The latest episode of my Maths podcast: The Function Room!

It’s properly back now. Holiday small talk. Asking if “ye have anywhere planned?” We can get away with “yerra somewhere handy” for a few years before the children start lobbying harder. But I don’t envy those who have to compete in the Authentic Destination competition. I’ve been the Authentic Snob in my time

AI: That used to mean something completely different. It wasn’t taking anyone’s job. Except maybe that of a bull. Or at least reducing his commute. The AI man who drove into our yard was called Jack. Jack Inseminator my father called him, continuing on the tradition of naming people after their jobs. JAI’s van was filled with all sorts of magic formula.

“Whatever happened to them anyway?” We all have those in our lives don’t we? The ‘lost touch people’. At some point they were crucial in your life. They are like an old bank account which has a few memories instead of a balance of minus 14cent. And a lot more interest.

We got ‘the solar’. Right first things first: after all the granty stuff, it will cost six grand, just so you know. Sometimes we can talk about ‘sustainability and all that’ and then at the end, shnake in the money bit. “Consider using beeswax paper instead of clingfilm” and you go looking for it and with the cost of it, for the same price you could wrap the house in clingfilm.

At first you don’t notice, then there’s a moment where It nudges you along. I thought it was interfering. Like people who say “I’ll drive” and take the computer mouse out of your hand. But the feeling doesn’t last long. Within seconds you’re happy to take the help from it.

‘It’ is an electric bike. Just a loan of one at this stage. My wife borrowed it from an e-bike library scheme through the school. I took it for some spins.

The first silly half-thought I needed to get out of my head – that Electric bikes are somehow cheating.

The Youngest is doing the Lotus position. She casually tucks her feet on top of her thighs. She smiles up at me.

“Can you do this Daddy?”

No pet. I most certainly can not. And we are not going to discuss the matter further. If you want to do that kind of thing you’ll have to do it in another room or my knees will write a strong letter to the Ombudsman, complaining about distressing content

Can we stop the battering of our poor hedges?

"...then there’s ignorance where people don’t know the damage they are doing. Or people who know but don’t give a shite."

Here's my guide to the real rules of the road

The science and sociology of a quick beep on the horn, examined

Before 1987 number plates in Ireland were designed to be a mystery

A throwaway remark in a speech at a ‘do’ brought one particular skill of father’s gently ambling into my thoughts out of the blue

Colm O'Regan: No wow and drama, I just want a shed — and maybe a water park for dollies

I love Cheap Irish Homes... some of those prices are at 1998 or ‘Currently Owned By The Criminal Assets Bureau’ levels

The important thing is not to be jealous. But it’s hard. I’m naturally an insecure, weak and flawed person so watching any programme about people getting the house of their dreams is tinged with the green-eyed monster. Although it’s not quite green-eyed. In this light it’s probably more ‘jade’ or even ‘teal’.

Grand Designs was the grand-uncle of them all. But there was the tension there. You know things weren’t going to go smoothly. Grand Designs was like an episode of Murder She Wrote. An all-seeing host watching as people laid bare all their very human traits. “But the Stewarts have chosen to project manage this themselves.” Said Kevin McCloud ruefully. “NOOOO” we all shouted. “Don’t project manage it yourselves.” And the proof was in the pudding the project was later to become. Kevin saying “....but nearly four months after the Stewarts were due to move into their dream eco-home, the site is waterlogged and they are still living in a wheelie-bin...” I swear that Grand Designs convinced a generation not to trust their spouse not to project manage anything. Even now we feel tempted every so often to get an expert in. And all we’re doing is tiding under the stairs.

Later today, at 7pm to be precise it will be arrive. Regular as clockwork. (Which you’d expect from something that arrives at the same time every week). “Please present your Compost/Recycling/General Waste ‘Evil Smelly You Just Couldn’t Be Bothered’ Bin tonight to ensure collection tomorrow.”

It’s an important message. With all due respect to my loved ones, I can honestly say that the single best thing for my mental health is knowing I’m up to date with my bins.

But this is not about the message. It is about the medium. It is a simple text message. It appears in the demure understated blue speech bubble icon on my phone. Not the insistent LOOK AT ME of WhatsApp. More the ‘Remember Me?’ of ordinary SMS.

Today it’s time to say thanks to Rebecca Sheer and Kim Normanton. Two women on either side of the Atlantic who our children know by name.

Children’s story podcasts. The latest and most welcome stage of in-car entertainment for children on long journeys. I can’t remember what I did in the car as a 5 or 7-year-old. Cork to Dublin used to be a voyage where you were waylaid by bandits aka traffic, silage and double parking in the intervening towns. We passed the timefighting with siblings and looking out the back window trying to convince the car behind that they had a puncture.