This week I’m going to discuss the case of Mr Larry Murphy, a convicted rapist, who savagely beat and raped a woman with the intention of killing her. He stopped not because he had a crisis of conscience, but because some hunters, who recognised him, interrupted him. He is also suspected of killing other missing women, but there is no proof of this, so he cannot be tried, charged and locked up based on suspicion or his proven savage behaviour. We must prove his guilt - that is justice at work. Mr Murphy has rights.

Officially, TB was eradicated in Ireland in the 1970'. Because of the effectiveness of the powerful BCG vaccine, the number of cases of the disease had collapsed to negligible levels. It took more than twenty years to get us to that point. The man who drove the programme was someone who I've always held up there as one of my heroes; the legendary Dr Noel Browne.

We speak, act and feel love a lot in this house. It is in the atmosphere. It is not pure - to be pure it would be without excitement - it would have no balance, how could you judge love if it did not have anger, sadness, upset to counterbalance? So we sail in rough waters right now, through storms, not too many rows thank god, but we have and continue to have upsets.

I'm still on holidays from 'de wireless', and doing my best to avoid newspapers, TV or radio bulletins, and anything that might be labeled as 'work', but Janey Mac, it's not easy. I arrived back from a week in the sun, to discover that the kids in Crab Lane School are being tested for TB. I'll be watching the progress of that one with interest, once I'm back in harness next week.

As you read this, I am in Lanzarote, so have not been keeping up with the events of the week. Over here, they couldn't give two hoots about Callely, Anglo-Irish or anything like that, and that's just fine by me. That being the case, I decided for this week to write another of my occasional profiles on people in the news, whose name you know, but about whom you don't know a whole lot more.

This epidemic is so well described in Robert Whitaker's new book, Anatomy of an Epidemic, Crown Publishers, New York, where he discusses like a "prosecuting attorney" the "flawed science, greed, and outright lies to reveal that the drugs hailed as the cure for mental disorders instead worsen them over the long-term."

Being self-delusional could be the only reality that really exists. Without the benefit of delusion, is it possible that life would be completely impossible to tolerate? Even in its most perfect of moments, life is a painful thing, but we have delusion to make it all tolerable.

Regular readers, and those who've had the misfortune to hear me ranting on the radio for time to time, will know that I am a frequent critic of the HSE and how it handles its business. I remember the old Health Board system, and for all its faults, there was more accountability, more accessibility and more transparency than is ever offered by the great woolly mammoth that is the Health Service Executive.

In the Corner House the other evening his presence was again all pervading. That most eminent, eloquent, talented, husband, father, handyman, sportsman, handsome, sexual prowess, tall, full head of hair, style, clothes hang from him naturally like a walking hanger. The man next door! The bastard!

I had planned, when I first sat down to compose this weeks epistle, to go on a little rant about expenses. I was going to examine the generous expense regime available to Cork TDs and Senators. I don't begrudge anyone a fair recompense for their out of pocket expenses. In fairness to 96FM, for example, they look after my pathetic little claims every month, once everything is listed, detailed and receipted.