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 Sheamus. That was his stage name. You couldn't break into the big time in American wrestling without a stage name. And being ginger haired, ginger-bearded and pale as a dove led to the name Sheamus. Of course his real name was Wade O'Reilly but Sheamus looked way better on a billboard. He had more muscle than Gunther but didn't look like a Gunther. And he'd never pass as a Santos Escobar even if he lived near the sun. Like all the other 'stars' he had worked his way up. Jobbing for free in local matches and finally getting his break when he blagged his way onto a ten-match-ticket in San Diego that was televised in the wee hours one random Tuesday night. His phone rang and funny enough, hadn't stopped ringing in fifteen years. We all know wrestling is fake as fake can be. You spend more time in rehearsals than in the gym. You do however, have to be fit and strong and supple and with an inherent ability to bounce. Again and again and again. Sheamus looked in ...

 9.40A.M. Garda John Foley of the Avoca station notices a glint from the hard shoulder and pulls over his Traffic Corps jeep. If it is glass then he should remove it in case someone punctures. It is not glass. It is an IPhone. Garda Foley doesn't really care. He just wants to put in his shift. The back of the phone is badly scratched, the edges are beaten up, but somehow the screen is still working. This is as exciting as it gets around here. Last night it was a stolen car but really, nothing happens. Every day.  Out of curiosity Foley clicks the button on the right and lo and behold the screen comes alive. Years of instant decisions and quick thinking have turned Foley into a human computer. In less than a second he recognises the face on the screen. Isn't that Tim Dobb's kid? With some girl he couldn't place... but definitely Dobb's kid. Wait a minute, wasn't it Dobb's car stolen last night? Foley thought it out. Thought hard. His thinking cap was on. He w...