A sincere thank you, Leo, for rescuing us from the dreariest, most boring and penniless periods of the year.
Marooned, as we were, in an endless vista of ‘Megxit’, Trump impeachment and Storm Brendan debris, you arrived with the best 2020 gift anyone could ask for – a three-week, gloves-off, no-holds-barred bout of politician bashing. Never mind that twaddle about avoiding childminder costs and saving those “people who get up early” for a day’s work, this election is perfectly timed for a collective release of national frustration upon those forelock-tugging miscreants who’ll now be pressing our doorbells at 7pm every evening.
Even today’s dreaded ‘Blue Monday’ when debt, depression and dropping temperatures render us all into caged animals snorting to ravage a hunk of red meat, you arrive offering us the choicest prime cuts – TDs in search of a Number 1.
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Honestly, Taoiseach, you spoil us. Indeed, while my neighbours hastily put up window notices declaring ‘No junk mail or politicians!’, I prefer to swim against the current and offer these pamphlet-bearing supplicants a welcoming doormat – only to then pillage them with the full fury of my pent-up frustrations on everything from their reckless salaries to yawning potholes, endless tractor-jams and the perilous state of West Clare boglands.
Politics is surely a blood sport and once only every four years do we, the pick-pocketed victims of those Leinster House artful dodgers, get the chance to exact a deserved revenge.
Take the opportunity and enjoy it – with both barrels. Maybe GB Shaw had a point in remarking: “Votes for everybody and anybody is making civilisation into a rush of Gadarene swine down a steep place into the sea” – but it’s the only game in town and we’re all players, like it or not.
If we suffer the consequences of electing public representatives suffering a constipation of ideas allied to a diarrhoea of speech, now is the time to right that wrong.
When you factor the dubious fobbing-in and dodgy mileage scams in the Dáil puzzle palace, it’s clear they’ve heeded the advice in JB Keane’s ‘Letters of a Successful TD’: “The thing is to forage between honesty and crookedness and do the best you can.”
Like any sport, these coming doorstep encounters require preparation and determination of purpose.
Gather a collection of those issues that have royally gotten your goat over the past few years, nurture them to the point of incandescent rage and await the inevitable doorbell.
Then open the door with a smile to that unexpecting TD before blowing your top in the spectacular fashion of that Philippines volcano last week.
As a therapy to cure whatever ails you, it will leave Dr Phil, Oprah and Joe Duffy in the ha’penny place.
And if you want to vent your spleen a step further, why not duplicate that famous Northside graffiti of a few years back: “Make your TD work for a change – don’t re-elect him.”
Last orders called for a Big Apple legend
An Irish hero of Old New York shuffled off this mortal coil last week, en route to that great ‘Last Orders’ pub in the sky.
Matty Maher, Kilkenny native and proprietor of McSorley’s Ale House for almost 50 years, was a much loved legend and benefactor to anyone who ever crossed his path – including yours truly on my fledgling J1 visa many moons ago.
A venerable Big Apple watering hole since 1854, the former men-only tavern on East 7th Street offered no music or television, and only two kinds of beer – but where the customer was always king. Whenever he was asked “You the owner?”, Matty would reply: “No, you are.” Legend.
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Home » Analysis & Comment » John Daly: 'I'm in mood for political blood sports'
John Daly: 'I'm in mood for political blood sports'
A sincere thank you, Leo, for rescuing us from the dreariest, most boring and penniless periods of the year.
Marooned, as we were, in an endless vista of ‘Megxit’, Trump impeachment and Storm Brendan debris, you arrived with the best 2020 gift anyone could ask for – a three-week, gloves-off, no-holds-barred bout of politician bashing. Never mind that twaddle about avoiding childminder costs and saving those “people who get up early” for a day’s work, this election is perfectly timed for a collective release of national frustration upon those forelock-tugging miscreants who’ll now be pressing our doorbells at 7pm every evening.
Even today’s dreaded ‘Blue Monday’ when debt, depression and dropping temperatures render us all into caged animals snorting to ravage a hunk of red meat, you arrive offering us the choicest prime cuts – TDs in search of a Number 1.
Please log in or register with Independent.ie for free access to this article.
Log In
New to Independent.ie? Create an account
Honestly, Taoiseach, you spoil us. Indeed, while my neighbours hastily put up window notices declaring ‘No junk mail or politicians!’, I prefer to swim against the current and offer these pamphlet-bearing supplicants a welcoming doormat – only to then pillage them with the full fury of my pent-up frustrations on everything from their reckless salaries to yawning potholes, endless tractor-jams and the perilous state of West Clare boglands.
Politics is surely a blood sport and once only every four years do we, the pick-pocketed victims of those Leinster House artful dodgers, get the chance to exact a deserved revenge.
Take the opportunity and enjoy it – with both barrels. Maybe GB Shaw had a point in remarking: “Votes for everybody and anybody is making civilisation into a rush of Gadarene swine down a steep place into the sea” – but it’s the only game in town and we’re all players, like it or not.
If we suffer the consequences of electing public representatives suffering a constipation of ideas allied to a diarrhoea of speech, now is the time to right that wrong.
When you factor the dubious fobbing-in and dodgy mileage scams in the Dáil puzzle palace, it’s clear they’ve heeded the advice in JB Keane’s ‘Letters of a Successful TD’: “The thing is to forage between honesty and crookedness and do the best you can.”
Like any sport, these coming doorstep encounters require preparation and determination of purpose.
Gather a collection of those issues that have royally gotten your goat over the past few years, nurture them to the point of incandescent rage and await the inevitable doorbell.
Then open the door with a smile to that unexpecting TD before blowing your top in the spectacular fashion of that Philippines volcano last week.
As a therapy to cure whatever ails you, it will leave Dr Phil, Oprah and Joe Duffy in the ha’penny place.
And if you want to vent your spleen a step further, why not duplicate that famous Northside graffiti of a few years back: “Make your TD work for a change – don’t re-elect him.”
Last orders called for a Big Apple legend
An Irish hero of Old New York shuffled off this mortal coil last week, en route to that great ‘Last Orders’ pub in the sky.
Matty Maher, Kilkenny native and proprietor of McSorley’s Ale House for almost 50 years, was a much loved legend and benefactor to anyone who ever crossed his path – including yours truly on my fledgling J1 visa many moons ago.
A venerable Big Apple watering hole since 1854, the former men-only tavern on East 7th Street offered no music or television, and only two kinds of beer – but where the customer was always king. Whenever he was asked “You the owner?”, Matty would reply: “No, you are.” Legend.
Source: Read Full Article