From Irish mythology: Fionn McCool was a hunter/warrior and leader of the Fianna, a military order in the service of the High King. As a youth he burned his thumb while cooking the Salmon of Knowledge for his master, and upon sucking his thumb became all-knowing. He became leader of the Fianna after killing a fire-breathing giant, having held a red-hot spear to his forehead to keep himself awake in the face of the giant’s sleep-inducing spell….
From Irish courts this week: Two soldiers who said they suffered neck injuries after a vehicle rear-ended them while travelling at an estimated speed of 2kmh have had their €60,000 claims dismissed. The pair were in an Army SUV which was stopped at traffic lights when a car behind them accidentally rolled forward…
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The word was new to the High King of Tara.
“Com-pen-say-shun?” he said.
Fionn McCool nodded. “Yes. It’s a payment in the case of personal injury.”
The King frowned. “But you’re a soldier,” he said. “Personal injury is pretty much in the job description.”
“Oh, I know that,” said Fionn. “In the canteen we have goblets that have ‘old soldiers never die – no, sorry, they do” printed on them.”
“So why the claim?” asked the King. “This isn’t because you stuck a red-hot spear to your forehead, is it? Because that was your own idea, and to be honest we all thought it was a bit mental. You should have just tried coffee.”
“Coffee?” said Fionn.
“Oisín brought it back from Tir na Nóg,” said the King. “Smells great, but keeps you awake all night. I can’t see it catching on.”
“Whatever,” said Fionn. “Anyway, it’s not because of the red-hot spear thing.”

Fionn fighting Aillen, illustration by Beatrice Elvery in Violet Russell’s Heroes of the Dawn (1914)
“What, then?” asked the King.
“I burned my thumb,” said Fionn.
“I’m not surprised,” said the King. “The heat coming through your shield must have been savage.”
“No, not then,” said Fionn. “As you said, stuff like that comes with the job. No, I burned it on the Salmon.”
“What?” said the King. “But that was years ago.”
“There is no statute of limitations in cases of post traumatic stress disorder,” said Fionn.
The King stared at him for a few seconds.
“Ok,” he said eventually, “let’s pretend I understood that sentence and move on. Didn’t that incident actually end up pretty well for you?”
“Well, yes, I did get all the knowledge in the world,” admitted Fionn, “and one of the things I learned is that people are be entitled to compensation if they have been involved in an accident that wasn’t their fault.”
“Isn’t that what the word accident means?” asked the King.
Fionn faltered for a second, but recovered. “The fact is, I burned my thumb -”
“Little diddums,” said the King, before he could stop himself.
“- and it wasn’t my fault,” continued Fionn, glaring at him. “My master shouldn’t have left me unsupervised, so now I’m here before your court seeking redress.”
The King looked at him in sad bewilderment. “Fionn,” he said eventually. “You’re one of our heroes. You killed a giant, a fire-breathing one. You built the Giant’s Causeway. You created the Isle of Man by throwing a huge rock after a fleeing enemy. You’ll probably become a legend. Are you willing to risk looking like an idiot by crying about some paltry injury just to make money?”
Fionn smiled at him. “Trust me,” he said. “It’s the way of the future.”