Billy O'Riordan: ‘Our friends in power have forgotten what it was like to be young’

The new day begins at midnight. By which time all traces of Covid-19 will have evaporated from our towns and villages across Tipperary.

Our political masters have elected midnight as the hour mandated for punters to neck pints with rapidity, lovers to hastily exchange contact details and our beleaguered gardaí to empty our town centres of all life.

Prior to midnight, I am permitted to dance on table tops, swill all classes of liquor and hop to the Siege of Ennis up and down the dance hall to my heart’s content.

That is until, like in the Cinderella story, the clock strikes midnight when a frantic dash to the exits ensues.

By which time, all our younger folks are happily congregating and chatting on the streets - a very “Covid friendly” outcome - creating a perfect environment for the virus to flourish.

By narrowing down the time frame around socialising the Government has forced many of our younger citizens to arrive earlier outside nightclubs thus negating the advantageous health advice around social distancing.

Perhaps our friends in power have forgotten what it was like to be young and the lengths youngsters will go to “meet up” with their pals. If that means queuing outside a nightclub at tea time then, so be it, seems to be the attitude. The youngsters themselves are in no way to blame for the ill-conceived plans of our political leaders.

It’s almost that time of year when men throughout the county of Tipperary hear those two dreaded words “loft” and “decorations”.

I’m baffled by this obsession in Ireland with firing everything and anything into the loft.

If you don’t use it or need it, get rid of it is my philosophy - apart from my blind spot, books - an attitude which I’ve applied to Christmas decorations in recent years.

Many moons ago, I acquired a real living Christmas tree which served me fine until the thing grew so big, I was left with two choices. I could raise the ceiling and hire a JCB to transport it in from the garden or I could plant it outside.

The old Christmas tree now stands comfortably in the corner of my garden, a home for birds, insects and the occasional grey squirrel.

Its replacement was a small-sized artificial tree; two or three footer bought for a tenner which sits atop an old CD rack and spends its summers neatly tucked away in the back of a wardrobe.

It takes me all of five minutes to decorate the blighter and when fully decorated it is hard to know where the tree starts and the tinsel ends, such is its diminutive size.

And the great advantage of course is that, yours truly, never sets foot inside a loft from one year to the next.

On all types of media, social and otherwise men are being reminded that there are “x” number of days left until Christmas day.

Ladies, have you learned anything about the male of the species?

We view Christmas in a completely different light - from the man who throws decorations at his tree - in that, for us it’s all about relaxing and doing little or nothing.

We are seen to nod dutifully while lists are being prepared by partners whose stress levels would irreparably damage your average blood pressure monitor in fear that aunty Noreen fails to receive that gift that was ordered weeks ago or of uncle

Jim’s handmade Mongolian hot water bottle failing to arrive before December 25.

Ladies, if we were to be totally honest, a box of Milk Tray hastily delivered on Christmas Eve to aunty Noreen and uncle Jim would be the extent of our efforts on the gift front, if truth be told.

It’s going to be a long month ahead, lads. Until next time.