Michael D Higgins now seems certain to become the ninth president of Ireland after his closest rival, Seán Gallagher, conceded defeat. In the end, he turned out to be the only candidate of the seven with sufficient credibility, but it was a close-run thing. This time last week, we had a glib and insubstantial Fianna Fáil hack at the top of the polls, and it was only because he allowed his mask to slip on two talk shows that the electorate realised what a mistake they were about to make in voting for him.
Michael D Higgins is not the best president we could have elected, but he was the least worrying on the list.
Poor old David Norris descended into farce as he traversed the country with a fixed grimace, screaming about James Joyce. Pity. I still gave him a vote though he hadn’t a prayer and he probably knew it, after the hatchet job done on him by certain journalists, not helped by his own posturing.
Mary Whatsit lost the election by demonstrating a complete lack of understanding about the role of president, at times straying into territory so touchy-feely ludicrous it was laughable, such as the idea of co-opting people with mental disabilities onto the Council of State. Best of luck with that, Mary. Good job you’re not in charge of our rugby team.
The country seems to hate Gay Mitchell. Everybody took a dislike to him which I thought was unfair. After all, he can’t help his shifty, rat-like appearance or his unpleasant, aggressive manner.
Martin McGuinness? Well, he never stood a realistic hope of winning, but I suspect he’ll regard this as mission accomplished. Another step towards improving the image of Sinn Féin. We all knew that when people like Anne McCabe started issuing public statements, Martin’s goose would be cooked and he knew it too.
And then there was Dana, the Grassy Knoll candidate who stunned the nation by calling in the police after getting a puncture.
All in all, we’ve had a lucky escape. Michael D won’t disgrace us, and that’s really all we could ask from this bunch.