EACH year at this time my faithful readers are invited to behold the same Shakespearean scene. Three witches, hideous to behold, their cackling voices grating on the ear, gathered around a fire in the depths of the forest. As we draw nearer, we see them dropping unmentionable animal parts into a boiling, bubbling pot.

LOOK, the truth is that I get a kick out of it, even if no one else does.

Ernest Blythe was the Fine Gael (or Cumann na nGael) Minister for Finance in 1923.

SO, Budget Day.

DEAR President,

CAN I make a modest suggestion.

DEAR David and Jack, I hope you don’t mind if I take the liberty of writing you an open letter.

FLEETS of limousines rolling into Farmleigh to discuss other people’s hardship. Gated communities for failed developers. Huge pension funds for disgraced bankers. New phrases we all have to learn because we think they’ll tell us something about our fate – phrases like bond markets or bond spreads. And hard cheese for poor people.

OUR future may be slipping away from us.

IT is being widely rumoured that the Government is preparing for civil disturbances in the aftermath of the budget.