We love our charity gurus here in Ireland. They have come to replace the priests and nuns, who decades ago went to foreign lands to feed the poor, educate the ignorant and medicate the ill.

Adi Roche and John O'Shea are national superstars. And rightly so. But there is something very unnerving when the founder becomes bigger than the charity.

Destitute

I remember filming with a woman who had started a charity in Asia. She collected every penny herself, and would hand out wads of cash to destitute people on the roads.

She told me that there was no greater feeling of giving money to the poor.

I, perhaps cynically, interpreted it as -- there is no greater feeling than the gratitude and adoration one feels when one has the power to save.

Where does charity end and ego begin? I truly believe there is a very thin line between the two.

Roche and O'Shea have huge support and would not tolerate misdealings in their organisations.

Another story entirely is unfolding at Irish chairity Icross. Its founder, Mike Meegan is under intense scrutiny for his financial and sexual activities. He became famous after a documentary in 2005 about Icross, and his good looks and charismatic personality won him famous patrons and generous donations.

Skeletons

But there are skeletons in his closet. His charity, based in Kenya, has been asked to repay nearly €100,000 to Irish Aid, as the funds can not be accounted for.

Sexual assault, bribery for homosexual activity, and accusations that he is a "dictator" are some of the allegations being made against him.

He counter-claims that these allegations are "vindictive" and that his financial mishaps are a mistake.

But we have seen before how charity can give the best of men a messianic complex.

I will always remember the scene in Cathal O Searcaigh's documentary, Tales Of Kathmandu, when he was buying an outfit for one young man, and a bike for another.

I could see the danger lurking all over these purchases -- to have a hold over someone financially, to make someone feel you are saving their lives, can be a manipulative form of control. Giving is sometimes the most selfish thing one can do.

I travelled to South Africa several years ago to make a documentary with Marian Finucane, about her charity.

In a very low-key way, she puts the funds in the capable hands of local experts -- people who have worked there for years and know how best to use the money.

But while filming there in the township of Khayelitsha , we were like gods.

The children ran after us, smiling and hugging us. The nurses in the care homes thanked us with all their hearts. And the mothers who were dying of Aids were truly grateful that their children were going to receive love and care.

Complex

One would have to have been very careful not to develop a messianic complex.

I understand that charities are under huge pressures to raise funds and need publicity. But like the rest of the industries in Ireland, they too will have to cut back on their spending.

For me, charity work is best done when it is done quietly.

Let's hope, at 51, Flatley isn't just another Whitney when he hits the stage

I cannot believe that Michael Flatley is returning to the stage for Lord Of The Dance in November. I am reluctant to believe that the 51 year old will have the stamina and strength to perform at the level of intensity that Lord Of The Dance requires.

We all saw Whitney faltering throughout her show last week -- and she is a young 46 year old. Taking on this production is a huge ask, and I admire that Flatley wants to return. He will have his fans willing him on, but he will have his critics waiting for him to fall.

As long as he can do the job -- that's all that matters. And maybe 51 is the age of renaissance. Just look at Steve Davis, the 52-year-old snooker player we all loved in the 80s, who came back this week to perform so brilliantly at the world championships. Nifty at fifty -- I like it.

iPhone, I must take it all back

I have to apologise. I wrote a piece a couple of weeks ago slating the madness that is apps -- those additions you can buy for your iPhone. I thought they were the most ridiculous obsession, and only for the geeks of this world.

But I crossed to the dark side -- getting a Vodafone iPhone and began to download. And it's addictive.

Now I play on my Bloom app each evening -- it's like an electronic xylophone that sends me into a short-term trance. I feed my fish on my virtual fish tank, and I sing songs into my Shazam app, to see if it recognises the tune. I IMDB every actor I see in a movie, to find out where they are today. All silly, and geeky, time consuming and most of all pretty pointless. But I'm app mad at the moment.

Short may it last.