Tiger, chin up. You could be over here with us!

Tiger. It could be worse.

Ok, ok, they’re coming out of the trees as often as Padraig Harrington on the back nine of a major, but things could be worse. You could be living in Ireland. What are ya telling me, that it’s terrible to be cooped up in a doghouse in one of your many houses with your mother-in-law giving ya grief and your wife down the road waiting for an explanation or two (or eight ) and your favourite car wrapped around a tree and your reputation in shreds, and every girl you’ve looked at since you were 12 selling her sceál to the tabloids, but hey, Tiger, or can I call ya Tigger (I’ve a Winnie the Pooh fetish thing, ya know ) it could be worse. Ya could be over here with us miserable sods on this rock in the middle of the Atlantic with the rain peeing down for a month.

Over here, we all have the blues as well. Especially after last night’s Budget. It’s Christmas in a few weeks time and to be honest, nobody really really cares. We just want to get it over with so that we can get to spring, the longer days and be able to walk 10 yards without getting soaked, so stop your whinging.

Over here there are no Christmas parties. Most companies are just having a get together in a pub with “finger food”. Two-finger food more likely. The double social welfare bonus has been shafted, they’re putting up the price of briquettes, fuel, stopping me dole, cutting the mickey money, charging me for the water, yeah even the Galway water, and then you think you have the right to moan, my man. Wise up. Keep the head down and less of your noted arrogance.

Spare a thought,Tigg, when you’re crying in your pretzels, for our public servants who were hit with pay cuts almost on a scale with the private sector. They nearly crashed their car off the M1 north when they heard it.

Big Mary has brought in a prescription charge of 50 cent as well. Now that would have been a problem for you if you’ve been binging on those Up All Night sex pills as the tabloids have been claiming.

The plans for the carbon tax would have hit ya as well, but seeing as you only ever go on short journeys at low speeds, the Mazda Tree to Tree is probably more suitable than your big gas-guzzling Cadillac.

Indeed, you were probably a few weeks premature for the Car Scrappage Scheme.

The good news from last night’s budget, my friend Tigg, is that we love you Americans,. I mean we really lurrve you. Although we’re going to make the auld people freeze, the poor people starve, take the bit from the children’s mouth, at least we’re going to pay to build a Kennedy Appreciation Centre down in Wexford somewhere. One wonders if the rose-tinted glass that will adorn its front will ensure that the museum contains a selection of underwear of American starlets from the fifties and sixties. There’ll be war over that, but as Ted K might have said at Chapaquiddick, sure’ we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

To be fair, Noeleen Grealish went and hammered out a big deal for himself, so for all the pain, at least he’s got another letter saying they’ll build the Claregalway bypass to put with the other ones. He also got a set of a dozen buckets to combat the flooding, but we’d be as well off having that little Dutch boy who stuck his finger in the dyke. I knew that’d get ya interested.

There’s probably as much chance of the Claregalway bypass inner outer manual relief motorway thingy being built as there is of you, Tigger, having your slippers brought in for ya this Christmas Day, but sure it’s about throwing shapes.

So cop onto yerself now and less of your moaning. And don’t be thinking of going on Oprah and hopping up on the couch like that tool Tom Cruise. Get up tomorrow morning and make her the breakfast in bed and open a few doors, record Desperate Housewives for her and be thankful that you’re not living over here with the rest of us. Good lad.



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