IT’S A laugh a minute here. Packed agenda. Today, following group therapy and a nice spot of flagellation, Fianna Fáil’s finest will be hectored by a team of roaring Redemptorists from Limerick before limping apologetically to the nearest broom closet to lunch on a cold collation.
They had hoped to hold their shrink-in at that great Dublin shrine to temperance, the Father Matthew Hall, but that’s closed. Instead the Soldiers of Despondency have taken themselves off to a modest hotel in Tallaght where they are bravely trying to cope with their reduced circumstances.
For the first day of their annual pre-Dáil special meeting, the party kept the sunny side out.
There was a session chaired by Barry Cowen, jauntily titled “Coping with Recession”. Speakers included a man from the St Vincent de Paul, who said things were very bad indeed, another man who talked about mortgage debt and Sr Consilio, who gave them a very illuminating talk on alcoholism.
The parliamentary party members – all 19 TDs and 14 Senators – sat in their small room boasting stunning views of the Topaz filling station and took their medicine. These bonding sessions are supposed to boost the spirit and fighting resolve of politicians before they return to the fray. After Fianna Fáil’s two day gloomfest in wind-torn Tallaght, the troops may need counselling before setting foot again in Leinster House.
“Lunch was soup and a salad sandwich. There was talk of chicken but I saw none,” said one of the participants, confiding he wished he was somewhere else.
Their meetings were held in private, but Micheál Martin briefed the media before and after the deliberations. Think upbeat. Rebirth. New beginnings. Time to hit the ground running or risk being ground under the wheels of the approaching Sinn Féin juggernaut.
The party leader appeared in the lobby flanked by his deputy, Éamon Ó Cuív, and party whip Seán Ó Fearghaíl. A celebration of youth and vitality in dark suits.
The TDs and Senators had to pay for their own lodgings, you know. The guts of €80 for bed and breakfast, so it was.
They are so few in number they couldn’t even avail of the “party packages” on offer: “Room hire, finger food, fresh cream cake, 1 bottle of champagne, free bedroom for party booker, resident DJ, €59 per room per night.” But you need 100 people to get the deal. Poor Fianna Fáil didn’t even get close.
In fairness they booked a harpist (a nice funereal touch) to play during dinner, enjoyed in the same small room where they had their breakfast, press conference and afternoon session.
The parliamentarians must be commended for their nobility and stoicism in the face of such an affront. Only last year, not to mention the many years before that, Fianna Fáil routinely booked out entire hotels so as not to be contaminated by the great unwashed and nosy journalists.
Back to the press briefing, with Micheál and his drab sidekicks competing with guests noisily checking out and squeaky luggage trollies trundling through. Leaves and litter swirled outside. A handful of Senators and a couple of TDs drifted over to the edge of the press conference for a look.
None of them, not even Terry Leyden, attempted to get into the camera shot with their leader.
Micheál wanted to highlight the “cynicism” of the current administration “and in government, we will continue to highlight that”, he said, harking back to those halcyon days in the big house, now no more.
“We are the only party in Opposition that will be providing credible alternative policies,” he added from his little corner of the lobby ideally located next door to Lidl, with its view of the windswept roundabout, the home ground of Shamrock Rovers and the flying litter.
Not long afterwards, an e-mail came a-crowing from Sinn Féin, all flushed with success after all the publicity it got from its ardfheis. Just to spike Fianna Fáil’s guns, the party is holding a pre-Dáil think-in today.
It sent notification as “the main opposition”. And where will they be thinking their deep thoughts? “Party president Gerry Adams and the team will be available to media at 11.15am in the Shelbourne Hotel.”
The Shelbourne, no less, with its Horseshoe bar and Constitution room and Hooray Henrys and hunt balls! And Fianna Fáil slumming it in a suburban hotel in Tallaght. Charlie Haughey must be spinning in his grave.
And people say The Shinners have no sense of humour.
Back at the shrink-in, it was a far cry from doormen in top hats and concierge service, where we pampered journalists were horrified at the lack of sustenance in the press room. There was a mercy dash to Lidl for supplies.
By the time Micheál returned for his afternoon wrap-up press conference – this time he was accompanied by his constituency colleague Michael McGrath – the journalists were high on cakes, biscuits and pick ’n’ mix sweets. But they still couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for the downbeat briefing, which fizzled out after a few questions.
The only matter of any great interest was what the party intended to do about the presidential election. Martin didn’t cover himself in glory on the subject over the summer break, with his ill-judged solo run over Gay Byrne.
The latest twist in this farcical saga is that David Norris is considering re-entering the race. Should he do so, he would need the help of Fianna Fáil. Best of luck to the Senator, because at the moment, Fianna Fáil is not doing a very good job of helping itself.
At the very least, given his earlier embarrassment, Micheál Martin might have been expected to have a definitive line on the issue. He didn’t. He sounded as confused as the rest of us.
Are they supporting anyone? Will TDs and Senators be free to nominate? Is there a party line? The line is that Fianna Fáil has no strategy, other than when a strategy emerges, it will be decided collectively. “I’m not speculating . . . I dunno . . . I mean, there’s a lot of speculation about candidates . . . I don’t know what David Norris’s intentions are . . .”
At dinner, there was a choice of soup or Caesar salad for starter, beef or salmon for main course and profiteroles or Bailey’s cheesecake for dessert. And wine served at all the tables. The bar was deserted, the raucous events of last year just a distant memory.
