Frank McNally

I see that a portrait of Flann O'Brien has taken its deserved place on the walls of the Devonshire Arms, the much-talked about (and partly Irish-owned) London pub celebrated for the quality of its Guinness.

The scribes of medieval Ireland, unlike Sinatra, never found their regrets too few to mention

At his mother's wake in Cavan the other night, I got talking to a friend about the unwritten rules of this great Irish institution, as gently policed by local elders.

Readers will be familiar with the traditional advice, in response to any request for directions in Ireland: “I wouldn't start from here if I were you.”

At a table quiz in Dublin the other night, questions included this: “Who was the first woman on the moon?” Cue mild consternation as most teams

On a colour-coded map, Kerry's grim ratio of deaths is represented by a shade that looks like dried blood

In conversation with a friend the other day, mildly disparaging a mutual acquaintance, I reached for what I used to think was a very common Irish expression: “He has a great welcome for himself.”

On successive visits to the cinema recently, by weird coincidence, I saw two films on the theme of extreme violence, European imperialism, and the

Three hundred years ago this autumn, Ireland was convulsed by the controversy of Wood's Halfpence and the campaign against it by one “M.B., Drapier”, a thinly disguised Jonathan Swift.

Among the stories in The Enchanted Bay: Tales and Legends from Ernie O'Malley's Irish Folklore Collection – just published by Merrion Press – is one called “A Girl is Taken from the Bird's Nest”.