These witless times have no truck with a real hero of history
Pulling the Irish people out of their misery isn't deemed as important as releasing an album of Sinatra covers, writes Cathal MacCarthy
I suppose you all know that I'm leading PEEP, the mass evacuation of the State scheduled to take place over next Easter weekend. The planning and financing are proceeding apace, all micro-managed from a disused mobile home with a patchy dial-up internet and no washroom facilities somewhere in the Cootehill area. I'm living there now, 24-7, five days of the week, working away on getting us all out and into foreign boltholes till this financial tornado has blown itself out.
Holed up there, existing on Easy Singles and Lidl crackers and whatever edible fungus I can harvest off the caravan walls, scrutinising applications from the likes of Portarlingon requesting to be sent to "anywhere handy to Lake Como". You'd want to love your country. As it happens, I do.
Am I the greatest Irish person of all time? That is for future generations to say 'yes'. Who am I to claim that laurel? What have I done to stand with my chest puffed out beside Wolfe Tone, Brian Boru and Fionn MacCool (the Celtic superhero, not Finn MacCool, the refrigerated haulage firm from Lifford)? What have I done?