Irksome, slack-jawed, Penney’s-frequenting yokels are set to over-run the capital this week end when their considerably better rugby team visits Croke Park to beat the unholy shite out of ‘Lunster’ en route to a Heineken Cup-winning certainty.

Ordinary people, who days ago sent their affection and well-wishes in the direction of the deeply unfortunate Tomas O’Leary will, like Peter, find themselves denying their own kind many more than three times as the evening wears on this Saturday. Experts believe this is die to the periodic emergence of a baseless, gaelic-Catalonia, a self-aggrandising ‘nation’ of crimson, ruddy-faced, gurning frauds.

“Let them have their day,” said one Senior Judge from South County Dublin who refused to be identified on his way out of Kiely’s as he got into his jag in Donnybrook after a skin-full of pints in one of the country’s most well-served hubs of public transport. “The Cousin-fuckers need something to shout about, otherwise they might notice that they suffer under the worst gang culture in Europe, not including the UK, France, Germany and all of Eastern Europe.”

Indeed the country’s quiet ghetto-isation in Limerick has encountered something of a problem – an unidentifiable corpse in the rough, if you will – with respect to its policy to ‘grieve nationally’ while doing sweet fuck all about the execution of ordinary civilians. The rest of the country has been quick to not give a fuck about the same issue, in light of the past success of the national philosophy on the Troubles: ‘Have they calmed down yet? No?Has anyone asked if Iceland will take them? No? Well let’s just keep quiet and pretend it’s not happening so’.

This generation-defining movement of inactivity was characterised by a featureless, motionless, invisible and intangible, consensus of ‘I don’t care, it can’t be worth killing someone over’ that galvanised the people of Ireland to buy property and jaager bombs in record numbers over the last two decades.

Meanwhile RTE executives have been stroking each others’ crotches in self-congratulation following the news that Roy Keane will deign to speak on the Irish telly-box this Friday evening with Plank Kenny. Pat has been a bad boy recently, say insiders, so bad in fact that even this forum won’t risk the potential legal ramifications of unsubstantiated reports of something that rhymes with Spar-**** and snow-***. Back in studio however:

“Roy Keane is just electric,” said the Press office in RTE. “He’s a stark warning of how angry Irish people can become if they give up the drink. We’re just hoping he doesn’t have a snot and decide to leave halfway through the interview. There’s every chance that, as soon as he has had a pop at every major sporting figure in Ireland who didn’t quit when the going got tough, he’ll glower at the camera and rip his mic off before storming out in a fit of rage that only dog-walking can quell.”

Irish by birth, Munster by the grace of God. And there, but for the grace of God, go we.