PRESENT TENSE:WHEN IT COMES to a good protest we're not ones for burning effigies or shooting bullets in the air or charging for the local McDonald's. We prefer the more traditional approach: wave placards, chant slogans, listen to speeches drift in the gale. We perform that usual trick of briefly making it look as if the Socialist Workers Party is the biggest party in the State and not simply its most dedicated placard-maker. Then we go back home or to work and tune in to the news to see if we can spot ourselves on the telly.

About 1,500 turned up outside Leinster House this week for a union-organised protest against “austerity measures” – part of a wider European movement – and it was, by and large, a proper, by-the-numbers protest. But it was one act, by a single protester, that hogged the attention: the driving of a cement mixer truck up to the Dáil gates.

The Irish are not good protesters. The thrum outside Leinster House must have become background noise by now. With the exception of the “grey power” march, there is a sameness about them that ensures they slip from the public mind quickly. Even the exceptional ones, such as the huge antiwar protests, were ultimately futile in altering the path of the Iraq invasion.

But if we use the Reeling in the Years 2030 test as a benchmark – what footage they will include from this year alongside a song from The Script – the mixer truck will steamroll the union protests. We’ll again see the Toxic Bank Anglo slogan in bright red; the “€1,000,000 on golf balls” and “€500K for golf” jibes on the side; and the vehicle registration number changed to “bankrupt”.

In some ways it wasn’t exactly subtle. Would it be right to damage property, even if it allows people to coin the term “Gategate”? The courts will decide if he did any damage, despite some politicians jumping to the conclusion immediately. As a stunt, though, it was a concrete success. (That’s the only such quip, I promise.) It was spectacular, creative and, in a week in which the mood was darker than Brian Lenihan’s hair, it broke the tension while representing the general discontent.

The unions could have called off the protest there and then. No number of placards was ever going to match its impact. Few could have been left unaware of it. The incident happened early on Wednesday, and it was national chatter from Morning Ireland onwards. It turned Twitter giddy with jokes, although some tweets contained wisdom along with the groans. “So you get arrested if you crash a truck into the Dáil but not if you crash the entire economy?” said one.

Coincidentally enough, Iceland did get the law involved in its investigation of its former PM, who will go to court charged with negligence, and so add to those things that inform the “what’s the difference between Ireland and Iceland” joke that has such a sting to it. But Iceland has led in other ways, and among them is the pattern of the surreal protest: taking it as far as the electorate.

You may remember that the satirical Best Party won seats in Reykjavik, promising not just more transparency but also a polar bear for the zoo, free towels at swimming pools and a Disneyland at the airport. It was a serious step up for the surreal protest, whose electoral performances are probably best represented by Britain’s Monster Raving Loony Party and its embarrassing-uncle antics.

But the surrealist attack, when propelled by a serious point, has pedigree. We remember the cows being milked outside Government Buildings. We noticed the shoes thrown at George W Bush – an attack of cultural resonance and high absurdity.

Meanwhile, there is the brilliance of counter-protesters, such as those in the US who turn up at “God hates fags” protests with their own placards (as banal as “God hates signs”, but you have to see them in context to truly get the fun of it).

The surreal protest has value because it is inventive, entertaining, funny, memorable, satirical and savage. It can be occasionally cruel (the video of a Corkman literally dancing on Charles Haughey’s grave will not appeal to even the broadest tastes), but it can puncture pomposity, cheer everyone up while also getting to a truth.

And should running for election on a joke ticket be treated as merely a frivolous diversion, or should it be given more respect? It’s as legitimate to make ridiculous and fantastical promises that are not intended to be believed as it is to make serious ones that will never be kept.