Am I sorry Dutchy Holland is dead?
Of course not. Why would I be sorry? This man murdered Veronica Guerin, a courageous, if ill-advised, journalist. This man mercilessly dispatched a young mother for prying too deeply into the drugs subculture Holland inhabited, and he carried out her murder without remorse or human feeling.
The world is a richer place when people like Dutchy Holland die and I wish more of them would pass away, either by natural causes or at the end of a bullet.
I don’t know what was physically wrong with Dutchy Holland that caused him to die in a British jail, but I hope it was nothing trivial. Dutchy Holland was typical of the lowlife element that invaded Irish life over the last few decades, exemplified in all its horrible squalor by his paymaster John Gilligan, and showcased in the mutant drug-dealing family that now afflicts my home town, Limerick, with little or no interference from the police.
We need less tolerance, not more, and I’m prepared to relinquish some of my freedoms in return for greater safety.
Here. Take this liberal, right-on identity card I carried for so many years and in its place give me a hard regime, supported by the consensus of a society tired of bending to the whims of thugs.
Just let it be enforced by an honest competent police force.
Oh wait. I think I’ve spotted a problem.