Santy, be warned, it’s as bleak as 1847 in Ireland

I’m delighted to write to you, Santy, and warn you, as you head south, to bear in mind that in Ireland the clocks have been turned back 167 years.

It is now similar to the dark days of 1847, when boats of grain left our country to pay the oppressors while thousands died from hunger and cold. Santy, nothing much has changed as sacks full of cash are leaving our country to repay a debt we do not owe to a new oppressor. In our capital city, the victims of austerity are perishing homeless just yards from our parliament.

Thousands are homeless, yet we have more unfinished housing estates and empty houses than any other European country. On your way through the highways and byways of rural Ireland, you will see the wreck of austerity. No lights in many windows and sadly, our youth have emigrated. Not even the smallest bird is safe: even our wren has become homeless, a victim of the destruction of his habitat to please Europe, as furze now has become scrub. And harsh penalties apply to scrub, which once fed our work horses, who tilled our land.