Lads, we’ve been doing Brexit all wrong – we’re making the huge mistake of taking it seriously.
You might say we should be taking it very feckin’ seriously indeed, given the serious damage those bonkers Brits could do to our economy and our peace.
But if Bojo and the rest of the conmen in Westminster can lie, cheat and just make crap up as they go along, why should we be expected to always play the grown-ups?
Ireland has tried to be diplomatic, calm, reasoned, done our best to make sensible, reality-based arguments and it’s been an utter waste of time.
When your next-door neighbour is standing outside his gaff, stark-naked and screaming: “Marty Morrisey is poisoning my cornflakes!” you don’t try to engage him in a calm discussion about how RTE’s cuddly GAA commentator may not, in all fairness, be trying to kill him.
No, you go back in the house and call the lads with the big van and the giant net to come around and take him away.
And so it will have to be with the Brexiteers who, by any measure of sanity, are stark, staring bonkers. There’s no use, as Michael Collins could tell you, in talking to them.
So enough of being the grown-ups – it’s time to have a bit of fun with this. The next time Simon Coveney or whoever goes on the BBC to talk about Ireland’s position we need to start issuing demands.
Sure, we’ll ditch the backstop. But in return, we’re going to need the Six Counties and AT LEAST three guaranteed places on Love Island for the next five seasons.
We’ll also need Boris Johnson to go on the Six One News, play the banjo and belt out Come Out Ye Black And Tans while wearing a Mayo jersey.
We want Johnny Logan presenting Strictly Come Dancing, Aston Villa relocated to Leitrim and from now on, every time the Queen says something in public, she has to start or finish with the phrase “Gerrup the yard!”
Sure lads, ye can Brexit the hell out of it but you’ll need Ireland to say it’s OK. And before ye go, we’re going to have our fun.
