Coping with Recession

The current Irish economic and political situation reminds me of some advice offered by Flann O'Brien during the dark days of the Emergency (World War II).

THE BROTHER has it all worked out.  

What?  

The war. How we can get through the war here in the Free State. I mean the rationing and the brown bread and all that class of thing. The brother has a plan. Begob you'll be surprised when you hear it. A very high view was taken when it was explained in the digs the other night.

What is the nature of this plan? 

It's like this. I'll tell you. We all go to bed for one week every month. Every single man, woman and child in the country. Cripples, drunks, policemen, watchmen - everybody. Nobody is allowed to be up. No newspapers, 'buses, pictures, or any other class of amusement allowed at all. And no matter who you are you must be stuck inside in the bed there. Readin' a book of course, if you like. But no getting up stakes.  

That strikes me a curious solution to difficulties in this dynamic iron age. 

D'ye see, when nobody is up, you save clothes, shoes, rubber, petrol, coal, turf, timber and everything we're short of. And food too, remember. Because tell me this - what makes you hungry? It's work that makes you hungry. Work and walking around and swallying pints and chawin' the rag at the street corner. Stop in bed an' all you'll ask for is an odd slice of bread. Or a slice of fried bread to make your hair curly, says you. If nobody's up, there's no need for anybody to do any work because everybody in the world does be workin' for everybody else. 

I see. In a year therefore you would effect a saving of twenty-five per cent in the consumption of essential commodities.  

Well now, I don't know about that, but you'd save a quarter of everything, and that would be enough to see us right.  

But why get up after a week?
The bakers, man. The bakers would have to get up to bake more bread, an if wan is up, all has to be up. Do you know why? Because damn the bit of bread your men the bakers would make for you if the rest of us were in bed. Your men couldn't bear the idea of everybody else being in bed and them working away in the bakery. The brother says we have to make allowances for poor old human nature. That's what he called it. Poor old human nature. And begob he's not far wrong. 

Very interesting. He would do well to communicate this plan to responsible Government department.

You're not far wrong there yourself. Bye-bye, here's me bus!

(from Cruiskeen Lawn, in The Irish Times, during The Emergency. Available in Flann O'Brien's "The Best of Myles"

(Transcription found here)