This morning, I got a letter in a familiar envelope. It was from the Revenue Commissioners. I owe them €1085 (or possibly €1058) since last October, and I opened the letter a bit fearfully.
The contents made me smile.
It was addressed to me at House 79 in Trinity Hall, which is the 1970s redbrick building I lived in last year, where there are fourteen people per apartment. I now live in one of the more modern blocks in Hall, but haven’t bothered to let them know about the move, as the post will still get to me.
Dear Mr O’Donoghue,
I am writing to you because Revenue records show that you are the owner or person who is liable for Local Property Tax (LPT) on the residential property:
79 Trinity Hall
According to a government database, I am the owner of House 79, or Cunningham House, as we call it in Hall. LOL LOL LOL.
Cunningham House takes in at least €250,000 a year in rent. If I was the owner of Cunningham House, I wouldn’t be late with my taxes. If I was the owner of Cunningham House, I’d be sitting on a beach in the South of France. There’d be a little French waiter in nothing but a pair of tiny Speedos bringing me strawberry daiquiris while his similarly-attired twin brother stood by waiting to give me a Turkish massage when I needed it. If I was the owner of Cunningham House, I would have a family of giant tortoises quietly eating lettuce in my back garden, cared for by my curmudgeonly English butler, who would pretend to hate me, but deep down I would be his whole world. If I was the owner of Cunningham House, One Direction would come over to play for my birthday. If I was the owner of Cunningham House, I would have to devote one day a week to ranking and categorising my suitors. If I was the owner of Cunningham House, the world would probably be a much worse place.
I’d better write back to them.