Gareth Gregan
Staff Writer
As I sip my coffee on a cold December’s evening I take a look at the RTE website. The headlines make for grim reading. “Tax receipts €520 million less than expected” “No quick fix to Euro zone crisis” and “Eircom deal scrapped due to euro crisis”. It’s all very bleak and recently I’ve began to wonder if the flicker of light at the end of this long, unyielding tunnel even exists. Every day I’m learning more and more about our “helpful aunt Angela” in Germany who’s taken over all things from our economic policies to wiping our proverbial arse. I’m being informed that Ireland is once again a basket case, a dated notion without sight nor sound of prosperity. Things are currently so bad that pregnant women are being advised to speak German to their unborn kids as Germany offers the only possible chance of salvation. As somebody who picked French in school, I’m no addition to this new Germanesque Europe; but before I leave myself to the mercy of an abandoned Irish village I shall gaze into my crystal ball and aid YOU in surviving the next twenty years. Welcome ladies and gentlemen, to Gareth’s view of the future: Ireland Twenty Years On.
Stay in Ireland and work: It’s the ideal. Gone are the days when we had the right to remain in Ireland after our stints in college. You actually want to use your degree in a job that’s located in Ireland? How selfish and our of touch are you? The educated need to be humbled and informed that life is indeed a bitch and those aged under forty who apply for a job in a semi-skilled post are, in reality, naive. Prepare to put all those hungover-nine-o’clocks-that-you-fell-out-of-bed-in-order-to-tick-your-name-on-the-attendance-sheet to the greatest possible use in your local deli. It’s better than nothing and you’ll get to retain the feeling of youth when you work alongside the local Leaving Certs of the day. Thou shall not go hungry again as you can sneak as many hot chicken rolls as your manager permits.
Draw Social Welfare: I’d like to make it clear that at time of writing such a thing does exist. Twenty years into the future? I’m not so sure. I would like to reveal that Enda and Co. are planning on cutting the Social Welfare and upping the price of petrol to such an extent that it will no longer be economically viable to go collect it. Unlike working in a deli, you will go hungry. Your Arts degree won’t be much use to you here, sunshine, as you watch yourself grow old and miserable unaware of what completing a day’s work feels like. Your only option will be to supplement your dole-check by delving into the world of ‘The Arts’, a oasis from Enda’s mighty Tax-Axe. Once that fails you’ll return to being desperate, comforted by the thousands of other graduates who share your predicament.
Commit Grand Theft Auto and Live a Life of Luxury: Actually I won’t even go there.
Emigrate: It was always inevitable. The Celtic Tiger Cubs become the latest members of the Irish Diaspora as, like so many before us, we swap the bogs of Roscommon for the beaches and babes of Australia. Is it really that bad? Yes. With no “Irish mammy” to instil a sense of proportion on the emigrants ‘The New Irish’ shall be born out of wedlock and underage. On the other side of the globe J1s will become a method of sneaking into the States and setting up shop there permanently. To coincide with the collapse of the Euro, barter will ensue as people trade potatoes and younger siblings in order to escape the cesspit that Ireland has become. Will the last person out of Ireland please turn off the light?
Turn to Religion: People realise that God has turned against them for becoming slaves of money and vices. As a result Catholicism makes a drastic comeback and going to Mass on a Sunday replaces going out on a Friday as the “in-thing”. However, the great return of faith isn’t a smooth transition. People realise “that it was indeed the Romans who had it right” and begin to worship the Sun, Moon and Stars. In order to earn a place in Heaven and appease the gods (plural) people begin to offer sacrifices as Fluffy, the pure-bred Pomeranian, gets the chop.
Domain name.com: It was one last desperate throw of the dice, a final act that would save us all from returning to our prehistoric caveman ways. 2012 shall remain etched in the memories of all who call themselves Irish for it was the year that we were guaranteed that romantic Ireland was dead and gone, and same with any Ireland for that matter. When the IMF kids came knocking, Ireland was not able to produce anything, forcing Enda And The Boys to stoop to new lows. They offered them the only thing that Ireland had left, herself. This proverbial act of “whoring herself out to Europe for one last mighty fling” came in the form of “the lads” agreeing to change the name of our blessed lands to the highest bidder. “Ireland” became a thing of the past as “The Coca-Cola Country” was born.
