I DON’T know about you, but I do whatever I can these days to avoid all the doom and gloom. This week, with the weather having what can only be described as a total nervous breakdown, I have focused my attention on the space above the clouds instead for a bit of light relief.
This week, Earth only went and lasso’d a mini-moon and I’ve become obsessed with it. The space rock is around the size of a school bus (which presumably would be too big to fit on the back-roads around Bandon) and became trapped in Earth’s gravitational pull a few days back. It’s set to orbit our godforsaken planet for the next two months.
Over that time, Mr Mini Moon will get to enjoy all the fruits of our endeavours for a brief spell. These include a contentious US election, Jack Chambers’ Budget Bonanza Freebie-Fest, the large black hole at the centre of the British economy and the return of At Your Service to our TV screens, a programme that surely deserves to be enjoyed in all corners of the galaxy. The lucky sod.
At the end of the two months, the rock is expected to escape Earth’s madness and return to its normal path around the sun again, unless Benjamin Netan-yahoo tries to blow it up in the meantime, or Elon Musk buys it and ruins it for everyone else.
The most exciting visitor since Wally the Walrus if you ask me. Let’s try to not make a complete show of ourselves while it’s here.
Middle aisle musings
I FIND the personal finance columns in newspapers to be a bit of a guilty pleasure. I don’t know what draws me to it. Is it because I’m fundamentally mean and penny-pinching or if there is something else at play? I love articles about saving money by changing electricity providers, dumping your local bank for a flashy German fintech operation, or Twenty Top Recipes To Reduce Your Food Waste While Increasing Your Bank Balance TODAY!
The thing is, it’s not because I’m that sensible with money. I seem to have what I would call the Lidl Deluxe Irish attitude to spending and finance. There is a part of me that is proud to go to a discount supermarket and really do my darndest to keep my grocery costs down. I’m sure some psychologist/historian would link my discipline to generational trauma caused by famine and oppression at the hands of the Brits etc. etc.
But when I go to one of these supermarkets, a strange thing happens. I’ll save massively by stocking up on, say, 40 or 50 garlic baguettes for the freezer, but then I’ll go and buy some really expensive, obscure cheese. Or worse, I’ll be seen browsing the middle aisles for drill bits, a set of skis hanging off my back and an industrial leaf blower bursting out of the trolley. I’ll save, then I’ll spurge. Save and splurge. It’s as Irish as Daniel O’ Donnell abseiling down the Cliffs of Moher.
Since I got the solar panels in, I notice the same pattern. I’ll go to extreme lengths to time my appliances to run at night so I can get the cheap EV rate electricity.
I’ve spent an absolute fortune on smart plugs to make it all work, which will no doubt take a decade to pay back in saved electricity costs.
And then, after saving €0.75 on electricity by running my washing machine at 2am instead of at peak time, I’ll go down to my fancy local veggie shop in the morning and blow €7 on a fecking watermelon.
What lies beneath
SPEAKING of weird attitudes to money, it struck me during the week how the Office of Public Works sounds like something out of the Harry Potter books. It’s like the Ministry of Magic for public procurement, when you think about it.
And perhaps this explains some of the supernatural spending that’s been taking place in recent months. Hear me out.
To a normal person like you or me, sure, it is just a bike shelter outside Dáil Éireann and how the hell could it cost €336K, right?
I understand your frustration, dear reader.
But what if the so-called ‘ground works’ that cost eye-watering amounts of taxpayers money are actually a link to a series of ancient underground tunnels linking Knowth, Dowth and Newgrange to Leinster House?
What if this so-called white elephant is actually a secret ancient seam piping raw druidic wisdom directly to the denizens of the Dáil Éireann from the minds of a hundred dead Irish kings?
Could it explain the need for that geological-scale printer a few years back?
Could it also explain some of Danny Healy Rae’s speeches to the Dáil?
It may seem fantastical but, for all we know, the OPW is fighting a series of daily underground boss battles against some evil Lord Voldemort-type figure while the rest of us swan around Lidl stockpiling rawlplugs.
It sounds daft, but this is the only logical reason I can come up with to explain a price tag north of three hundred and fifty grand on a glorified GAA dugout, ladies and gentlemen.
Remember, you read it here first.
