Róisín Ingle

The spirit of 88 lives on, the Hothouse Flowers blaring from a phone and a streaming platform my 17-year-old busking self would think was some kind of voodoo magic

The Women’s Podcast with Róisín Ingle

When she says even with the roaring she stills wants to spend the day with me, I’m moved almost to tears and we hit the greenway

This letter seemed like a sign that things were back to normal and the statute of limitations on all that cancer sympathy had expired

This will be our 25th summer together. None of us know how many more summers we have left

Kevin Barry’s The Cave is the best play I’ve seen on an Irish stage in a very long time, and the c-word is used quite a lot

I rang my friend Paul Howard, a huge Beatles fan, to tell him all about it

They’re self-motivated, I think you’d call it. All I know is that I can take no credit for their industry

A man introduced himself to me as Nick Hornby but I’ve interviewed Nick Hornby before and it wasn’t the same man

It all starts so well, standing in a queue for drinks, as I shut down a man attempting to cut the queue and get praised for my fearlessness

The city is buzzing with shoppers and tourists when we visit for Queenie’s birthday lunch

I don’t feel bad about my neck (chintastic) or my belly (generous) or my hands (they look older than I feel) but lately I feel funny about my hair

Impromptu trip to a charity shop yielded a copy of classic Maeve Binchy collection

Making friends in your 50s is an adventure – you just have to grasp that nettle

I’ve decided I am going to write one letter a week. I’ve even ordered a new writing set

I thought about making a balloon arch for the birthday party a la Meghan Markle, but she makes it look too hard

Sometimes it feels like I’ve spent my whole life losing and learning

My friend Jan Brierton asked me to buy an offensively named item for a very special occasion

But I was also grateful. I am still careful about the links I click on but I am not as afraid of cancer content

Róisín Ingle: I worried that my after-dinner talk was too grim, but my speech – especially the death content – went down well

I invited Jonny for dinner on Leap Day hoping he wouldn’t twig the significance of the date

My neighbour at the next machine was visibly agitated because my frozen pizzas were spilling on to his purple sprouting broccoli

Looking for a solution to the perennial ‘what’s for dinner’ question? The world’s most powerful blender - albeit for a high price - will have the answer

After wandering through the War and the Mind exhibition, we emerge blinking into the London sunshine pondering the fragility of everything

I walk out of that door and my mind turns from the existential to the everyday

Some people might say that, if you’re at a party, sit-down mingling is by its sedentary nature not mingling at all. It does have a downside

I decided I would channel my late uncle, who ‘could eat an apple through a letterbox’ and wore flip-flops all year round

It turns out I have a pretty decent lob. For balance, I should mention that at one point I also accidentally whacked myself on the forehead with a racquet

I’m pretty hopeful this love will be everlasting. Let’s hope it lasts longer than the rings, anyway

Last year, after receiving a serious medical diagnosis the shock propelled me to make a few permanent, self-improving lifestyle changes

No dud moments and no time for toilet breaks as 50,000 fans - including Róisín Ingle - scream and whoop through the hits

We asked a range of people – including refuseniks – to tell us about the moments that make their season bright

A friend of mine stands by his thesis: A Fairytale of New York is not a Christmas song

It’s a nailbiting time for readers. Five Irish authors have won the Booker since it began in 1969

Parish halls around the country are places where harmony of all kinds can be found

The last time we went out for a Sunday roast a few years ago the Yorkshire puddings were a terrible disappointment

It was a text message purporting to be from Revolut that got me in the end

Musician Pádraig Dwyer and I are singing murder ballads at the Dracula After Dark event in this year’s Big Scream festival in Dublin’s North East Inner City

You find it wherever you can when man’s inhumanity is dominating a relentlessly dark news cycle

Róisín Ingle: There are things you can’t write in a review of a U2 concert for The Irish Times, like how you cried uncontrollably for much of the gig