The Pope’s Children tomorrow…

David McWilliams is bringing his fascinating snapshot of prosperous Ireland (thanks TCL) to the screens of RTE 1 on Monday evening. HIs bestselling book, The Pope’s Children is a fascinating mash of economic and demographic metrics, sociological insight and lively contemporary anecdote of a country that has changed out of all recognition even (and maybe most especially) to its own citizenry. Whereas the book was mostly upbeat, McWilliams has been brooding on the potentially flimsy base for the Republic’s new prosperity.

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  • Yokel

    The pope has kids? God are any of them sticking to the rules?

  • Greenflag

    ‘The pope has kids? God are any of them sticking to the rules? ‘

    LOL 🙂

    Old Dublin Pope Joke ,

    Crossing the Phoenix Park one cold winter’s morning a recently returned from Australia Dubliner pointed to the giant concrete crucifix and said to his brother.

    ‘WTF is that , Jimmy ‘?

    ‘The Pope’s Crucifix’ says the brother .

    ‘How the f*** did they get him up on it ‘ says yer man !

  • Just got around to watching this thanks to the wonder that is bittorent.

    This show can be summarized as follows – Ireland was an austere insular little backwater defended by patrician elements from the evils of foreign influence. As soon as said patrician elements, lulled into a false sense of security by the pope’s visit, let their guard down and permitted British newspapers and curly-wurlies everyone began gorging themselves on cocaine, booze and black-pudding baguettes in a frenzy of bestial lust that began slowly but thanks to cheap credit courtesy of work-shy French and Germans has accelerated past the limit of human endurance.

    The presentation was MTV style circa 1995, lots of jump cuts, trip-hoppy sound track, fast forward traffic scenes, Sergio Leone style close-ups of some fat lad stuffing his face with a liver and onions croissant or something intercut with swooping aerial panoramas of endless identical exuburban rabbit-hutches that it takes 2 hours in a traffic jam to commute to from your job selling cappucinos over the internet or some such.

    There was something about the new classes of Irish people – Decklanders, yummy mummies, and some other one composed of oul’ hoors with too much make-up showing off their flat arses in track suit bottoms. I couldn’t figure it out. I have no idea now which one eats the organic vegetables and which one sends their kids to the gaelscoileanna.

    David McWilliams breezes amiably through this mess. He chats up a couple of cute girls from Lithuania, blokishly banters with a couple of working men, describes himself as an ignorant mick when he attempts to use chopsticks, he even tries out the cúpla focail at a gaelscoil.

    At the end he tells us it will all end in tears because it’s based on an unsustainable housing/building market and because Irish people are silly hippies who won’t build nuclear power stations.

    Entertaining stuff on the whole, except for the deliberate assault of images of fat ugly corpse-pale Irish people disporting themselves. There was a particular shot of a grotesquely distended bra-wearing young wan at a rave that there was just no call for, no matter how greedy people are getting.