What drives the sort of vandalism that sees a yob smash a defibrillator paid for by the community to save lives?
Why are we such vandals in Northern Ireland? Or, let me rephrase that more tactfully, why do we have such vandals in Northern Ireland?
Why are we such vandals in Northern Ireland? Or, let me rephrase that more tactfully, why do we have such vandals in Northern Ireland?
I know somebody who once innocently drove off from a filling station without paying for petrol. She'd wanted to buy other items so she'd driven her car forward from the pumps into a parking bay. When she came back out again there was no "OMG, I forgot about the petrol" moment of realisation. She just got in and drove off.
As an unbeliever I don't pretend to be a Bible scholar but there is a bit in the Good Book, is there not, that has something about judging not lest ye shall be judged?
Who among us hasn't had one of those days when we've left the hairdresser's so indebted for the transformation/salvage work carried out therein that, were it in our power, we'd gladly give that crimper an OBE? A knighthood even.
Are you Brexit body ready? I only ask because, you will recall that, around this time last year, there was a massive hoo-ha over posters which had appeared in London Tube stations enquiring of passers-by, Are You Beach Body Ready?
Say what you will about his muscly T-shirt look, but I think Rory McIlroy has got it spot-on regarding Zika. McIlroy has been rapped recently for supposedly "showing off his muscles" - this according to an NBC golf commentator who claims that weight training has been to the detriment of the golfer's game.
The Tory succession battle is finally sorted and a new party leader and Prime Minister is in place. Chris Evans, isn't it? Or Tom Hiddleston? Or maybe Angela Eagle? Roy Hodgson? I'm finding it hard to keep up. There's been so much chopping and changing in important roles in public life this last while, I'm beginning to review my firm conviction that astrology is a load of oul' guff.
Theresa May in that tartan trouser suit - what was she thinking? I know that of all the crucial questions raised by events of the last startling week in Westminster, the appearance of Theresa May City Roller may not seem the most pressing.
We haven't totally got a handle on this democracy thing, have we? A clear majority of the voting public - not a massive majority, but a clear one - have said they want to Brexit Europe.
It's only a game. How often we've said that over the years. The old cliched dismissal about a bunch of grown men kicking a ball around a pitch for a living. And for the privilege of doing so being paid the equivalent of a lottery win. Per week.
Often when you read reports following the now all-too-common mass-murder gun attacks in America, you're swept not just with sorrow for the families of the victims, but with pity too for the shocked and distressed relatives of the perpetrators. How awful to be, say, the parent of someone who commits such horrific acts.
Brexit. Don't let your indecision take you from behind. Trust your inner vision. Don't let others change your mind. The immortal, inspirational message from the lyrics of the song Making Your Mind Up by Eurovison winners Bucks Fizz. Who better, then, to headline the Leave campaign's answer to Glastonbury - an eve-of-poll concert in Birmingham also starring an Elvis impersonator plus Nigel Farage, Liam Fox and Kate Hoey?
Mommy, Mommy, can I go play in the gorilla's den? This week's story of parenting fail comes from Cincinnati where a four-year-old boy managed to evade parental supervision, clamber over a protective fence, tumble 10ft into a moat of shallow water and find himself face to face with Harambe, 400lb of western lowland gorilla.
Football - it's another planet isn't it? Not just a different world from ours. A whole other universe. This week's headlines from Manchester are a case in point. A middle-aged man gets dumped, very publicly, very humiliatingly from the day job despite his recent success in silverware production.
You wouldn't buy a designer handbag in a car park in Magherafelt. So why would you consider it an appropriate place to buy a "designer" dog?
Would it make a big difference, do you think, if America was currently facing the prospect of the presidency of a Donna Trump as opposed to a Donald?
In a fairly spectacular step up from the concept of "me time" an author is now arguing for a full-on "meternity" break. You read that right. Meternity not maternity. American writer Meghann Foye is a bit peeved that while working mothers are able to avail of generous maternity leave, their female colleagues who don't have children are denied the same luxury.
It says something about the acting skills of Jimmy Nesbitt that this most genial of men manages to convincingly transform himself into the coldest-hearted of killers for the upcoming TV series, The Secret. The four-part drama tells the story of dentist Colin Howell and his murderous affair with the equally evil Hazel Stewart.
For a while there I took my eye off the Brexit ball and as a result, I'm now not entirely up to speed on who's In and who's Out. Or indeed who is out to persuade us to stay In. Or Out.
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on their current tour of India are hoping to create 'new memories', we are told. As William's da Charles might say, whatever that means ...
What now for poor Michaella McCollum Connolly, newly released from her "foreign prison hellhole" (which is how any overseas incarceration facility tends to be described these days)?
Arlene wasn't available and Mike seemingly had other things to do. So somebody had to go. In fairness I doubt very much if I was the only observer from a unionist background who went down at the weekend to view the Dublin commemoration of the 1916 Rising.
What sort of a clown is Madonna making of herself these days? Caught up in a custody battle with her ex, Guy Ritchie, over their 15-year-old son, Rocco, she has appeared on tour in Australia togged out as a clown, riding on stage on a very small trike, her thighs bulging like a prop forward's over stripey stockings.
It is a tragedy beyond comprehension. Not just the scale of it, but the speed of it. The utter harrowing, helpless horror of it.
Charlotte and her hen party were all dolled up and ready to revel. They were wearing lurid green tutus, sparkly green tiaras and matching, specially printed T-shirts. That's how I knew they were Charlotte and her hen party.
I feel as much affection for the city of Belfast as for a dear old friend. So bearing in mind that line about the things a good friend really should tell you, here goes... Belfast, old girl, you smell a bit. In fact you smell a lot. Has anyone else noticed how vile the whiff now is in various parts of the city centre?
Another week, another homeless man dead on our streets. If there is any ray of light in this bleak saga it is that coverage of the tragic death of the man who was found several days ago in a Belfast shop doorway has reminded the rest of us of the great work being done by so many volunteer outfits working to help others like him.
Is BoJo the Trump of Brexit? Six months ago that sentence wouldn't even have made sense. It doesn't make a whole lot even now, you might argue. But at least you get the gist. Dominating the political headlines on either side of the Atlantic we now have two fabulously wealthy men whose main appeal seems to be bad haircuts, big gobs and a talent for "connecting with the masses". However you define/explain that last bit.
On a bleak, cold February morning earlier this week, I watched a family hunker down for breakfast on the pavement outside the Gare du Nord in Paris. Mother, father, a girl of about 12 years, a boy who looked to be about seven and a babe in arms.
Anyone who's ever had a sneaky fag behind the bike shed at school will be forgiven a wry smile at the news that a smoking shelter outside a hospital in Belfast has been demolished to make way for ... a bike shed.
According to a recent headline grabbing calculation from one of the major aid agencies, a mere 62 people are as wealthy as 50% of the rest of the world's population. By the look of it around half of these mega-rich have this week been vying for presidency of the United States.
First red-doorgate and then bright-coloured-wristbandgate ... It would be safe to say that some of those tasked with providing housing and catering services to migrants in England and Wales do not appear to be letting sensitivity and thoughtfulness get in their way.
Donald J Trump - love him or loathe him he is very much man-of-the moment thanks mainly to that petition signed by over half a million doubtless well-intentioned souls who wished to give the old windbag a touch of his own medicine at immigration control.
You can see why actor Sean Penn might have thought there could be a movie in Joaquin Guzman. The life and crimes of the diminutive Mexican drugs cartel boss, better known as El Chapo (that translates as Shorty, although whether anyone actually calls him that to his face is another matter), is the stuff of hackneyed Hollywood script.
Who said; "The more kindness and love there will be, the more confident and stronger we will be"? Little Mix? Harry Styles? Gwyneth Paltrow? Or Vladimir Putin?
From the original Christmas story featuring Madonna and Child to the 2015 version - a modern day parable starring Madonna and estranged child. The multi-millionaire pop star is reported to be currently involved in a transatlantic custody battle over her son Rocco (15), whose father is movie director Guy Ritchie.
Nonsensical and unwieldy the old 12 Days of Christmas may have been but at least you knew where you were with a partridge in a pear tree. Put it like this, rounding up game birds in fruit bushes and high jumping peers of the realm sounds like small beer compared to trying to keep up with the convoluted and lunatic demands of Christmas 2015.
Tyson Fury - as names for champion boxers go you'd be hard pressed to come up with better. And it isn't even a stage name. It's his real name. Not only that but Tyson II is a proud member of the Travelling community, descended from a long line of what he calls gypsy fighting legends and the man who against all predictions, if not all the odds, has recently, dramatically, won the world heavyweight boxing championship.
Which of these two would you think is likely to be unpredictable — a small, excitable dog on a retractable lead or an oncoming cyclist wheeling past the little beast? In a case which has just been settled out of court, the answer appears to be neither.
Only a couple of days to go to Black Friday, that American-imported festival of greed and grasping that now officially kicks off the season of peace and love and goodwill to all ad-men. Can't wait. If only for the video footage.
Immediately after the massacre in Paris, Bono, who with his bandmates in U2 had been due to give a concert in the city, described the atrocities as an "attack on music". This prompted a bit of a backlash on Twitter. "Yeah, right, Bono. It's all about you ..." But actually it is, isn't it?
Vrooom. There she goes…Emma Pengelly. Scorching faster up the track than Lewis Hamilton at Circuit of the Americas in Texas. A mere few weeks ago who, outside of her immediate Stormont circle, had even heard of Ms Pengelly?
Like anyone else who enjoys any excuse for a party, I've no problem with the idea of celebrating Halloween. I just think we're starting to take it all a bit too seriously. Take the story about this year's "shortage" of pumpkins which has been given surprisingly extensive coverage in the national media.
That old line about "charity begins at home" ... It does not, you'll notice specify "stately home". Which is doubtless good news for the 84 Church of England bishops who have just released a letter they've written to David Cameron urging him to allow into the country more than double the number of Syrian refugees he envisages giving asylum to over the next five years.
Julian Assange and that estimated security bill of £12.6m for police monitoring his stay in the Ecuadorian Embassy - is this the most outrageous accommodation bill in history? Assange infamously fled to the Knightsbridge embassy seeking asylum way back in June 2012.
As has been widely reported across America and throughout the world, he was a fan of the Nazis and the IRA. He had previously observed on social media that mass shootings were a good way to make a name for yourself. And he was known to have behavioural and anger management problems.
Workers of the world unite. You have nothing to lose but your Coco-Pops. As revolutionary slogans go, it's not quite aux armes citoyens, is it? But spurred on by the horrid decadence of a cafe in London serving up the likes of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes with your choice of milk (soya? almond?) and assorted toppings (cranberries? peanut butter chips?), a crowd of enraged protestors have marched on that establishment demanding equality, justice and, presumably, a return to the reassuring proletarian solidity of the traditional Full English.
Jamie Bryson before the Stormont finance committee - a bit of a revelation there. In more ways in one.
I know we are all pretty much Corbyn-ed out. But two things about Jezza continue to fascinate - me, anyway. His so-called authenticity. And his tie. First up, the authentic tag. The new Labour leader (as opposed to the old New Labour leader) is we're told, an authentic politician. People like him because he's authentic. That landslide vote in the Labour leadership campaign was all down to party members being attracted by the very fact that he was/is so authentic.
Just after Bobby Storey was lifted and Stormont went into yet another meltdown last week, I took myself off on a tour of Twitter to gauge how the online community was dealing with these dramatic developments.