SO there I was, sunk in the leather, thinking of this and that, while Blenkinsop, the old club servant, lingered in a shadow in that obedient way he has, when who should totter in but Montmorency, whimpering for beakers of ambrosia.
Before he collapsed in a heap, his face in his hands, I noticed, rather sharply, I thought, because I'm never at my best much before sunset, that he looked unwell. "You look wan, old fellow," I said, for wan just about summed it up. He said nothing but raised his face still wan, I noticed from his hands and clicked his fingers impatiently at Blenkinsop, who was sailing with purposeful majesty towards him, bearing the restorer of the old tissues.
Still Wan
Monty took the drink and drained it to its lees, inhaled deeply, and again sank his f. in his h. After a while, he turned the old phys towards me. Still wan, I noticed. I lined up a crack about wan of those days, but when I saw his eye, and the dangerous glint within, I thought better of it. Monty can be a bit of a handful when riled.
"What is it, old fellow? Anything a chum can do?" "No," he told the carpet and was silent for a while before he muttered. "You clearly haven't heard the news." "News? What news?" "There is," he said in a low voice, and enunciating each word with great care, "to be another government tribunal". I lofted my drink clear out the crystal glass, hitting Blenkinsop neatly in the eye.
Tribunitis
"A what?" I whispered. "A tribunal. Another tribunal." "I thought we were done with tribunals," I said hollowly. "No more tribunats. That was the deal. No more tribunals." "Who said that there were to be no more tribunals? Who actually promised it? Nobody that's who. So we've got another tribunal." "In a good cause," I whispered to nobody in particular.
"Of course. That's the damnable thing about the wretched things. They're always in a good cause. That's why nobody has the nerve to say, Stop. That's why this poor unfortunate land is afflicted with tribunitis. Piety. I blame piety, the Catholic conscience and all that." "Another tribunal. I'm emigrating." "Where to?" I thought about that for a bit. "You have a point," I conceded.
Floored
"Another tribunal. I don't think I can take it. I really don't." "I know." Blenkinsop arrived with a replacement drink for me. "Have you heard the news, Blenkinsop?" I asked.
"News, sir? What news?" "Did you not hear Monty here with his tidings?" "I am not in the habit of eavesdropping upon the conversations of club members, sir. In certain circles the practice is rather severely discountenanced." "No doubt. Would you care to sit before I think not, sir. Club rules "Quite, quite. Well, the truth of the matter, Blenkinsop old fellow are you standing comfortably?" "Perfectly sir."
Is that we're about to have another tribunal. Catch him, Monty!" Too late. Blenkinsop keeled over like one of those Californian redwoods, and hit the floor with a bang which dislodged the painting of the Fourteenth Duke of Leinster from its moorings.
"Missed," said Monty without remorse.
"Yes, you did rather." "Had other things on my mind. Such as this tribunal." "What's it about, this tribunal of yours?" "It is a tribunal of ours," he said with some asperity. "Its task will be to find out why every time this State fails to do its job properly, it calls a tribunal. It's an amazing thing. The State doesn't ever manage to arrange criminal proceedings against major wrong doers, but is an absolute whizz at convening tribunals."
"I see. Let me get this straight. This isn't a tribunal of the ordinary sort. This will be a tribunal of tribunals, is that right?" "Sort of. It'll look into why it is that whenever anyone in power blunders, or is corrupt, or is stupid, or lies, there isn't a criminal investigation, with an examining magistrate, as there would be in France, with people going to jail and so on, but there is instead an attack of RTS." "RTS? Don't tell me. Scottish television.
Symptomatic Itch
Monty looked at me in that way he has. "Repetitive Tribunal Syndrome. Its primary symptom is an overwhelming itch on the part of the Government to distribute millions to the legal profession." "The poor dears." "Quite. And after each attack of RTS, everyone promises never to have another tribunal again." "As I do with booze each morning." "Precisely," said Monty. There was a groan from the floor and Blenkinsop began to rise.
"And then somebody in public life does something wrong again, and TDs get cross and start shouting at one another. All very self righteous," Monty continued dolefully. "Instead of heads rolling, the Government announces, Another Tribunal." At the sound of those words, Blenkinsop fainted again, and there was the sound of a clunk as his head hit the floor. The Duke of Ormonde fell off his perch with a clatter.
Decline in Drinkers
"I think I'll join Blenkinsop," said Monty, and after briefly reciting the Open Sesame of unconsciousness, "Another Tribunal," promptly fainted.
That's another thing about tribunals. Always leaving a fellow with no one to drink with. Wonder why that is? Perhaps the Government should announce a tribunal into why a tribunal about tribunals causes a chap to drink alone. But it never, ever, causes anyone to go to jail.
Odd, that.