're doing Pana this week, pop into The Long Valley and get yourself a drink and a sandwich to say thanks to Peadar and Paul and the lads for refusing to serve the right wing scum that paraded through our town on Saturday. And the Sin É and the other pubs that did the same.