The Hangover Part III, released nationwide May 23, Cert: 15A, Two stars out of five

REJOICE for the end is near. We will never have to watch another Hangover movie again. The saving grace of the third part of this tiresome and inexplicably popular man-chise is that the final scene gives a sure indication that these four men have suffered their last hangover. Thanks be to Jeebus.

Two years after Phil (Bradley Cooper), Stu (Ed Helms), Doug (Justin Bartha) and Alan (world’s most obnoxious actor Zach Galifianakis) engaged in some apparently “hilarious” high-jinx in Bangkok, they find themselves on yet another trip.
This time they are on their way to Arizona to put Alan, whose status as a simpleton is now distastefully being explained away as a mental illness, into rehab.
Inevitably, they encounter a major obstacle on the way. It comes in the form of John Goodman’s gangster who kidnaps Doug (Bartha, yet again, disappears for most of the film rendering his presence entirely superfluous) and blackmails the remaining members of the Wolf Pack into tracking down psychopath Leslie Chow (Ken Jeong).

Everything goes according to plan and we are out of there within 30 minutes.

I wish.  I can’t say that the prospect of yet another Hangover movie filled me with the warm and fuzzies.
The original was marginally funny but nowhere near as amusing as its box office would suggest.
The sequel was just a disaster zone which shamelessly insulted its audience’s intelligence while happily pocketing more than half-a-billion dollars.
A third film was virtually inevitable.

At least — and we must be very grateful for this — they had the wisdom not to replicate the mistake they made with Part II, when they simply lifted the narrative from the original and planted it in Thailand hoping no-one would notice. Nor is it as excruciatingly painful to watch as that second installment though, frankly, repeating that torture would have been an act of unparalleled cruelty.

Still, The Hangover Part III does share something with its predecessor. It’s not funny. Not even a little bit. Look — nobody is asking director Todd Phillips and co-writer Craig Mazin (who also let their terrible powers combine to bring us the godawful second part) to reinvent movies here but the very least they could have done was ensure a relatively consistent level of mild amusement. This is, after all, supposed to be a comedy but you could count the number of genuine laughs on one hand.

It starts out with the desperately unfunny and pointless death of a giraffe — you’ll be familiar with that from the trailer — which leads to a pile-up on the highway that appears to include a young family of four. (Stop me if you’re laughing so hard it hurts.)
If it wasn’t sour enough already, they then kill off Alan’s dad (Jeffrey Tambor) in a scene that is actually quite disturbing given that everyone keeps mentioning that he is off his meds.
What follows is more in keeping with a cheap action movie from the early 1990s than a decent comedy.

The script is skewed toward Galifianakis and Jeong with the rest of the participants granted virtually no one-liners. Even Helms, who played a central role in the last film, is sidelined in favour of those two. For some people, the idea of film that focuses on Alan and Chow is probably manna from heaven, but for me it was 100 minutes in purgatory.
To top it all off, they drag Melissa McCarthy into the mix for a pumped up cameo that actually screams: “LOOK, IT’S HER OFF BRIDESMAIDS, THE FUNNY ONE, LAUGH MONKEYS, LAUGH”.

It all feels a bit half- hearted, to be honest. The first one had a brashness that was refreshing but this last film lacks energy. It’s like everyone is back under duress and wishing the whole thing would just end already.

I can’t help but agree.
See Gareth’s reviews of Rebellion and Epic in Downtown, free with Thursday’s Cork Evening Echo

The post My Hang-Ups About Hangover III appeared first on Evening Echo.

Death of a Salesman

Everyman Palace

An American classic of world theatre is given a solid and stylish production at the Everman this week by Kolectiv theatre with UCC Drama and Theatre Studies.

Arthur Miller’s play is a forensic dramatisation of the American Dream and a family who considers it their destiny. Willy Loman’s mind cracks open as the unthinkable invades the space that he had reserved for a world of home-runs, big sales and assorted glories.

Director, Aleksander Sasha Dunjerovic embraces the world of cinema in a cleverly designed set by Lisa Zagone as the ghosts of the family walk in celluloid with the on stage actors. Sound design from Neil Quigley and Hollas Longton is to the fore in evoking the tragedy of the piece.

Obviously a huge role for any actor, Patrick Cronin puts a lot of heart into his portrayal of a life ticking away with the pendulum swinging between All-American cockiness and an all too human life-sapping self-doubt.

As his wife, Jean van Sinderen-Law doesn’t quite bring off the frazzled presence of Linda Loman manically trying to keep the family going. James Patrick Cronin, the central actor’s actual son, is very credible as the son who is valiantly trying to hold up the mirror of truth to himself and his family.

This is a worthwhile production of a towering play that still casts a shadow over our lives today. It runs to May 25.

Liam Heylin

The post Classic On Cork Stage appeared first on Evening Echo.

PEDAL POWER: The Hardy Bucks cyclists, Kieran Field, Ballincollig; Val Collins, Blackrock; Dr Mick Crotty, Ballincollig; Drew O’Brien, Glanmire; Paul French, Killcully and Dr Tom English, Glanmire.

EVERY Sunday morning, a Cork-based team of cyclists calling themselves the Hardy Bucks meet up for a spin.
Afterwards, they often enjoy a cuppa and a chat to wind down.
It was during one of these chats that they decided to saddle up and embark on a cycling trek in aid of the suicide support charity, Console.
“We had taken part in charity cycles before,” explains participant Dr Mick Crotty of Ballincollig. “And we really enjoyed the experiences. It was wonderful to feel part of a team as well as having a goal to reach the finish line.
“For instance, we cycled from Whitegate to Crosshaven in March for the Mercy Hospital Research Foundation.
“But now we were discussing the idea of cycling the 32 counties for Console, which was a more serious undertaking altogether!”
Dr Crotty says they chose Console as their beneficiary because everybody on the team, just like everyone in life, had suffered bumps on the road.
“Yes, that is true,” says teammate Gerry Collins, who came up with the plan for the 1,100km cycling odyssey.
“I have a very good pal who lost a brother to suicide 10 years ago and that deeply affected him.
“I have another pal who works as a volunteer with Console. The work they do is phenomenal.”
Gerry’s teammates, and especially Dr Crotty, recognise that men in general, and young men in particular, have difficulty discussing their feelings and emotions.
“Men’s struggles to communicate on a meaningful level contribute to the prevalence of male suicide,” says Dr Crotty, who is a father to three boys.
“We decided to wear pink for the ride to get the message across to men that women are much better at expressing themselves and opening up about their emotions and that men should take a leaf out of their book.
“So we donned the traditional feminine colour of pink to push the message that it is perfectly all right for men to share feelings and emotions, just like women do.”
Gerry says with a laugh: “I think when we arrived in Whitegate at the start of the ride, that was the first time we got funny looks when we turned up in pink T-shirts!
“Anyway, in pre-Victorian times pink was the colour for boys, so really we are only re-claiming what is rightfully ours!”
Dr Crotty gets serious again.
“My consultations would consist of 40% of purely physiological problems, and depression is definitely on the rise among young men.
“Often a young teenage man comes to the surgery with his mother. He hangs his head and the only response is a grunt when trying to prompt him to talk about his problem.
“On the other hand, if I consult with a teenage girl, the whole box of tissues is used and she is positively gushing out all her feelings.
“That is the difference. Young men cannot express their emotions and that is what must change.”
Both Dr Crotty and Gerry think the issue is an ‘Irish thing’ which is steeped in generations.
“Men don’t cry,” says Michael.
“Yet it is fine to cry at sporting events. I remember being at the 2006 Munster rugby final and a penalty was given against Munster. There was a huge man beside me who took out a great dirty hanky and blew his nose and wiped his eyes, he was so upset. I imagine that he probably never cried in personal tragic circumstances.
“We see men hugging each other on the sporting field all the time, but outside that boundary, hugging and crying is taboo.”
Gerry says that meeting up with mates and engaging in activity is crucial to male mental health.

The post Cycling trekkers urge men: It’s good to talk appeared first on Evening Echo.

THE fashion floor at the Kilkenny shop on Cork’s Emmet Place has looks from a host of top Irish and international labels suitable for all occasions this summer.
In store now are versatile separates, stand-out occasion wear and classic day wear suitable for all ages.
Labels include Luke Lovely, an affordable mix of basics and separates including a wrap dress for 149.95 which is a guaranteed staple.
Inwear’s new range also boasts a selection of simple separates that can be easily incorporated into an existing wardrobe while Danish brand Gustav keeps things simple this season with clean lines and layered shapes.
The Charli range has great pieces to mix and match for easy daywear — particularly a jade tunic for 110.
Kilkenny also stock the wonderful Irish label, Fee G known for its dresses and jackets. Prices are on the higher end but remember, these are investment pieces. This is an ideal label to check out for summer weddings.
The Kilkennny Shop is on Emmet Place.
Pictured: Luke Lovely sequin zip dress (189.95 euro). More pictures in Monday’s Cork Evening Echo.

The post Special K appeared first on Evening Echo.

The Great Gatsby, released nationwide May 16, Cert: 12A, Two stars out of Five 

 
AZ LUHRMANN throws everything he has at this hyper-stylised take on F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby but next to nothing sticks. In his desperation to make a cool film, he has completely lost sight of the story at its heart.
Tobey Maguire plays depressed, recovering alcohol Nick Carraway, whose doctor encourages him to write down the story of his friendship with the one man he still respects — Gatsby. His story begins as he arrives in New York in the spring of 1922 when the market is still rocketing upwards and hedonism has gripped the locals.
He moves into a small run-down cottage on the bay opposite his socialite cousin Daisy (Carey Mulligan) and her brutish, philandering millionaire husband Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton), a couple who are partying as hard as the rest of New York, just not strictly with each other.
Orchestrating the festivities is the mysterious Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio), Nick’s next-door neighbour who organises the most outlandish bashes you’ve ever seen. Elton John would look at this man’s shindigs and think “Christ, this is a bit much”.
With no discernible source of income, Gatsby is the talk of the town but for a man who throws a mean party, his needs turn out to be simple and much more dangerous.
This is a massive disappointment. No wonder it was unceremoniously dumped from Oscar season in favour of a more forgiving release date, it would have been savaged. How could a director like Luhrmann — who seems tailor-made to adapt The Great Gatsby — get it so spectacularly wrong?
The approach is off-kilter. It’s like Luhrmann took the style-over-substance from the novel and ignored everything else. Fair enough, you might say that The Great Gatsby is all about over the top self-indulgence and exuberance but as Tara Reid will tell you sometimes you can have too much of the good thing. Luhrmann clearly enjoys a spectacle — almost all of his films are festooned in superfluous sequins — but at the very moment when he should shine, he is found wanting.
The parties in The Great Gatsby are epic and I’m sure filming them was fantastically good fun but they end up looking like one of P Diddy’s music videos except one suspects that even he would tone it down.
He also relies far too much on stupid and pointless special effects to whip us from one place to another. It looks fake and feels irritating. After about half an hour of this frenetic introduction to 1920s New York with cameras sweeping across bays and what not, I found myself sighing and wondering how much more of this tedium we must endure. This reliance on computer generated graphics presumably fed into the bizarre decision to release Gatsby in 3D, a medium which belongs to cartoons, action and horror films, not literary adaptations set in past.
So too with the soundtrack — a mix recognisably 20s jazz and Charleston and bombastic hip-hop songs from the past few years — which only suggests that Luhrmann is fresh out of ideas. He has done this all before, ladies and gentlemen, and he did it more effectively.
Something less like Michael Bay’s Bad Boys would have served the film much better.
All of this noise gets in the way of the very complex and interesting story at the core of The Great Gatsby. This is a tale of social climbing, snobbery and the futility of success as much as it is the tragic love story that Luhrmann focusses on to the exclusion of almost everything else. It feels like he misses the point.
Thanks on high then for Leonardo DiCaprio. Despite all his bells and whistles, Luhrmann is only able to bring the film to life when DiCaprio is on screen. It’s a performance as fine as the film should have been. He is especially good in his early scenes with Mulligan who plays Daisy with perfect ambiguity.
One swallow does not a summer make, however, old sport and as good as DiCaprio is, he and the rest of the cast are drowned out by Luhrmann’s over the top styling and unfocussed vision.
It is a shame because this could have been one of the must-sees of the summer. As it is, it is a glitzy, glamorous failure. How apt.

Read Gareth’s reviews of I’m So Excited and A Hijacking in Downtown, free with Thursday’s Cork Evening Echo.

The post Not So Great Gatsby appeared first on Evening Echo.

THAT really was an almighty fuss about the resignation of Sir Alex Ferguson.
After all, what was he but the manager of a football team, and what are football teams but a group of people chasing around after a ball!
Heresy, I know. But it’s how I feel.
Once upon a time I was a huge fan, in the days long, long ago when players like ‘wee’ Joe Haverty of Arsenal and Andy McEvoy of Blackburn Rovers plied their trade with English clubs.
Other Irish-born giants of the game who made it big in England included Cork-born Noel Cantwell, who famously threw the FA cup high in the air in celebration after Manchester United’s triumph in the competition in 1963.
There was much tut-tutting amongst commentators and top brass about the gesture at the time, but all of us in this country realised it really was a nod to his GAA heritage. Whether true or not, it was what we liked to believe.
Here was one of our own on the hallowed turf of Wembley, a prime driver in delivering a healing balm to ease the pain of the Munich air disaster,  that catastrophic tragedy which wiped out so many of the Busby babes five years earlier.
The fear was that he would drop the trophy and it would be damaged, but we knew  it was never in any danger. Not only was he a player with huge talent, unusually for a centre half he had considerable skill. His sure hands, developed on GAA pitches in Cork as a youngster and during his cricket career with Cork Bohemians, led him to be capped five times for Ireland at the latter code.
Youngsters like myself practiced his Wembley throw-and-catch with makeshift cups in the summer months that followed.
In those days of our youth, the players of the time were giants in every way. They were sparse of words and let their feet do the talking on the pitch and used them in the right way, to demonstrate their skill.
Nowadays players seem to spend as much time play-acting as they do on their feet; witness the recent game in which Chelsea player David Luiz went down after having his legs clipped by  United player Raphael.
Laugh  at my naivety, but I and many others thought  he had been seriously injured. But not a bit of it. The camera caught him in agony, then with a big grin on his face when he thought he was unobserved, and later again with a grimace when he realised the ref was on the way over to see how he was.
In my youth this would never have happened. Men expected a bit of argy bargy; if hurt they didn’t make a song and dance about it, if they stayed down  you knew they were genuinely hurt.
The modern game is now so stop-start that there would be more than ample time for a double decker bus to arrive in the ground, collect a raft load of cheering, tattooed, semi-naked fans — seems to be the required kit for so many fans nowadays — do a few pirouttes on the centre circle and head off again, in the time it takes for an injured player to get up.
Of course, what all the interruptions have done is slowed down the flow of the game. That’s why I said at the beginning that football now mostly is about men chasing a ball round a field. True, there is some artistry still around, epitomised at the highest level by Argentinian Lionel Messi who plays with Barcelona. Now there’s a player who is fit to travel in spirit with my childhood heroes, in particular I am thinking of the late Jim Baxter whose performance against England at Wembley in 1967 was, in a word, magical.
Majestic in the centre of the pitch, he sprayed inch-perfect passes into every corner of the arena; the English players, like rabbits in a spotlight dizzingly swaying  this way and that, spent the afternoon like Beduoins in a desert
chasing mirages.  Bemused and mesmerised by his great array of skills, they looked more like a schoolboy team than the reigning world champions they were.
Baxter’s performance was a unique combination of great artistry and a mental toughness — the latter an  absolute necessity in the attritional arena that is midfield. His delivery was that of a ballerina: precise, graceful and deadly accurate. In the rapier-like delivery of the passes which sliced the opposition open this way and that, we saw the mind of an assassin at work.
The coup de grace came with him doing ‘keepie uppies’ for the amusement of the delirious Tartan fans, in a game that ended 2-3 in favour of the visitors.
Some say that a short time prior to kick-off he was reading the Racing Post when manager Bobby Brown approached him about doing some loosening up exercises. Legend has it that he stretched out one leg and then the other and replied: “That’s me warmed up.”
His memorable performance held the promise that better days were ahead for the game and ‘Slim Jim’,  as he was known. Sadly his career petered out, encroaching drink problems a factor, and he retired at the age of 31.
The pigment that has coloured the game since, at least for me, has been a deathly shade of gray.
Spare me the  histrionics of the players. And I’d swap at all the supposed great quotes of Fergie for one by Jock Stein, manager of Celtic, who, agreeing that a certain player had talent said: “Aye, he’s my sort of forward alright. When he can’t think of anything else to do with the ball he puts it in the net.”
Fergie and the rest of them, they are only pygmies compared to the giants of the past.

The post What a Fuss Over Fergie, Now When I Was A Lad… appeared first on Evening Echo.

THIS column comes to you from Las Vegas.
Before you get too excited on my behalf, I’m here as the guest of EMC, at the annual conference EMC World.
This column isn’t really about that, but as I mention it, I may as well tell you that it’s huge. The hotel I am staying in has 7,000 rooms and most of them are filled by delegates. It’s attached to another, similarly sized hotel, where the conference is actually on.
The conference itself is fairly technical and you’ve probably already read about it elsewhere in the Evening Echo, so I won’t try and explain everything to you that I’ve learned about cloud computing and big data, other than to say  a) they’re important and b) the Cork arms of EMC are well placed to be the leaders on this.
No, this column is about the attitudes to Ireland and Irish people abroad.
Last Monday, after 20 hours of travel, an hour wait at immigration (where I felt irrationally guilty and was convinced I’d be denied entry), and another wait for a taxi, I eventually hopped into the back of a cab.
Having missed out on a night’s sleep, I wasn’t exactly coherent or talkative, but from the few words I muttered at the taxi driver on the five-mile trip, he soon twigged that I was Irish.
“Let me tell you an Irish joke so,” he declared.
I smiled weakly, too tired to protest.
“Four Irish men come out of a bar,” he said.
Another weak smile from me.
“That’s it, that’s the joke,” he said.
I was having difficulty forming complete sentences at this stage, so I left him off with it (and was stingy with the tip).
I probably wouldn’t have given his comment much more thought, apart from the fact that one of the next people I met in Las Vegas also made a similar comment referencing the “drunken Irish” stereotype. One of the enthusiastic kids handing out badges at the conference suggested that I might like to interview herself and a few others about their partying habits “because I was Irish”.
There are many things that Irish people could be known for. Resilience. Hard work. Intelligence.
Instead, it seems that the tag of the “drunken Irish” is one we still can’t shake off.
It is true that our alcohol consumption is higher than many other countries. But it’s not that far off that of the Germans, for example.  Yet the Germans don’t have a reputation for non-stop drinking.
There is no national festival for Germany like St Patrick’s Day which is associated almost exclusively with heavy drinking (Oktoberfest doesn’t count).
We’re also slow to challenge that perception, perhaps afraid that in doing so we would also be rejecting our legendary and valuable reputation for ‘craic’ (something which Germans also don’t share with us).
In business, we’re regarded as hard-working, solid and reliable – as well as  welcoming and easy-going. As individuals, other foreign natives acknowledge we can be sober and sensible and yet still fun.
Yet as a nation, the first word associated with us in the minds of too many is “drink”.
It’s not helped by the fact that our reaction is at worst to buy into it enthusiastically, and at best to shrug and not challenge it.
Some scholars have traced the stereotype of the drunken Irish back to Shakespeare, but several centuries on we need to take responsibility ourselves for the fact that it  endures.
Whatever about joking about ourselves at home, maybe we should take our international reputation more seriously. Because the drunken Irish jokes all too often move seamlessly into the stupid Paddy ones, and they’re definitely neither true nor funny.

The post Let’s Ditch ‘Drunken Irish’ Label appeared first on Evening Echo.

EASY-to-wear dresses are not always that easy to find.
Throw in the added bonus of being affordable and fashion forward  and suddenly  you’ve got a winning combination.
Gallery at Dunnes Stores have hit on the winning formula with their high summer range pictured here.
Sleeveless print dresses are very elegant and well priced at 45 euro.
And for the arm conscious they can be easily matched with blazers or boleros depending on the occasion.
A white trouser suit has been given a Summer 2013 lift with cropped pants (40 euro) and  fitted jacket (60 euro) and screams Italian chic.
For more casual occasions a paisley tunic (30 euro) looks very versatile. It’s pictured here with red  trousers  (35 euro) but it would equally well with denims or white linen.
Pictured above: Contrast collar blouse (35 euro), Jacquard trousers (40 euro) and Jacquard jacket (60 euro). See more pictures in Monday’s Cork Evening Echo

The post Midsummer Dreams appeared first on Evening Echo.

NO Saturday afternoon would be complete with dropping by the lovely Miss Daisy Blue on Cork’s Market Parade. Whether you’re looking for something or not, it’s almost impossible to leave empty-handed.
On the plus side, you’re likely to be walking way with a one-off or something totally unique that was sourced by owner Breda Casey on her travels.
The shop has been lovingly restored and filled with beautiful vintage pieces, including bridal looks, making shopping here an absolute treat.
Cork-based photographer Miki Barlok has captured the ethos of the shop perfectly in this shoot, with a variety of looks for those who like to have fun with their fashion.
Styling: Yvonne Cronin; hair: Tommy Heffernan; make-up: Kate Noonan.

See more pictures and prices in Saturday’s Cork Evening Echo.

The post A fine vintage at Market Parade appeared first on Evening Echo.

BEING a learned scholar, I’m sure the President of Ireland will be familiar with the origins of the term ‘Crossing the Rubicon’.
The Rubicon is a river in northern Italy which used to mark the unofficial border of the Roman empire.
When Julius Ceasar crossed it with an army in 49BC during a march on Rome, he was defying centuries of history, and making an uprising inevitable.
Now, anyone ‘crossing the Rubicon’ is deemed to have overstepped the mark and passed a point of no return.
That, I believe, is exactly what Michael D Higgins did last week, when he jostled his way into the political arena and called for a “radical rethink” of how EU leaders are handling the economic crisis.
In typically highbrow language, our President  warned the EU must drop its “hegemonic” economic model and called for an end to austerity.
The comments, in an interview with the Financial Times, met with a chorus of approval from politicians, media and the public.
But whoa there, hold your horses Caesar.
Isn’t our President meant to be non-political? Didn’t we cast votes on this important but largely ceremonial role just 18 months ago, when the candidates very carefully laid out their world vision without getting involved in politics, economics and all the other stuff that we actually have a government for?
Ah, I hear you say, but nobody could possibly dispute the President’s remarks — he was only standing up for Ireland after all.
Not so. The fact that a President’s political utterances are populist, and in any case would — or should — have been approved by the Government beforehand, doesn’t mean he was acting within his rights.
Indeed, it would be very easy to argue a political case against what he said. Nobody wants austerity, of course, but a strong case can be made that austerity is our only man.
Ireland will  borrow 15billion this year to cover the shortfall in its incomings and outgoings. We are also expecting yet another hairshirt budget that will comprise 2-3billion in cuts and taxes. Furthermore, we are beholden to the EU, the IMF and Central Bank for bailing our sorry asses out of the mire in 2008.
What part of this sorry scenario suggests that an end to austerity will help us to regain a foothold in the economy?
(And when it comes to the pay and pensions of many of our public servants and politicians, methinks the tide of austerity has not yet washed up on all the boats in this harbour.)
Since he is wading into the political debate, would President Higgins care to tell us what his non- austere dream world will be like? Will we scrap the property tax and proposed water tax, axe the Universal Social Charge, cut income tax across the board and borrow, oh, 20billion to get us through 2014? Sure, put it on the tab, there, we’ll sort that out once this non-austerity plan has worked its magic…
Perhaps I am being unkind on President Higgins, but does he see an end to austerity as a chance to furnish his beloved arts and Irish language with yet more of our millions? Just asking.
I appreciate that it is considered ungallant to criticise a President, but didn’t he sign up to this kind of robust debate when he crossed the Rubicon of his office?
And what of Michael D Higgins’s speech to the EU parliament a few weeks ago, where he told of his adoration for that body? The best hope for an end to austerity in the Ireland he represents is for us to pull out of the euro and set up a new, devalued currency. It’s the time-honoured way for nations to rise from bankruptcy and the currency has been a disaster for this country.
Does the President share this view? I doubt it. I wouldn’t normally speculate on such an issue, only it was he who crossed the line into political discourse.
It’s all very well for a President to deliver a grandstanding, popular view which embraces a growing cosy consensus that austerity needs to stop. (By the way, does anyone else think his timing was interesting, coming just as the public sector prepares to take on the Government over the ‘austerity’ cuts contained in Croke Park II?)
One national newspaper even described the stance by Higgins as “brave”. But what’s brave about saying what everyone wants you to say, then basking in the warm applause? Braver, surely, to speak against the prevailing wind, even when the truth hurts.
If the solution to our predicament isn’t more austerity, then I’m sure as hell convinced that extravagance isn’t the answer.
Remember where that got us?
I look forward eagerly to the next political broadcast from our non-political President on this pressing issue. And despite having five and a half years left in office to do so, I’d say it will come sooner rather than later.
There is a famous phrase attributed to Caesar the day he crossed the Rubicon. “Alea iacta est”.
President Higgins will be familiar with it, but I’ll  provide the translation: The die is cast.

The post Higgins Has Crossed The Rubicon appeared first on Evening Echo.