THE WARNING arrived by text. Another typical Wednesday evening and as I was getting choppy with some vegetables, the phone buzzed. A message had arrived. ' What are you making for the dinner?' it read. ' Beef stirfry,' I replied. ' Well stay away from the soy sauce,' it cautioned, ' because soy sauce gives you moobs.'

(Definition of ' moobs': a combination of the words man and boobs, occurring when fat gathers in the chest area of the male, making it appear that he has breasts.)

And it stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't the first time I had thought about developing man boobs; the concept entered my head in my early twenties. Though back then I blamed those upperregion floppy bits on a youthful obsession with cider. But once the dread sets in, those moobs can become a permanent part of the consciousness. Usually from around the age of 30, and onwards into middle age.

Those years of having a forgiving body are suddenly over and every self-indulgent pint of beer or extra pound of steak seems to want a place to go. Just to leave people visual clues about what has slid its way down your throat.

A report published last week revealed that there has been an 18 per cent increase in the amount of Irish men undergoing male breast reduction or gynaecomastia operations. The Harley Medical Group will carry out the procedure, starting at a cost of €3,730. That's an expensive piece of nip and tuck, and presumably for those of us who have little time to exercise. Or interest. Over the weekend I googled images of moobs, just to see how bad things can get, and I happened upon a Chinaman with a pair the size of footballs – and the soy sauce alarm bells chimed all the more loudly.

To make it worse, the young lad was passing the screen and pointed out that this guy looked a bit like me. With various chat show hosts highlighting the issue recently and the fact that it's 'out there' in the Irish male psyche, moobs have been pencilled in on the list of things to eradicate from my life, alongside soy sauce, too many Tbone steaks or late-night kebabs. As for excessive amounts of beers – well, I might not want a pair of football shapes jutting out of the front of my shirt, but I could certainly learn to live with two little marbles instead.

GETTING INTO THOSE BRAINS

The power of advertising hit home again at the weekend when I read that Toy Story has been the greatest merchandise-spinner, ever, for Disney. Which isn't all that remarkable when you consider that they have just delivered a third instalment of a series that kids, and adults, just love to love.

Practically everything from Weetabix boxes to pull-up nappies have the film's little likeable rogues' smiling faces peeping out at you from the supermarket shelves. Making it a serious chore to bring kids shopping these days – marketing has become so damn clever.

I also notice that with so many advertisements being rifled off one after the other on the television, the young lad usually can't remember what he wants by the end of a typical three-minute commercial blast – his mind changes directions that much. Which means bad news for parents, as the marketing teams will just have to work all the harder to make sure that their product stands out from their rivals'.

Infiltrating children's brains is a rewarding business and with Buzz and Woody, you won't find two better men for the job. FOOTBALL REMAINS A GAME OUT OF TOUCH

Drogba and company returned at the weekend but for the first time in years, I felt, with a striking lack of excitement. It may be down to age and a change of priorities in life but the idea of sitting down for a few hours in the middle of a scorching hot Sunday and watching football didn't have the same appeal as it used to.

You could toss the blame at a pretty unspectacular World Cup or the fact that, after 20 years of following the same sport, most people need to revolutionise their interests in life.

However, the Premier League has become so far removed from the man on the street that it's hard to give it credence anymore. Ticket prices at Premier League and Irish international level are still out of touch with what the sport's followers can afford. The FAI held an Irish under-21 match recently with entry for adults costing only five euro, and admission for the kids a mere two quid.

This resulted in an overflow of people trying to get into the stadium in Tallaght. And there were probably more people in the crowd that night with genuine love for the game, than a whole campaign of forthcoming European Championships qualifiers could ever hope to admit.

- SHEA TOMKINS