Kilian Doyle writes a letter to Santa on behalf of the Minister for Tranport
Dear Mr Claus,
Mr Martin Cullen, the Minister for Transport for the Republic of Ireland here.
I understand my predecessor, Seamus Brennan, wrote to you this time last year. An obsequious, childish entreaty for help securing support for what we here like to call his "towering achievements", I imagine.
Well, let me tell you, there will be nothing of the sort from this minister. I'm in charge now and what I say goes. This minister's not for kow-towing. That said, this letter has a purpose. For there are a few matters you may be able to assist me with.
Firstly, I notice you are traditionally depicted as a rather hirsute gentleman. What you need is a little PR advice. I know the perfect woman. And you could do both of us a favour if you take her to the North Pole for a while. That's my advice to you. Now to what you can do for me.
I am currently experiencing some difficulties with a crowd of rock-huggers who want to stop one of my roads on some trumped-up pretence of caring about ancient pots.
The reality is they are a bunch of beardy refuseniks who wouldn't know progress if it came up and punched them in the nose. Not that I'm against beards per se. A useful tool, the beard. In fact, I used to occasionally cultivate one when I was Minister of the Environment to ingratiate myself with green types. Dreadful experience it was, looking in the mirror every morning and seeing some filthy hippie looking back at me. But it served its purpose. I shall hereafter remain as smooth as the fresh tarmac.
I demand you intercede with them, as being a bunch of High Priest fantasists, they'll do what you, the High Priest of Consumerism, tell them. And if they don't, threaten to withhold their Solstice presents. They'll soon see what side their oaten cakes are vegan-spread on.
Secondly, I've promised my gullible minions that I'll get cracking on a Metro system for Dublin. This got me thinking. You have a herd of elves at your beck and call, do you not? Presumably they're busy in the latter part of the year, but I imagine they sit on their fat, warty backsides the rest of the time.
Despite my limited knowledge of mythical creatures, I understand the elf is a fine digger. With that in mind, I want to commandeer them for six months to begin the tunnelling. It'll save me a few million euro that I'd prefer to spend on my advisors.
Finally, there's the M50. I want you to bring me a few extra lanes as a token of your personal submission to my Universal Omnipotence.
In exchange for your efforts, I am magnanimous enough to offer you a few concessions - namely I'll waive all landing charges for your sleigh and ensure your reindeer don't get accidentally slaughtered and heaped on a burning pyre by Customs Officers enforcing our strict foot and mouth policies.
Should you choose not to comply, apart from the North Pole being turned into a car-park, it's safe to say you'll need to burgle every house you visit to recoup the price of your unapproved forays into Irish airspace. It's also a given that Rudolf and the others will get a very warm reception when they land. Very warm indeed.
If you remain in any doubt as to your predicament, please refer to the envelope in which this letter arrived. Does the address look familiar? Of course it does - and you know what that means. I know where you live and where your toy factory is. And, more importantly, I have dominion over a fleet of bulldozers. I trust I've made myself clear.
Yours,
Martin
The Minister for Transport, Mr Martin Cullen