It always gives one a warm glow to consider how the best minds in Ireland have moved to a place literally hours away from Dublin
“THE ELECTION is on its way” quivered Enda, nose a-twitch.
“I can certainly smell it!” So just what does an election smell like? The Eau de Poll? Strong perfume – not the cheap stuff. A faint whiff of porter. Lightly fried onions, petrol fumes and dust.
Those were the most discernible top notes from the fragrance of power wafting down Glenties’ Main Street last night. (At least to Enda Kenny, who apparently possesses the olfactory powers of a bloodhound.) So that’s the aroma of impending election if you happen to be a member of Fine Gael. Nicer still if you come from Labour, where everything is smelling of roses at the moment.
Sadly, we hear the whiff is rather more agricultural in the vicinity of Fianna Fáilers, where very many deputies are very worried about losing their seats.
The Fine Gael leader was in Donegal to speak at the MacGill Summer School. “I am going to spell out Fine Gael’s vision” announced Kenny, jutting out his jaw and trying to look masterful.
He could spell it out all he liked, but the media wanted chapter and verse on the Lucinda controversy. What is she at? How does he feel about her publicly undermining the party and his leadership? What is he going to do about it? Enda went into statesman mode. He was, of course, disappointed. Lucinda had done a “disservice” to all the supporters of the party around the country and some of her assertions are “naive in the extreme.” But while he may think it privately, he wasn’t going to label her “The Execrable Creighton” in public and certainly wasn’t going to say anything which might allow his volatile deputy for Dublin South East fall into the bracket of martyr.
No he talked about his party’s attitude to fundraising and corporate contributions.
“The Fine Gael party has no truck with rogue builders, with hooky characters or shady characters. We have no dealings with brown envelopes, influence-buying or dig-outs. The Fine Gael party is absolutely above board in all its financial dealings” stressed Enda.
And no, he’s not giving the money back? Why did Enda’s Eau de Poll smell the way it did – (strong, expensive, hint of drink, bit of grub)? It was the smell of the Fine Gael faithful in South Donegal and they turned out in force to welcome their leader.
When he entered the hall in the Highlands Hotel, they gave him a rousing welcome.
Even Leo Varadkar stayed in town to see him – he’s gone from Leo the reluctant rebel to Leo the loyalist.
And then the speeches began again. Green Minister Eamon Ryan was also on the platform. It was very hot. It’s heavy going during MacGill week.
The academics are quoting the economists quoting the jurists quoting the strategists quoting the politicians quoting the journalists who are wearily quoting the choicest gobbets from the latest session of the Patrick MacGill Summer School.
The retired public servants are rehearsing in their minds the weighty contributions they will soon deliver from the body of the hall.
Do you know what the problem is with our political system? They do. Do you know what is wrong with the Dáil and Seanad Eireann? They do. Do you know what is best for you? They do.
Why, oh why, does nobody ever listen? Which is why they must return to Donegal year after year to tell us where we have gone wrong.
Still, it’s always gives one a warm glow when somebody declares to the smiling throng that “the intelligentsia” is on tour and everyone is talking about how the best minds in the country have moved en masse to a far-flung little corner of Ireland that’s literally hours away from Dublin, but they make the effort in the national interest.
This year’s gathering came to the conclusion early on that our national parliament is nothing more than a talking shop. And a bad one at that. Some of the people in it don’t have as much as a PhD. Some of them keep greyhounds, for heaven’s sake . . .
And before long you begin to imagine you are chained to a radiator in Glenties, head throbbing, fevered of brow, wondering if you will ever be rescued; wondering if you still have that sniper’s number stored in your phone and if he might pop over now to the Highlands Hotel and shoot the man at the podium with a horse tranquilliser.
Failing that, the only way to end the torture is to hope the speaker eventually suffocates in the fog of his own self-satisfaction. A letter from one of the attendees at this year’s summer school landed at our table yesterday evening.
Here’s a flavour: “I had hoped that MacGill would offer a way forward with a bit of vision, but most of the speakers appear eager to give us glossy representations of what caused this mess. Most of us know!” She continues: “I am dismayed at how old everyone is who is attending. I include myself in this (62) . . . Those attending, in my view, are comfortable, middle-class pensioners! A large contingent appear to be former senior civil servants who . . . love to tell us how important they were/are.
“I was also dismayed to discover that MacGill organisers distribute approximately 80 tickets to councillors around the country and I expect these are some of the old bores who like to take the microphones as well as their expenses!”
Ouch! But not too wide of the mark.
Of course, we are being too harsh.
For who can forget Pat Rabbitte in his baby pink shirt, vying with economist Colm McCarthy for the best one-liners? Or former education minister Gemma Hussey bemoaning the very heavy workload ministers are forced to endure.
“I’m lucky I was not one of those people that got sick in a car and could get a bit of work done going over the Sally Gap” she said.
There was barely a good word from anybody about the Seanad. Colm McCarthy being a case in point: “the amount of time that ministers have to spend traipsing across to listen to windbag senators . . . ”
Mary O’Rourke, recalling her first foray into politics as a county councillor: “I wanted to be noisy and talkative and bothersome – not in the Lucinda Creighton style, you understand . . . and up I stood, and d’ya know, I haven’t stopped talking since.” And her refusal to conform to ageist stereotyping: “I don’t know what ‘put your feet up dear” means.” Supreme Court judge Adrian Hardiman drawing on the wisdom of that great legal mind, Marge Simpson.
Senior Counsel McDowell embracing the sash and the glorious Twelfth.
All the Fianna Fáil heavyweights passionately speaking about the need for parliamentary reform and inclusion while simultaneously trying to wriggle out of holding the Donegal, Waterford and Dublin South byelections.
Pat Carey, Minister for Community, Equality and Gealtacht Affairs and former chief whip, was particularly good on the issue of reform.
Everyone complaining about the fact that nobody is calling the auditors to account.
There were regular outings for Bertie Ahern’s assessment of the influence of Lehman Brothers Bank – “they had testicles everywhere.” In fairness, the earnest and interested crowd – many of them regulars going back years – are entitled to their holiday of the mind. They love it.
“I think we’ve had a really rich feast of interventions there!” chirruped one session chairman after a particularly boring question and answer session.
The CEO of Bord na Móna, Gabriel D’Arcy, was one of the panel of speakers last night. He got into the swing of things with great gusto, calling for “new politics, overarching vision and greater national alignment.” Here’s a quote which would have the academics swooning with envy. Mr D’Arcy spoke of the huge opportunity awaiting Ireland. “However we are not going to achieve that until we get some kind of overarching Vision, a collective overarching Vision,” he said.
Sure that would make you go blind.