I’m sitting by the fire, listening to Gay Byrne on RTE Lyric FM of a Sunday afternoon. I’ve resisted the invitations to go elsewhere. There’s a lot to be said for sitting in a recliner chair in your own home. And I’ve just looked out the window and, no surprises, my daughter and her cousins are visiting here: just as I expected. And now my son and his cousin has arrived too. Just as I predicted. And the girls came laden with a bowl of sticky toffee pudding for me. Now, does life get any better than this?

Uncle Gaybo! His show is just over. But I recall that it was he, Gay Byrne, who first planted the irresistable bug of writing. He held a short story competition way back in the mid-1980s and I entered the competition. It was a tiny piece. I think just 500 words. A professional actor performed my little piece. I was one of the top ten finalists. It didn’t win the competition. But the buzz I got out of having my words read out on radio by a professonal actor was brilliant. I’d caught the bug and here I am, more than 25 years later, earning my living as a writer, editor and inveterate diariest. Thanks Uncle Gaybo! For your encouragement, the chance to taste the delight of my profession, and for being The Voice of Irish Radio through my youth, adulthood and, now, middle age.