Desmond, Friend-of-Keating.

Ronan Keating was in the papers a few days back, and I must say I've forgotten how much I enjoy listening to him. Admittedly he isn't the best singer, but I have a strange... let's call it, 'affection'... for him.

There's something about his songs that always cradles me into a contemplative air on quiet nights. Maybe it's his raspy, scratchy, voice that nudges me into dreaming my rusted dreams of some grass-is-greener life. Or maybe it's his good track-record with the media -- his commonness and everyday quality -- that makes me feel like I could be, and actually am, "Friend-of-Keating".

Whatever it is, no other singer has exuded such a sense of silent familiarity, for me at least.

So here's to Ronan Keating: "Cheers, mate."

(This Individual knows it sounds like a bromance. You know what? It probably is. But Keating really does all these for him. And come on, the guy's Irish!)