Joe Walsh deserves praise for talking so candidly on Morning Irelandyesterday about the challenges facing former ministers as they adjust to civilian life.
The task was all the greater for him, clearly, because his long Cabinet career coincided with a period of dramatic change in Ireland, from much of which his civil service minders had insulated him. His bewilderment in the face of technology that most of us take for granted was poignant. One thought of the plight of those wartime Japanese soldiers who "fought" on in the jungles of south-east Asia and emerged to surrender only in the 1970s.
It was particularly brave to admit that after decades of being chauffeured everywhere, the first thing he had to do was relearn how to drive. This must be a common experience for veteran ministers, some of whom may be forgiven for thinking that the legal speed limit during election campaigns is 90 mph. At any rate, it is to be hoped that small-minded insurance companies will not seize on Joe's admission that "roundabouts. . . were a new thing to me" as an excuse for loading ex-ministers' policies.
It is to be hoped also that people in general will not seize on the same comment as a metaphor for everything that's wrong with government planning in Ireland. Yes, this must be a tempting conclusion as you finally reach the Mad Cow entry ramp after queuing for 45 minutes. But there'll be time for thinking that when you get to the far side of the roundabout. For the moment, you should concentrate instead on the very real danger that there might be a retired minister coming the other way.
Mr Walsh painted a particularly grim picture of Dublin airport. The airport can be a challenge for the best of us, it's true. But after 20 years of priority treatment and having a duty officer to look after all details, negotiating it on your own must be like one of those nightmares where you find yourself in public without your trousers.
Again the former minister was disarmingly frank about the adjustment required. Checking flight monitors and searching for the right boarding gate or baggage carousel was a "totally new world", he confessed. "You have to actually find where the Aer Lingus desk is," Mr Walsh said, with the air of a man who thought this was as bad as it got. God love him, but as the rest of us know, it gets worse. I suppose nobody has yet had the courage to tell him about Ryanair.
It was on the subject of "high-rise car-parks", however, that the full extent of the challenge facing a veteran minister emerged. "I didn't realise that the barrier didn't lift until you pressed the button and got out a little ticket," Joe admitted. "And that when you returned, you had to encash that ticket in a machine to make the barrier lift again." No doubt it was only his West Cork dialect that made him stress both syllables of the word "ma-chine" the way he did. There must have been machines in Ireland even before Joe became a minister. But somehow that too added to the poignancy.
You'd worry what else he doesn't know about - clampers, for example. When Joe first entered government, parking your car in Dublin was a relaxed experience compared with today. To paraphrase the Two Ronnies, one yellow line meant you couldn't park at all; two lines meant you couldn't park "at all, at all". Either way, you could still chance it. The only risk was that you might have to "encash" another ticket. Now, by contrast, clampers lurk everywhere like salt-water crocodiles waiting for innocents like Joe to make a mistake.
Having relinquished his Cabinet seat two years ago, Mr Walsh is also voluntarily stepping down as a TD when the current Dáil term ends. This at least puts him in a better position than most TDs, who are currently on protective notice pending their five-yearly jobs review. The electorate is as cruel an employer as any faceless multinational: just ask the large numbers of Fine Gael TDs who were laid off in 2002, when their role as the opposition was outsourced to low-cost supplier Joe Higgins.
Backbenchers do not have nearly as much to lose as ministers, but they too are to some degree insulated from reality. Take the famous pedestrian traffic light in Kildare Street, which responds instantly when the button is pressed, to facilitate TDs and senators who need to attend votes in a hurry. Naturally, they may assume that pedestrian lights work everywhere else too. Indeed, occasionally you see TDs pressing buttons on Westmoreland Street in an attempt to "activate" the green man, and your heart goes out to them.
To some extent, career politicians are like prisoners. If they have been "in" a long time, they need help in adjusting to life in the outside world. Which is why institutions like the Seanad - much criticised as it is - are so important.
The Seanad is a cross between a back-to-work scheme and an open prison. For TDs and even ministers who lose their seats, it offers a "second chance" at Dáil employment, allowing the recipient a five-year period of reskilling in a relaxed, non-judgmental environment.
If the recipient is successful at the next general election, he can return to the Dáil, little the worse. If not, he can be eased gently back into civilian life and - one hopes - avoid the traumas faced by the former Minister for Agriculture.
fmcnally@irish-times.ie