I am delighted today to be in a position to solve a mystery which has baffled the elitist innards of the most educated heads of the nation for almost a decade now.
Even Patrick Honohan of the Central Bank and Senator Shane Ross, who appears to know something about everything, have never been able to discover where our mighty Celtic Tiger disappeared to after departing so dramatically, in the era before we knew how to spell the word austerity.
It is with great pride I reveal his current whereabouts to within a few hundred metres of where he is licking his famous chops today. I hope ye will all give me due credit for this considerable scoop.
The facts are that our clever Celtic Tiger, true to form, spotted the imminence of the financial crash long before even Patrick Honohan and Shane Ross began to toss and turn in their sleep — and caught the ferry to France one spring morning, when nobody was looking.
He disembarked without any visa problems at all and used all his inherent scouting skills to make his way unseen to the suburbs of Paris.
Here, a solid diet of young deer and other smaller mammals have sustained him in the height of comfort, during the years which inflicted such hardships on us.
In keeping with his predatory nature, because none of us ever saw him at close quarters either during his residency in the outer reaches of the Pale, he kept himself hidden from the French, even as he began in his own evil fashion to begin to teach them too how to spell austerity in their own language.
And that again is the pure truth, as you always learn it here.
But he made a mistake last week, did the Celtic Tiger, because he strayed too close to a suburban supermarket just outside Paris, and was not only spotted but was even photographed against the Parisian skyline by a young mother about to go shopping for milk and pampers and a bottle of the cheapest wine, to which the French have been reduced nowadays.
And, of course, all hell broke loose, and ever since, thousands of police and soldiers have been crashing through the briars and brambles in pursuit.
France, like ourselves, does not have a native tiger population, no zoo or wildlife park like Fota has a missing animal, so it is as clear as day that it was our Celtic Tiger up on the hillside and, sadly, equally clear even from the latest economic statistics relating to unemployment and living standards, that our Gallic cousins are about to be immersed in the same hot water which has been scalding us for so long now.
While I am on a roll, can I leave the big cat alone for now, and turn to that incident in Tallaght last weekend, when the water rates protestors made life somewhat uncomfortable for our revered Tanaiste, by trapping her in her State car for three hours.
The incident made huge headlines for days, but I have to say, as an old hack, that I am critical of the quality of much of the reportage. Nobody, for example, pointed out that a lot of the heat around the Tanaiste was generated by the reality that the Tallaght district of Jobstown, where the incident occurred, is now effectively ‘Nojobstown’ for many of its citizens. And nobody bothered to report either that the Tanaiste, by my rough reckoning, earned more than €200 during the hours she was trapped in the comfort of her State car. These things are relevant too, are they not?
Finally, heading to the Far East and the lives and times of politicians over there, did any of ye notice from the headlines that their Taoiseach out in Vietnam has been having an even more stressful week than our Tanaiste.
He has indeed, and due to the same unrest amongst the common people. His soaring career to date almost hit the fan a few days ago, when he barely survived a vote of no confidence.
His name is Dung. Work that one out for yourselves!
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