There was predictable shock when 189 passengers arrived off a Ryanair plane from Bulgaria as seasonal workers for Keelings.
They're essential apparently if we want fresh fruit and veg on our supermarket shelves, which I suppose we do. There's certainly enough of it flown in from Peru and South Africa, so local produce has to be welcome.
A whole lot of people were outraged (not just the ones who are permanently in that state) at foreigners being dispersed under polytunnels in north County Dublin for the next few weeks.
They were incensed mainly at what the workers might have brought with them (a political football as it happens, rather than coronavirus), and then further that they were "taking our jobs" at a time of national emergency, spiking unemployment and 1,000,000 people in receipt of State handouts.
Yet when pressed, Keelings said it would be only too delighted to get Irish workers but just 40 had applied. They need 900. And that's just one farm.
I'm no defender of the minimum wage, and at €10.10 an hour (some farms do, of course, pay more) that equals around €404 a week for delicate work in a back-breaking environment.
Or … €350 a week for watching the telly instead.
No, I know that's not entirely fair. But it is the reality that farms who regularly employ seasonal migrant workers face.
We may have the highest unemployment in a decade, but the truth is Irish people simply will not do these jobs.
Companies such as Keelings are left with unpalatable choices: import workers and face moral opprobrium, upbraiding from the chief medical officer and hindsight back-pedalling from Leo, or leave the food to rot and the shelves empty.
Which is it? Because the jobs are sitting out there, waiting to be filled by anybody who wants them.
So we'd be doing all our newly jobless friends a favour by pointing them to the fruit farms, wouldn't we?
No, thought not.
There's only one way to break chain-mail bullying
When I was in primary school, chain letters became a popular if passive aggressive method of bullying. Inherent in them was the fear of some dire consequence if you failed to send along your quota of mail.
Small girls can be incredibly nasty and social exclusion was a common form of punishment, so mostly other small girls complied.
I hated it. I was never superstitious and, backed by strong parenting, often chose the loss of friendship (usually temporary) rather than give in.
Well, they've started up again, and I'm not the better for it.
With all the Zoom meetings, Skype webinars, online book clubs, quizzes and family gatherings that social distancing now requires, I'm getting bombarded again with chain mail.
This time the burden of middle-class demands to send lockdown recipes, poetry or motivational messages to 20 other people or else "ruin" the chain.
Not playing, sorry.
There are adults too in home school rooms
A UK movement has taken off in light of all the kids being home-schooled at the moment. TOTS (or Turn On The Subtitles) reflects the fact even passive television watching can improve literacy. Just seeing the words spoken on popular kiddies' shows can help them read.
But let's not forget the adults in the room. Despite massive progress over the last 50 years, some people still struggle with reading and writing.
I'm a huge fan of the National Adult Literacy Agency and all it does. Its number is 1800 202065 and in these dark days, it's an essential service.