When I came to this statelet, my new friends were offended when I described it , after many of your Guinness as a “banana republic without the bananas”.
I thought this too harsh , after I recovered from my three day hangover. Was this not the land of Percy French, Seamus Heaney, Brian Moore and Jimmy Nesbitt?
Did not the citizens of this city , many years ago, oppose slavery?
Yet something reminded me of home.
Is it politicians blaming civil servants?
Is it civil servants blaming their underlings? Is there a stench of the pork barrel again?
Is it a combination of both?
What goes on in the household of Emma Aardvaak Pengelly Little? What is their conversation at the tea time?
“How are the little people today dear?”
“They are making fun of you and your party, but I have let them have a whiff of grapeshot”
“Good for you dear. They will complain of all sorts of things, never mind death. Why can’t they live on a tenth of what we earn? My father earns nothing, he toils not, neither does he spin, yet his life is arrayed like a multi coloured St Anne’s robe”
“Oh Emma, I love it when you talk like that”
But I transgress.
Here at CRAP we are in a turmoil. Who will pay our not inconsiderable expenses after March?
Who will rule us?
In moments like this I turn to my friend , Dingle. He has seen it all before.
“Ulster is at the cross roads “, he said .
“Did you make that up?” I asked.
He smiled enigmatically.