The first thing to understand about Ireland’s most famous criminal, Gerry Hutch, is that ancestrally, he is a Cute Cork Culchie, though the final five letters are usually shortened to –nt. He might occasionally sleep in Summerhill with a Kalashnikov under his mattress and a line of little shrunken skulls might festoon his doorway, but secretly he breakfasts on drisheen and takes unarmed combat lessons from Roy Keane’s famous shinbone-shattering right-foot.
Simply, there were no Hutches in Dublin in the 1911 census. They were all in Cork. Being a CCC, he knows that the last thing the people of North Central Dublin want is the sanctimonious promises being given by the main political parties to build enough houses to accommodate all of Mogadishu, not least because all of Mogadishu will surely follow, leaving the people of Summerhill worse off than they were before the ghastly Celtic McTiger was born.
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