Feeling redundant? Be thankful you’re not an Irish racehorse.

Shergar - One titan of the turf to escape the knacker's yard. (Or did he become the world's most expensive hamburgers? The mystery continues...)

I could have called this – They shoot horses, don’t they? But with friends going through or facing redundancy – or like myself having been made (voluntarily) redundant – I’ve gone a different direction.

I’ve been told I have a tendency – a talent or a failing – to see positive aspects to seemingly dire scenarios. Perhaps this is an example. So without wishing to minimise the pain of redundancy, it’s better than a quick trip to the donkey butcher.

Or perhaps this would work better as a metaphor for Ireland’s current economic ills. In fact, skip the metaphor, it’s a direct result of it.

If you’re an animal lover, look away now. (Though there are a couple of very cute horsies at the bottom.)

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Quiet revolution

It’s hard to hear what’s going on amidst the hubbub and engine chug, and computer fan whirr and traffic drone. You have to walk far from roads to properly hear Led Zeppelin’s bustle in the hedgerow. Or focus to make out the tiny regular wheezing breathing of a sleeping baby.

It’s unlikely you’ll ever have the chance to build up from the sound of silence – more likely you’ll be struggling to strip away sticky layers of muzak to feel what lies beneath.

It reminds me of what my mate Chen noticed when he first came to London – an all-pervasive sickly sour reek of off milk, from all the dairy products people in England eat. He’d just come from less crowded drier northern Zambia. I presume he’s used to it by now. (I hope he was before he encountered my cheese-guzzling gob.)

Well, someone’s had enough of this audio goo

Phew! We’re not all doomed after all

If fear of impending global disaster is seldom far from your mind, you can take a deep breath, let it out… and relaaax. Apparently the population timebomb is a myth.