Gombeen Man

Writing (having) my own column is something I’ve wanted to try for quite a while, never had the termerity to suggest (it being so obviously an ego trip), and have now had foisted upon me. Of course, I find myself with nothing to say. It’s Spring, of course, and there ought to be something in that—at the very least I should be able to pontificate about swinging your leg over a motorcycle and blowing the accumulated ice and cancer out of your guts—but it’s been such a slovenly, stretched-out, tantalizing attempt at a new season that the fresh flush of enthusiasm (and hope for ending winter’s paralysis) has been spent in a series of false starts.