It’s about to pour on all those bogus savings for a rainy day

THE nearest I ever came to being a bogus non-resident, probably like a lot of people, was in giving a false name and address to a guard for some minor misdemeanour — like being caught after hours in a pub.

The qualms I had about attempting to pervert the course of justice in giving false details overshadowed that of being convicted for being found out. In the event, I needn't have worried because we were under the protection of a pubIican who knew how to keep an endorsement off his licence.

Qualms is probably too small a word to describe the state of mind of up to 60,000 people whose status as bogus non-residents has brought them to the attention of the Revenue Commissioners, an organisation that makes the gardaí look like boy scouts.