THE ENGLISH

It’s been a roller-coaster ride in terms of our relationship with the neighbours. (Not that you’d dream of getting on a roller coaster next to one of them without a packet of disinfectant wipes).

It started out with a touch of envy. Back in March, before Dr Tony Holohan’s rise to power in Ireland, it was British senior scientists who seemed to be the ones in the know. Then someone pointed out their strategy would lead to 500,000 deaths. This seemed like a remarkable act of self-harm, even for a country that voted for Brexit. It went downhill after that. There were times during April and May when Boris Johnson looked like he was generating plot lines for future series of The Crown.

Our envy turned to a mixture of schadenfreude and relief (at least we’re not living over there...) Next up was genuine pity for our neighbours, followed by anger when some European countries said the Irish might not be allowed to visit over the summer because we have a land border with the you-know-who. The end result? There is no longer a place called Britain in Irish consciousness. There’s just crazy England, and a couple of smaller, foxy-haired countries who should have cut loose like us a century ago. Brexit started the process and Covid-19 took care of the rest — ‘the Brits’ are gone, probably forever.