Modern man has a lot to be happy for. Sliced cheese, for example. And Jeremy Clarkson.
But one of the more agitating things we have to put up with is the liberal, illicit use of the word 'celebrity'.
Once, it meant something. Joe Namath was a celebrity. Tupac Shakur was a celebrity. The Wombles were celebrities.
But now it has been reduced to a flippant adjective, something for the tabloids to put before perfectly ordinary occupations such as 'chef', 'gardener' and 'bigamist'.
This Friday, we get to see another scurrilous use of the term with the 'celebrity' jigs and reels competition in the Sin Bin nightclub.
Now now, put down that mallet. The Board of course supports all efforts to raise money for breast cancer research, and he is sure it will be great fun, etc etc etc
But God, as always, resides in the details.
The Board works within ear shot of one of the contestants, David Hurley, and we can assure you that a celebrity he is not. (He isn't much of a dancer either, but that is beside the point)
And make no mistake, attempting to quench our rage by adding the suffix 'local' celebrities won't work.
The journalists, councillors, retired models and ambiguous rugby figures of Limerick have been sucked into Andy Warhol's grey pond of celebrity, in which no one is famous because everyone is.
(This doesn't include the Claw, obviously. If he ever thought I was slagging him The Board would be both murdered and killed)
Nonetheless The Board will be in The Sin Bin on Friday, deriding all the contestants and consuming liquefied barley by the tonne.
If he survives the night without having a shoe lodged in his eye socket, he will consider it victory.
Though he was quite disturbed when he read this story on the BBC's website, explaining how two black holes have been found "dancing" perilously close to each other in a galaxy far, far away.
Untold quasar-based destruction will be caused should one confuse the other's tango with his charleston.
The omens for Friday, it seems, are written in the stars.
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