After four days of craziness, it’s time to get this thing rolling again. There will be more craziness, as befitting the circumstances, but a little further below the horizon.
And what’s been going on in the wide world while we were all away grieving the loss of our friend? Why, craziness, of course!
There’s Bertie Ahern, for instance, announcing to the Polish media that he wants to run for President. It seems he has a lot of time on his hands these days, and a lot of time to think — which must be a new experience for Bert . But what’s this about having a lot of spare time? Last time I checked, he was a full-time member of parliament, paid a full-time wage to do a full-time job. Has Bertie inadvertently let slip the secret we all knew — that these TDs are sitting around scratching their arses most of the time?
What else? Well, we now discover that Yehudi Lenihan was quietly slipping a few billion to Anglo’s bondholders while telling us how awful the condition of the country is. And we find that the amount of money to be saved annually is now €15 billion, instead of the €7.5 billion Yehudi quoted. Why? Because they got their guesswork wrong. Lovely.
David Drumm, meanwhile, off over there in the United States, is filing for bankruptcy, and has to value all his assets. How much does the little Drummer boy reckon his dog is worth?
A dollar. That’s how much.
Or to put it another way, a dollar more than he values the lives of the people who have been ruined by his jiggery-pokery at Anglo.
I look forward to seeing an extradition application for Davey-Boy to come here and explain himself, preferably wearing an orange Baby-gro.
Meanwhile Mary Harridan had a bottle of red paint thrown at her by some Shinner woman, who should have a little insight into what it means to have blood on your hands. But at least it gave us the wonderful picture of Mary, the grimmest of reapers, digging a hole while covered in red gore while wearing an unfortunate Morticia-style dress, though clearly not worn with the same panache as Mrs Addams. The gloom without the style.
At a more local, and some would say parochial, level, we had the unedifying spectacle of a Limerick city councillor snarling at the visitors’ gallery, It’s our democracy, not your democracy. I thought such an utterance from the this long-standing member was revealing of the sense of entitlement that pervades all elected representatives in this country. In its own, mean-spirited, parish-pump way, it echoes the arrogance and hubris of the ministers in their Mercs. The Gimme-People.
Extraordinarily, I imagine this city councillor would be quite unaware of anything wrong with his statement.
L’État c’est moi, he might say, though I doubt many of these buffoons would be familiar with the term. But it’s what he meant in his own small — very small — way.
It’s time to regroup in every sense and resume the fight against the forces of boredom, the ethics-free gobshites like Ahern and the imagination-free ideologues like Harridan.
I was chatting with a member of a well-known local band outside a popular hostelry the other night, and I asked him if they were going to play next Sunday’s Gaza gig, despite the loss of their gifted guitarist.
Time to get back up on the horse, he replied.
Indeed. Precisely so, my friend.