I’m in sunny France – honestly it’s for work. Cannes you believe it?

I’M writing the column from Cannes in the south of France this week. 

I know, I know, I can hear you balling up the newspaper and throwing it in the fire. ‘Langer Dan is off sunning himself with the oligarchs again and writing about it in the Southern Star! The cut of him!’

I was thinking about not mentioning it all. Honestly. 

I mean, it’s hard to write about being in Cannes without sounding like you’re just showing off, isn’t it?

In the run-up to my trip, I have been appealing to friends and family, making it very clear that I’m not on some jolly in the sun, that I am actually working very hard, taking multiple meetings with international producers and broadcasters in an attempt to export more quality homegrown content from the Emerald Isle. 

I’m sort of like a modern-day Michael Collins if you think about it, (and if you strip away all the danger, bravery and self-sacrifice). 

I’ve been at pains to explain to everyone who would listen what my week would entail. Rushing around a big, airless conference centre in an endless drudge of 20-minute speed meetings, a kind of TV industry equivalent of Bandon mart.

I have the face talked off me already and I’m only here 24 hours. Like, does anyone have a shred of sympathy for me?

No, is the answer. They do not.

I no think that my approach has been wrong all along, though. 

The minute I mention it to anybody, I immediately qualify the fact I am out here by saying ‘It’s not as nice as you think it is! Honest’ which makes them hate me even more. 

But I think I’ve learned a lesson. 

Sometimes you just need to throw your hands in the air and own your own privilege. 

Acknowledge it, like. Yes, I know I’m a massively fortunate white male living in one of the most prosperous countries in the world and I get to while away a few days in Cannes every October under the disguise of work. 

I’m thankful and I’m lucky and it’s bloody great, alright? Happy now?! Is that good enough? IS IT? 

Dear oh dear indeed, King

I HAD an image of Liz Truss last week at the height of her troubles (no pun intended). 

Standing there nervously before the 1922 Committee, I imagined one of the wizened old Tories on the panel saying ‘Congratulations, Prime Minister! You have successfully brought the country back to 1922. Level unlocked …’

And then a trapdoor suddenly opens and she falls through the air before landing in another room housing a bunch of even older old weirdos sitting up at a bench. ‘Welcome to the 1847 Committee, Prime Minister…’

It sure has been a torrid week over in the UK. 

‘Dear, oh dear, you’re back again,’ as King Charles would say.

With U-turns galore and the Truss government looking set to win an Olympic medal in backtracking, I am bracing myself for who will be the Chancellor of the Exchequer when I get back to Dublin. 

Will it be Rishi Sunak? Ben Wallace? Peppa Pig? 

Will they exhume Maggie Thatcher and prop her up on a plinth? 

After doing so much damage to the British economy and its global reputation already, you’d imagine the Tory Party would be unelectable for a generation. 

But the bar just seems to get lower and lower. 

Earlier this week, UK government minister Penny Mordaunt insisted Liz Truss was ‘not under a desk’ when she failed to show up to answer questions in the House of Commons without a clear explanation. 

When you are searching for your leader under the furniture, you know things are beyond a crisis.

All space cadets now

I NEARLY choked on my croissant this morning when I read that Ireland is launching its first space mission!

Yep, we’re firing off the Eirsat-1 which stands for Educational Irish Research Satellite and it’ll be launching into space in early 2023. 

The government signed an agreement with the European Space Agency (ESA) to facilitate the launch and the satellite is going to include a gamma ray detector for examining exploding stars. 

I think most of us are sneakily hoping that it might include a few of the sports channels too on the QT. 

After the kerfuffle caused by the Irish women’s football team last week, who undermined their brilliant win by singing about a bunch of terrorists, this is exactly the sort of positive and futuristic thinking we need. 

Ooh ah up ESA, I say, ooh ah up ESA!