It had to come. With more people going to Myrtleville for a daily swim than you’d see at some inter-county matches, the hawkers were bound to turn up. “Hats, flags, scarves and headbands!! Quality here!! Last few choc ices!!”. We’re all used to it in Thurles etc., it was only a matter of time before they followed the crowds. They’re fierce adaptable too, the hawkers. They suss out the market and have the right gear to sell.
Casual traders, as they’re officially known. Under the Casual Trading Act 1995, a casual trading licence is a requirement to sell goods on the public road. It is an offence under this Act to trade without a valid casual trading licence.
Can ye see it? The loophole? The giant gap that Del Girl Staunton has leapt through? “…..public ROAD”. “Oh no, Guard, of course we’re not selling goods on the road. We’re on the beach.” “T-SHIRTS!!! GET YER T-SHIRTS!!! QUALITY HERE!!”
FFS, you can’t get down the steps without either being accosted about which colour you want, or having to wait for another photo-shoot of victims making the most of their purchases – or at least checking that what’s in the bag is what they wanted. Don’t be thinking you can bring it back if it’s wrong. As John Sullivan sang in the OFAH theme, “No income tax, no VAT, no money back, no guarantee.”
Some poor fellas thought they were getting their normal sizing (XXL) but wound up showing off their curves a bit more than expected, like. I mean, there’s no way this is XXL, is there? Definitely counterfeit size tagging going on here. (Note: image obfuscated to protect the identity of the victim, who is liaising with Gardai. Also, to hide the fact that it’s Bernard).
Don’t be encouraging this activity at the beach. Down with the hawkers. Watch what you buy! (Is my ink blue one ready, by the way, Siobhan?).