The Irish laugh in the face of EU regulations

Our house was suddenly shrouded in a thick, grey mass of cloud and it felt like a sea fog had descended.

To some extent it had, but the fog grew in density until it wasn’t feasible that this was coming off the sea. The builder boyfriend came in from the stable yard and reported an acrid smell in the rain.

This is what happens when fog descends. People burn their most difficult and illegal waste when visibility is low.

‘It’s the plasticky dew,’ said the builder b, who likes an Irish republican song. Nowadays you are more likely to experience the plasticky dew than the Foggy Dew, because the Irish, while worshipping the EU for paying them farming subsidies, also completely ignore EU law and set fire to all their rubbish. Or to paraphrase that song about the Easter Rising:

The world did gaze with deep amaze

At those fearless men but few

Who bore the fight in fading light

To burn their plastic new.

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You’ve got to hand it to the Irish. They could not give a damn for rules and regs and no one is going to tell them what they can set fire to. Every house around us has a chimney belching smoke into the sky, seven nights a week, from fireplaces illegally burning coal, wood, turf and the contents of every kitchen bin.

And in their fields and back yards, the brave men and women of the rebel county light huge bonfires of disobedience to obliterate the larger items they refuse to dispose of using the methods demanded of them by their EU masters, such as skips costing €600 a time and expensive private recycling lorries, for there are no council collections here in the boondocks of West Cork.