Murphy Colin - In the name of jaysus!: stuff that drives Irish people round the feckin bend

You know the score. Youve been there. We all have. You pick up a shirt or a pair of knickers in a shop and, like most people, the first thing you look at is the price tag. In Ireland, price tags often have two prices marked on them, one in euro and the other in sterling. You can see that the item is, say, 20. So far so good. But then you notice that the sterling price is 12. Of course, at the moment, if you exchange 20 you should expect roughly 16, so why, in the name of Jaysus, do our British friends pay 4 less than us miserable eejits?

And it doesnt stop at clothes. Supermarkets are masters at the art of separating us Irish from our spondulicks for them, its like shooting fish in a barrel. Almost every item here is dearer than in its British equivalent. A survey in 2014 revealed that lots of items were up to 50% dearer here and one veggie broccoli was 200% dearer than across the water! Surely the broccoli here is some special variety that will turn you into a sexual titan or an Irish Einstein? No, fraid not. Its plain old common or garden broccoli.

Then there are little things like cars, which also cost more here, naturally. And TV services. Books. DVDs. Magazines. Picture frames. Toys (including the adult ones). Carpets. Electrical goods. Computers. Cameras. The list is endless.

And the reason for the price differences between Ireland and the UK? Often when you ask, retailers are suddenly as scarce as shite from a rocking horse. But, when one of them does come up with an explanation, its usually some oul guff about overheads being higher here. What a load of oul bollix! Is that really why it costs, say, 30% more for a pair of socks in Drogheda than in Newry, a stones throw away? Or why it costs 20% more to send a satellite signal into your house than to one in Bristol? Go and ask me arse!

The real reason is known to retailers as The Paddy Premium. They charge what they think the market will bear. In other words, they know they can make a gansey-load of free extra cash simply by charging us poor eejits more, as they also know that our legislators arent going to do anything about it because theyre about as useful a concrete currach. Water and property taxes are bad enough, but effectively being taxed for being Irish is enough to drive you to drink. Oh, hang on thats dearer here as well!

Youve probably driven past them a thousand times. But every time you pass one at 120km/hour, this thought briefly flicks through your head: What thef*** is that wojus yoke? You then continue on your journey, the lump of twisted metal you just passed already fading from memory. Until that is you pass it again going in the other direction, when the thought once again occurs: No, really, what the f*** is that wojus yoke?

What it is, is a piece of public art funded from the Percentage Arts Scheme, which means that a small fraction of any publicly funded project must be allocated to the commissioning of a work of art. That all sounds very admirable, as were all keen on supporting the arts and struggling artists and so on. The problem arises when it comes to the question of what local country councillors believe constitutes a work of art, as opposed to a big lump of ganky shite. Very often they seem unable to distinguish between the two.

Of course all of art is subjective one mans masterpiece is anothers piece of codology. So with that in mind, lets explore a few examples of the art works that have so illuminated commuters lives.

Lets start with the yokes on the M7 Kildare town bypass, which resemble a bunch of ginormous plastic childrens windmills. Officially, the configuration recreates the feel of the rails around the nearby racecourse. Well, of course, you knew that, didnt you?

Hopping across to the N2 near Ashbourne in Meath, we meet the giant rusty origami rabbit. Well, that makes perfect sense, origami being such a traditional art form in Ireland.

Very appropriately, Mayo County Council chose some humongous bent metal pipes to represent hot air rising (most of it presumably in the council chamber), for their art installation on the Station Road in Castlebar.

Gorey Bypass in Wexford has been graced by what the locals call the rusty stegosaurus. Actually its a giant hedgehog. Glad thats cleared up because, with the country broke, youll appreciate that a giant rusty hedgehog is exactly the sort of thing we desperately need.

Carlow County Council has chosen to enhance our humdrum lives by putting an immense sculpture of a pair of concrete welly boots near Leighlinbridge. Oops, sorry, they actually depict the thrones of the ancient kings of Leinster. Obvious when you think about it.

Rust seems to be the in thing these days. The N21 in Kerry boasts a giant rusty head-the-ball with his arms outstretched, upon which are perched six birds. This is inspired by the Songs of Amergin, a mythical Celtic poet, were told officially, just in case we couldnt have worked that out for ourselves.

You may have spotted the six wonky telegraph poles sticking out of the ground near the M4/M6 junction. Each has a sort of disc stuck on top. No, theyre not some banjaxed communications experiment, but represent figures from our ancient past on a journey towards awareness, collecting knowledge as they travel. Just the way youre travelling, and youre being enlightened by art. Geddit?

Thanks to our county councillors being so in touch with their inner artistic muses, we have been gifted with gazillions of inspirational pieces all over the country. But pride of place has to go to the giant piece of shsculpture near Ballindine, County Mayo. This 10m-high multi-coloured masterpiece represents an accordion, and celebrates the work of a local musician, Martin ODonoghue. For the benefit of those yet to feast their eyes on the work, it essentially resembles a gargantuan steel jaw-trap stood on its side, the teeth being bright red and yellow and the rest bright blue. To get a sense of its scale, the hole in the middle could easily accommodate a zeppelin.

Jaysus, they must have really hated that poor oul fecker Martins guts.

Youre sure to have met one or two of these saps. Despite decades of global TV coverage about the North, and despite virtually every westernised country having a ginormous Irish population, you still get the occasional eejit who thinks were Brits. And the sad fact is, that there is still a sizeable number of Brits who think were Brits!

There you are on holiday in Disneyland, queuing up to get into Buzz Lightyears Astro Blasters, when this guy next to you hears your accent and asks in a friendly way where you hail from. Ireland, you reply proudly, only to get a response something like, Oh yeah, my wife loves your Queen Elizabeth. Before hes even finished his sentence, youre looking around for a large Mickey Mouse statue to insert into his arse. But unfortunately, our American friends arent the only guilty parties. The French, Germans, Italians, Spanish etc. can display equal levels of pig ignorance.