Hey! Jack the Wanker! Over here! I want your autograph!

I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.

It was as if the news itself wanted to reassure me. Even Jack the Ripper himself had reappeared as part of the greeting committee.

Ah," he said. "I had an . . . artistic disagreement with the director of the panto. As it happens, I take issue with the objectification of women in Cinderella, and the reliance on shoes as a means of identification. Surely you understand.

He's been in love with Miss Gina since high school, but he doesn't really know how to talk to girls, so he's just been...staying around her since then. He just tends to go where she goes." "Isn't that stalking?" Jazza said. "Legally, no," I replied. "I asked my parents this when I was little. What he does is creepy and socially awkward, but it's not actually stalking.

I'm the last of the mad ones.

Irony is the word I forget the meaning of immediately after I look it up, but I kind of feel like I live in a constant state of it.