What about Paddy?
Grandad October 20th, 2009
They want to reduce the drink limit for drivers again.
Of course most people will greet this announcement with cheers and say it’s a good thing.
But then most people don’t actually stop and think about the crazy logic of the whole setup.
Take an example of a hundred average drivers. Of those, ninety nine can have a few pints and quite safely drive home after. They can do that because they know their own capabilities and will adjust their driving accordingly. The other person of course will think he is capable of holding any amount of drink and will cream himself over the countryside in a spectacular manner, thereby improving the general gene pool.
The logic of this is to weed out the cretins who can’t hold their drink, and then let the rest of us carry on with our lives.
Not so with the Nanny State.
The Nanny State fails to realise that it is the one percent who causes the havoc. It is the one percent who go out speeding, driving recklessly and generally causing carnage on the roads. The Nanny State says that we all have to be treated as if we were that one percent.
You only have to look at the figures. Despite all their best efforts, there are still roughly the same number of casualties on the roads each year. They tighten up the speed limits and they reduce the drink limit, but that has a negligible effect on the statistics. Why? Because the one percent are still out there, and by their nature, they are going to ignore all the rules and regulations.
In the meantime, the rest of us have to suffer the consequences.
What about the other side of the coin?
What about the decimation of rural communities, and the isolation of the rural farmer?
Poor old Paddy has to spend his nights now stuck up on a mountainside, on his own. He daren’t go to the pub any more because of the draconian laws. Paddy had been driving the tractor for decades down to O’Tooles for his couple of Guinness and two half ones for decades. He had never had an accident, because he knew the route like the back of his hand and the tractor never did more than about ten miles an hour anyway. It was his contact with his fellow neighbours. It was his social life. It was his life.
Now Paddy has to spend his evenings in isolation. He rarely meets his neighbours. In fact, he rarely meets anyone.
I’m sure Paddy is greeting the new drink limits with open arms. I’m sure he is content to sit in his isolation in the comforting knowledge that his sacrifice, while not actually achieving anything is making the government feel good.
This is for you, Paddy.
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