ENDA AND THE EXIT

So, I was asked to write the televised address to the nation that you’ll all be watching on Sunday. Enda’s rehearsing it off the teleprompter right now. Here’s what you can expect:

What a week it has been, not just for Ireland but the world. We lost a truly historical figure. As I wrote in the book of condolences - ‘Noble savage Simba, you did not go gently into that good night for you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din’. The ‘good night’ and ‘Gunga Din’ bits are quotes from literature that I thought it statesman like to include, although I’m not sure they have books over there. Either way, Simba is gone now. Yes, Simba is gone but such is the circle of life that we not only say adieu to good things but bad things also. Tonight I can happily tell you all, all of you in your homes and on the streets of Ireland and those laying bereft in the gutter and at the bottom of remote lonely lakes, that the time has come for us to bid adieu to the bailout.

Now I know it wasn’t easy and has been quite the test, not just for you, the people of this nation, but for the Fine Gael party. Difficult and unpopular decisions had to be made but the party has gotten through this, maintaining healthy support from the populace and, you know, perhaps, just maybe, the populace itself will also make it through these times with some semblance of quality of life. Who knows? I wouldn’t count on it but stranger things have certainly happened so we can hope and what are we without hope? I will tell you what we are without hope. Without hope we are Luke Ming Flanagan and Clare Daly. Jaysus, who’d want to be either of them yokes? (chuckle gently to yourself here Enda)

(pause)

(reassume the serious expression and proceed) The important thing is that we made it. Fine Gael made it and is looking at another term in office under my stewardship. I saw us right. They doubted me, Lucinda, Leo, Coveney, all the young bucks, Bruton’s babies, but I saw us through. As would be expected of any great leader, I strode forward, I stood proud, I put my hand up and I asked mammy Merkel - ‘an bhfuil cead agam dul go dtí an markets’ and mammy said yes. Yes we can. To quote another marvellous black fella - ‘is feidir linn’. Do you member the uplifting afternoon he spent with us in Dublin? Him and Jedward and Amy Huberman. Was Amy Huberman there? She probably was. It was lovely wasn’t it? I had a lovely time myself and there’ll be more lovely times ahead too. That I guarantee. Lovely times ahead, for me certainly and perhaps even for some of you. Just sit tight and wait and see. You never know. In the heel of the hunt, whether there are lovely times ahead for you or not is neither here nor there. Small tragedies are not recorded by history but large triumphs are and the Fine Gael party has certainly triumphed. We are exiting the bailout! Do you know what that means? Do you realise the ramifications? I don’t. I admit that. But I do know that it sounds good and so did ‘is feidir linn’ and you all bought into that remember? Jesus, yeah, you did. Unbelievable. To be perfectly honest, I really thought this job would be a lot tougher than it is.

Anyway, to conclude. Personally, and on behalf of the Fine Gael party, I would like to thank you, the Irish people, the citizenry of this nation, for the support, stoicism, patience, timidity and astonishing gullibility you have exhibited over the course of this difficult period. Fine Gael (now incorporating Labour), couldn’t have pulled this off without your dutiful compliance and patriotic lassitude. Go raibh maith agaibh. 

I now return you to the usual programming. Room To Improve should be on. Do you like that? Fionnuala loves it. I rarely get the chance to see much television myself. Those state assets don't sell themselves you know.

MORE ABOUT THE BLACKS

(pictured above: ebony and a big mad ivory lad)

So I was chatting to a few of the blacks the other day. A really decent family of blacks that moved in downstairs. It was a great chat, lovely multiculturalism to be had. They seemed to be in a hurry off. They always do. The blacks must be a busy lot, or maybe it’s just this family. I realise that not all blacks are the same. Bob Marley for example would be a very different kind of black to Robert Mugabe, even though they share the same first name.

Well anyway, the chat was going grand and I was mentioning how much I respected Nelson Mandela, Billy Ocean, and Obama and all that. ‘Oh, you get some quality blacks and no mistake’, I said to the black family and they kind of smiled and nodded. ‘Just like yourselves’, I added, ‘there’s never any trouble out of you lot and I’m delighted, only delighted, that you’ve come to stay with us here in the building’. The father black (I didn’t catch his name, probably Robert, Bob or maybe Rob) frowned in concentration and stared at me like he was really listening to what I was saying, which was great because that meant we were really integrating. Ebony and ivory and all that. I actually sang a few bars of that to their little fella in the pram but he made strange with me and started crying a bit so I stopped. ‘He’ll settle in’, I reassured his parents.

I asked the blacks if they enjoyed the Christmas. Then I stopped myself and asked them, ‘actually do blacks have Christmas because when I was little my mam told me Santa didn’t go to the hot countries?’
The father black narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and said, ‘Santa doesn’t exist’.
I put my finger to my lips and indicated to the little fella in the pram. The father said nothing more on the matter and just opened the door and ushered his family outside.

‘Ebony and ivory eh?’, I shouted after them as they rushed off. ‘Living in perfect harmony’, I added and gave them the thumbs up. Then the father stopped and turned and he beckoned me over. So over I went and doesn’t he give me a right slap on the head.
Whack!
Jesus, well, I wasn’t sure what to make of that at all. ‘Ah now', I said rubbing my ear, ‘what was that about? Did I say something to offend you?’
‘No Mister Fugger’, said the father black, ‘but you have posted this kind of thing before and we are growing tired of the repetition on your blog. If you can’t think of anything to write maybe you just shouldn’t post at all.’
‘Yes’, piped up the mother black, ‘it’s no wonder you get a fraction of the hits Twenty Major used get’.
‘Twenty Major, now there was a blogger’, agreed the father and then they went on their way.
‘I’m calling the Immigration Control Platform!’ I roared after them angrily.
‘Call who you like’, the father black shouted back, ‘we moved here from Cork you stupid prick’.

Well, in conclusion, I have to say that I've no recollection of writing about the blacks BEFORE and it was a nasty slap that one gave me but at least I got a blog post out of it so I suppose the blacks aren’t all bad, even when they are from fuckin Cork.