The calling card of evil new breed of low lives

Straight talking...

- NEIL LESLIE

EIGHTEEN sleeps. It must have seemed like forever when you're four.

You can't help thinking those sleeps marked the beginning and end of little Tadhg Farrell's small world on Saturday.

The previous evening he had stayed over with his granny and grandaunt in Edenderry. A special treat to watch the Late Late Toy Show. It could have been any of a million Irish homes.

At four, this was probably a coming-of-age affair. Maybe the first time he had an inkling of what all the fuss was about.

You look at his photo now, in what could be green and red Christmas pyjamas, and wonder which were his favourite bits?

Did he see something that became the measure of his Christmas morning dreams?

Did he laugh along at little Declan as he talked dinosaurs and chipped golf balls into a potty?

Did he wonder at pals Dylan and Keelan who had the nation by the heartstrings with their friendship?

Shriek with joy as they were hoisted to mine presents from a tower of toys?

Or maybe that new anthem of the small parish - Killeagh - entered his little world somewhere as it became the song of what was just his fourth summer.

Did it trigger something as the boys from Kingfishr joined kids from a dozen parishes like Edenderry in one of those special Toy Show moments?

CALLOUS

However late Tadhg stayed up, he surely went to bed with thoughts of Christmas ringing in his dreams.

Eighteen sleeps.