Stand-up comedians across the UK are desperately stuffing their fists into their mouths tonight, in a politically-correct attempt to prevent themselves from making the obvious comment that springs to mind concerning the accidental torching of the Guinness plant in Dublin by inept construction workers who - perhaps, with the benefit of hindsight, unwisely - used a blowlamp on felt roofing.
As news of the inferno on the banks of the Liffey spread, millions of comedy Irishmen were left desolate and contemplating suicide - most of their ranks comprising the sub-species of English undergraduate who firmly believes that marking the holy day of St Patrick by drinking themselves inside out on watered-down treacle whilst wearing a stupid great big green hat in some way inducts them into the ranks of Brian Boru's heroic descendants.
Meanwhile, the native population of Ireland consoled themselves with plentiful supplies of the Emerald Isle's traditional tipple - namely, a few drops of chemical cider at the bottom of a glass containing most of the Ross Ice Shelf.
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