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When wine, squatters and silence sour the spirit

🫟 Introduction: The Art of Being Ignored

There’s a particular kind of frustration that comes from being ignored—whether by bureaucrats, neighbors, or the universe itself. It’s the kind that simmers quietly, like a forgotten pot of soup on the stove, until one day you realize it’s boiled over and left a stubborn stain on your stovetop. This week, my stovetop is metaphorically ruined.

🫟 Act I: The Squatters Next Door, or How to Be a Ghost in Your Own Home

Let’s start with the local flavor. A group of squatters has taken up residence next door. Now, I’m all for community spirit, but this feels less like a neighborhood potluck and more like an uninvited rave in my backyard. I did what any law-abiding, slightly exasperated citizen would do: I wrote to the *police municipale* and the *Préfet de l’Aude*. The response? Crickets. Not even an automated “We’ve received your complaint and will ignore it promptly” email. Just silence.

This, my friends, is what the French call *Service Publique*—public service with all the efficiency of a snail racing through molasses. It’s enough to make one wonder if the only way to get attention is to start a petition, chain myself to a lamppost, or perhaps take up the accordion outside their offices. Desperate times, after all, call for desperate measures.

🫟 Act II: The Great Wine Betrayal, or How Ireland Forgot Its European Roots

Now, let’s talk about wine. Not the good stuff—the kind that makes you sigh with pleasure and contemplate the meaning of life. No, I’m talking about the cheap, mass-produced plonk from South America that’s flooding Irish shelves like a tidal wave of mediocrity.

Here’s the thing: Europe’s winemakers are struggling. They’re dealing with collapsing sales, US tariffs, and a generation that seems to prefer artisanal kombucha over a decent Bordeaux. And what does the EU do? It rolls out the red carpet for industrial-scale wine imports from 10,000 kilometers away. It’s like inviting a bull into a china shop and then being surprised when everything breaks.

Ireland, a country that has benefited immensely from EU solidarity, is now turning its back on European producers. Instead of championing quality and sustainability, it’s peddling cheap imports with a carbon footprint the size of a small country. It’s not just bad economics; it’s environmental vandalism wrapped in a wine bottle.

🫟 Act III: Letters to the Powers That Be (Or Don’t Be, As the Case May Be)

In a fit of righteous indignation, I did what any self-respecting citizen would do: I wrote letters. Not one, but three.

✍️ To Ursula von der Leyen, President of the European Commission:

I asked her why the EU is abandoning its winemakers, why it’s allowing ecological and economic nonsense, and when Brussels will finally defend one of Europe’s oldest cultural industries. Spoiler alert: I don’t expect a reply. The EU is excellent at drafting reports and giving speeches, but action? Not so much.

✍️ To Taoiseach Micheál Martin and Trade Minister Simon Harris:

I questioned how Ireland can, in good conscience, flood its market with subpar imports while European producers drown. I reminded them of the solidarity Ireland has received from the EU and asked if it’s too much to expect a little in return. Will they reply? Probably not. But at least I’ve given them something to ignore.

🫟 Epilogue: Does It Help?

Does writing these letters help my frustration? Not really. But it does make me feel like I’ve done something—even if that something is just adding to the pile of unread correspondence in some bureaucrat’s inbox.

Perhaps the real solution is to take matters into my own hands. I could start a one-man protest, boycott bad wine, or even write a strongly worded blog post. Oh wait, I already did that.

So here’s to frustration—the fuel of the righteous, the bane of the indifferent, and the reason we all need a good glass of wine (preferably European) at the end of the day. Cheers!

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