A hairshirt Christmas wish list

Dear Santa, You wouldn't believe how things have changed since I wrote to you last December. I thought things were tough in 2011 but we're really and truly in hairshirt country now - we have no more home-grown bankers and the Germans are really putting the screws on us. I told you before that it wouldn't be long before we'd all be shouting "Ich bin ein Berliner" . Isn't it peculiar how things change but seem to remain the same. For instance, all the bankers are still at large (and on higher salaries than the President of the United States). The only one sitting in prison is Sean Quinn and what did he do only provide a few thousand jobs in the border counties? I don't know how it was for you but the weather here in the 'summer' was awful. If the temperature went up to eight degrees we were calling it tropical. The poor farmers, of whom there are many in Meath, were out of their minds with worry. I have one bit of advice for you when you're going on your rounds this year - leave the reindeer at home because there'll be no fodder here for them. You could charge up an electric sleigh at the North Pole and hope it gets you from Nobber to Ballinabrackey without needing a recharge. I'm writing this on the day before the budget so I'm trying to be modest in the kind of things I will be asking you for this year. In fact, after tomorrow's budget, I expect to have a lot to be modest about. The worst of these austerity budgets is that the government expects us to like the lash. It's true. They have a mindset that says "Begob, the more we lay the lash on their backs, the more they seem to like it." If you don't believe me, look how tranquil the streets were during the year. Not a sight of a riot anywhere. Not even a scuffle. Only a fellow from the ICTU calling for a general strike as if the corporals weren't worthy of laying down their tools. Santa, do you think it's because of the Irish weather? When you look at those Greek fellows on the streets, stripped to the waist and bronzed, you kind of envy them. They know what "recreational rioting" means. I'm sure many of us feel like getting out there and throwing a few rocks for Ireland but, you know, you'd need to be wearing your thermals first. When you think of it, it might be good for those rich pensioners to be galloping up and down O'Connell Street in front of the riot squad. That would fairly put them off sitting at home shivering in their shacks. I hinted to you last year that somebody like you ought to take the public service lump sum and pension and head off to that apartment you bought in Bosnia-Herzegovina, leaving the job to a younger Santa. Dream on. Sorry to inform you but the government has decided you'll have to work on until you're 90. Oh, you are 90? Well, keep at it so, there's no room for shirkers any longer in our part of the world. Having got all that off my chest, I'm now heading into delicate territory - my wish list. I want to remain "on message" with the hairshirt times we live in, but I want to be generous with myself and others as well. So here we go: For my good self - a small Nama (I know everyone else has one but I was left out last year and I wasn't too pleased. Please include a small "management" salary in the box, around €130 grand or so). For An Taoiseach Enda Kenny - a wooden cabinet (I know he has one already but let's give him another one). For Pope Benedict - an annual ticket to the Dublin Zoological Gardens so he can pet the donkeys and the cows. For the Irisb diaspora - a few deep pockets (they're going to need them for the great Homecoming rip-off) For the 36.72 per cent of Meath householders who haven't paid the household charge - three weeks digging the flowerbeds on the roundabouts. For the 48 per cent of Meath householders who haven't paid their septic tank fee - bottles of eau de cologne. PS, don't forget my old reliables - a selection box, a Hornby train set, new long trousers, knitted woolly socks, bicycle clips, a reindeer red nose, five Pikeur cigars and a pair of Santa-image Y-fronts. Yours, Paul