Just chatting there to my favourite taxi driver as we headed home after yet another motherfucker of a night in Foleys with the 54 Club pumping out devil-inspired negro Delta blues of the kind that the DUP would not like. Oh certainly not.
Down to the crossroads and falling down on my knees? Not unless my name’s Iris, thank you very much.
We were chatting about the devil-inspired weather currently afflicting our country.
You know? The freezing weather that the government has finally noticed, now that it’s affecting Dublin? Now that it isn’t just imperilling unlettered rednecks like us?
Yes indeed. That fucking weather.
The weather that has prompted the creation of an emergency committee, three weeks after it started because this is Ireland. This is what we consider urgent.
Some people believe that the Irish are laid back, like the Jamaicans, but in fact we’re quite different. In Ireland, the authorities are laid back as long as the problem isn’t affecting their innner circle of pals and cronies and good buddies, and as long as it isn’t affecting the real Ireland, because, as every fool knows, Dublin is Ireland, and everyplace else is just a theme park. Irelandworld. Populated by grunting inbreds with three ears.
That’d be us, folks. The Damned Irrelevant.
Pay your motherfuckin taxes and shut the fuck up.
Anyway, as I was saying, we had a discussion, myself and the taxi driver, and it was along the usual lines: Why the fuck can nobody plan for anything in this fucking country?
After all, there’s a quarter of the island, just across the border, where they can even arrange to locate enormous bins of salted grit at strategic locations so that the citizens can take it away and deposit it on the roads themselves. And where, according to their officials, they employ four times as much salt as we do in the winter, even though they’re only a quarter of our size. Or to put it another way, where they devote sixteen times the effort to deal with these problems.
That, you see, would be yet another example of oppressive British jackboot rule. Imposing freedom and safety on the public. Jesus you couldn’t have that, which is why, in this republic, we don’t have that. Wouldn’t do to be like those Brits, with everything working right. Not good.
But what exactly were we discussing, this congenial taxi driver and I?
Well, we were thinking, if the Nordies can deploy huge bins of salted grit in case there’s ice, why not put out other bins as well? Huge containers of sand, with plastic shovels and windbreakers and cheap emergency sunglasses, just in case there’s an unexpected outbreak of good weather? Factor 50. Candy floss. We could get the army to set up travelling carnivals with chair-o-planes and push-penny machines.
Fuck it, if we’re going to be prepared, we might as well be prepared for everything.
Our friend Charles sends us these pics from Norway.