Yesterday’s BBC News at Ten had a fun little segment on “fake news”. No, it wasn’t a crisis of contrite self-awareness, rather a comment on the dark potential of facial manipulation in post-production editing suites, so we can overdub people talking with a different audio, and enable them to say something different.

The example they used, which is particularly sh*tty for a news programme, was the possibility of the hit BBC drama, Luther, being overdubbed for foreign viewers, with Sexiest Man Alive™ Idris Elba’s mouth contorting to form words of a language he doesn’t speak.

It doesn’t take a genius to extrapolate that the BBC’s possible gain in selling their enhanced programmes abroad could be the truth’s loss in other areas of life. The hipster video editor questioned on the subject paid the dangers very casual lip service, appropriately, by suggesting safeguards to ensure the technology is not used for nefarious ends. Because if you’re willing to edit a video to say someone said something they didn’t, you’d surely sign up to a code of conduct first, and be sure to stick to it.

Do you need this? Really? With unanimity amongst the public and critics that A Star is Born is wonderful, do you you really need me to tell you what I think?

How about if I tell you that it’s dogsh*t?

Okay, so, I found myself at a bit of a loose end on Saturday afternoon, so decided I’d go to the cinema. I couldn’t put myself through what I expect to be a deep clean of the Queen story, as told by Brian May - though I will - so I went for a different music-centric film.

We'll be slayin' people hatin'
But it don't bother us
Cus it's lit up in this thing called
Millennial Love

Millennial Love. The name of a song by a YouTuber I don’t dare type the name of, and also a podcast from the former newspaper, now blog online newspaper, the Independent.

This podcast - my main focus herein - centres on - uh-huh - the dating scene for millennials. If you don’t know, a millennial is somewhat accepted to be someone who was born in the last twenty or so years of the 20th century, which, incredibly, just about includes me, although there’s significant debate about the range. And, really, it’s a jungle out there.

Okay, so, two things:

1) I’m not Irish, and don’t live in Ireland, so maybe I should shut the f*ck up.

2) Chances are, by the time you - the average visitor to Marceltipool.com - read this, voting will have taken place, and my assumption, from over here in Britain two days before, is that Ireland will have voted Yes in a big way.

Well, to deal with both of those points, I’m nailing my colours to the mast on this referendum because I see it as a vote to legalise, and further the legitimisation of, abortion, both in Ireland and globally. Should Ireland vote Yes, then this piece can act as one of many examples of a counterargument whenever someone campaigning for easier access to abortion says “Even Ireland’s with us now!”

So, the talk today is of Conor McGregor versus Khabib Nurmagomedov being a very real possibility, perhaps for a UFC Russia/Moscow event. A couple of weeks after Conor McGregor threw a sack barrow at a bus, smashing a window and injuring colleagues, the hype train is back on track - thanks to the Barclays Center incident of course - and the biggest fight in UFC history may well happen.

So was it real anger? Or self-promotion? (By McGregor? Or by the UFC and McGregor?)

In tonight's Europa League Final, have a look out for instances of what, for me, is the single most frustrating recurring moment in football viewing: the wrongly-called offside.

Let me explain what I mean. This is when the linesman raises his flag to indicate to the referee that a player receiving the ball, generally-speaking, has strayed into an offside position before the ball was played, despite not being sure that that is the case.

Because they do that, linesmen. They guess. This is the flaw in the way the rule is utilised by officials. It doesn't matter how often they're told not to make a call unless they're sure, to give the benefit of the doubt to the attacking player, they will continue to see their lives flash before their eyes and raise a flag when there might be a chance the player was "off".

Well guess what, guys, Sralex has long gone. You don't need to lose sleep over that man raging about a goal being given thanks to you not spotting that the thickness of Papiss Cissé's heat-transferred plastic Wonga logo was ahead of the last defender when the ball was played. It's over, we can move on.