Emissions: Kilian Doyle's weekly pot boiler
A word to the good people of Ballina - fret not if you encounter legions of small, bearded fellows in pointy hats and tights in your town over the next few weeks. It's not the Gay Midget Olympics or a glut of refugees from states where dwarf-tossing is a national pastime, but something far more surreal.
Let me elucidate: Did you ever wonder what Santa's elves do for 11 months of the year when they're not filling out orders from greedy kids? Well, so did some bright spark of a Mayo civil servant, who duly wrote off to Lapland, explaining his predicament and offering the freedom of Connacht and a formal introduction to the King of the Leprechauns to any who would help.
Lo and behold, the call was answered and three dozen of the fine gentlemen arrived at Knock Airport last week, brandishing letter-openers, Baby Powers and novelty shillelaghs.
Their task? To delve into the pile of applications for driving tests that have steadfastly been building up in the Department of Transport offices in the thriving heart of the west since aul' Mr Brennan cracked the whip on the "Provos" before Christmas. Sure our little elfin friends will be in tip-top shape by now, fingers and thumbs still primed from December's exertions.
Still, they'll need to be. There's up to 45,000 letters sitting there, with the scared, befuddled staff looking at them like the envelopes were about to spring to life, unite under a central command and assume control of the building.
A terror-stricken lot are the 400,000 provisionals cruising the Irish roads. One hint that they may be off the road and, boom, in come the applications for driving tests some of them have been putting off for years.
Anyway, what's the rush? With all these hundreds of thousands of wannabe testees out there and only 116 testers (yes, you read right - 116 testers in the whole Republic, one of the richest per capita countries on the planet), our little elf chums will be back in their grotto trying to work out what a Robocon Bionicle Deathstar Ozzy doll does by the time any of the unlicensed hordes will have to reverse around a corner with some unfortunate nerve-frazzled insomniac ticking their every move.
It gets more strange. Driving tests were introduced in Ireland only in 1964, with anyone holding a licence beforehand exempted from having to take a test. So, anyone driving for over 40 years has never been legally verified as safe to be in control of a motorised vehicle. Insane, I tell ya. Although, thinking about it, it all makes sense. Now, call me ageist, or generalising - frankly I don't care - but the fact is that the worst drivers out there are not the teenage Boy Racers or Tracies, they're the old gits and gitesses who can't see anything beyond their bonnet or hear anything but the loop of Gay Byrne's dulcet tones that plays constantly in their heads.
A prime example to illustrate: I recently witnessed a woman of at least 80 driving at 11 mph along the middle of the road through St James's Hospital, an apoplectic ambulance driver - siren blaring - screaming at her to get out of his way, until finally she drove the wrong way around a roundabout and in through the exit gate of the carpark, narrowly missing a man in a wheelchair. And she then honked her horn at him for good measure.
So who exactly urgently needs driving tests again? Remind me, I'm confused.