So, how was it for you?
The floods didn't eat too much of The Board's week, thank Zeus.
Unlike last August, when floods ripped through Newcastle West in the night quicker and more destructively than Pete Doherty through Carl Barat's apartment, the water kept its filthy hands off west Limerick this time.
West Limerick is, for all of you suburbanites, where The Board now lays his journalistic head.
His sprite-like colleagues, the ones to whom East Limerick is an actual place and not just a deathly void between the city and the border, were spinning like dervishes in puddles and tributaries all last week.
Even El Newso Editora dusted off his long-perched reporter hat, threw on his wellies and got busy in Corbally on Monday night.
Oh how we laughed.
That was, until, The Board travelled home on Sunday to steal provisions and use the iron. Unaware that there was a boil notice in place in Feohanagh since Friday - due to an elixir of rugby and alcohol - I drank about three pints of tap water to try and quench my parched, hungover throat.
The Board now fully expects to die in the next two to three hours, sprawled and heaving on his desk.
There may be a cosmic irony in that somewhere. But The Board cares little.
Send my widow a ham.
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