Andrew Nugent (a former laywer, turned Limerick monk, turned thriller writer - keep up) has two out, The Four Courts Murder (well, there are plenty of those) being the first. The blurb - "with a killer on the loose, time is running out" - hangs eerily over the Ha'penny bridge on the cover.

The next one, Second Burial, poses the question:

"Can there be dignity in death when a coldblooded killer strikes?" Hmm, I dunno, but at least that question is slightly more interesting than: "But, Are You Happy?" (Maybe Labour should write their own crime novel - 'But, Are You Coldblooded?') Tana French has one out too: In The Woods.

Actually, it's hard to know what the title is because the cover reads, "Something is waiting. . . In The Woods." Hopefully it's not the cast of Trouble In Paradise, which would be more nightmarish than anything the twisted mind of Stephen King could conjure up.

And lest we forget the truckload of real-life crime books that are deposited on the steps of Eason's every morning to sell to those who haven't got their fill of gruesome details from the tabloids already.

There are two out on the so-called Scissor Sisters (not the 'Take Your Mama' ones, obviously) and there have been numerous volumes on missing women in Ireland. In fact, it seems every notable murder gets a book deal these days.

Perhaps soon they'll have to start divvying out lesser acts of crime to fulfill the public's lust for extended news stories. Watch this space for 'The Day He Got His Wallet Nicked On O'Connell Street' and 'What? No TV License'. But, are you bored?

Seemingly not bored enough. Enter the latest RT� crime drama, Single-handed, a two-part whodunnit starring Owen McDonnell as a garda who returns to his hometown in the west of Ireland from Dublin to investigate the death of a young eastern European woman discovered in a caravan.

But in an era of constant gangland shootings, drivebys, armed garda� patrolling areas of the country and other horrific murders, Sylvana, the Montenegran woman in Single-Handed, has died of. . . drum roll. . . carbon monoxide poisoning.

COME ON! That's not going to sell many books about the programme about the murder now is it?

They could have at least thrown in an ice pick or a bit of strangulation or something. The programme, which airs tonight and tomorrow night, is a wellshot Morse-y affair, with garda Jack Driscoll as the unflappable moral lone ranger, going from house to house leaving various and obvious stones unturned as his father (a retired garda) appears to be thwarting the investigation.

Of course I won't spoil the plot for you, apart from to say it veers dramatically off the formula of a crime drama three-quarters the way through leaving poor Driscoll in his snappy black uniform (the likes of which no garda I ever encountered has been dressed in) in a bit of a flap.

Our televisions are clogged up with crime - the rapes and serial killings on Law & Order SVU; the detailed slo-mos of what actually happens when a bullet rips through your heart in CSI: Miami, Las Vegas, New York, Drumshambo, or whatever latest incarnation they've dreamt up; and of course our increasingly bloodsoaked news and current-affairs programmes. This is all very watchable, of course, so don't expect death and destruction to be fading away from our screens or book shelves any time soon. Be afraid, be very afraid: because fear sells too, you see.