Monday

Woke up and wept for an hour. Then I put a big bale of turf on my back and headed in to my job at Google. Stopped en route to do a bit of begging on O'Connell Bridge. I love a bit of begging. Got photographed by the international press. Waved my fist in impotent rage.

Tuesday

Spent the day digging spuds for Google, then went home to find Brian from next door rolling all the mod cons out of my house. "It's for the IMF," he said. "You brought this on yourself!" he added. It's true! I even bought another house on the way home. I can't stop myself. What am I like?!

Caught a stern glance from the fella from the IMF. "You keep at that and you'll be destitute!" he warned. It makes perfect sense: we bought too many houses, ergo we're in danger of homelessness. I totally understand economics now. Rode a horse around the Dáil for a bit as I thought about it all.

Wednesday

Was weeping gently to myself when a nice man from the New York Times asked me how I was doing. "Was it for this that Connolly and Pearse struggled at the GPO?" I asked. (Connolly and Pearse are two fellows I know from work – they spent ages queuing for stamps the other day.) The reporter scribbled it down, then asked what I thought of Ireland's loss of sovereignty. Through the tears I said, "Well, issues of sovereignty are meaningless in a globalised world. What's important is that we get our balance sheet under control and that we work closely with our European partners. We must at all costs fulfil our responsibilities to the bondholders," I sobbed.

Thursday

Was quoted in the New York Times today, "Ara, sure begorrah and bejasus, the dead patriots will be crying bitter tears from heaven, so they will! Ochón, ochón! Tis with O'Leary in the grave, bedad." I suppose that is what I said. I can't quite remember because I was upset.

Brian was round to disconnect the electricity earlier. "What can I do?" he said before jumping into his government-issue hover-car and delivering a swift kick up my arse as he passed. I'll probably still vote for him though, the rogue.

Friday

Not so sure if I'll vote Fianna Fáil now. There's news just in that Sinn Féin are going to be running some actual dead patriots in the forthcoming election, except, of course, for Joseph Mary Plunkett, "because he has a girl's name". Appealing as that is, I think I'm probably going to vote independent from now on. Michael Lowry got a super-casino for Tipperary and Jackie Healy Rae got a water park and some fudge for Kerry South. (I love fudge!) Rang up Joe Duffy to have a bit of a shout. Felt better.

Saturday

Met a neighbour today who was rending his clothing and hair over the budget. "I'm in negative equity over my home," he wailed. "And I'm also in negative equity over my investment property," he added, still wailing.

"Ah, but don't two negatives make a positive?" said a passing economist with a wry smile. We all thought about that for a while, shaking our heads in wonder at the wisdom of what he had said. He sold us a book.

Sunday

Went to mass. It was a bit disappointing. It lacked pizzazz. Afterwards I had a go worshipping a tree trunk shaped like Padre Pio's face. That should sort things out. The old ways are best when you think about it.