I’m missing the Cork Waterford game down the Páirc. We’re abroad on holiday, in old Alfama, Lisboa. Bad planning I know – my social secretary has been sacked. Being away from games brings on that familiar vaguely guilty feeling one gets when missing an important appointment or not going to the doctor when you’ve found a lump somewhere it shouldn’t be. As if my presence among 26,500 people in PUC matters an iota to anyone (let alone Cork hurling) but myself. As if I’m letting my own down, as I have often done before. Strange and silly feelings, but there they are. I know, I know.