Let’s have a party


The hunt is on.  If the south is to be saved from itself, a new political party must found. You don’t have to be all that big, at least not at first.  But you do have to be right, or if you want a fig-leaf, right-of-centre. Fine Gael and Fianna Fail, despite the mass anger of the population which is putting the fear of God into them, are hoping against hope they’ll get enough seats  so that, should the worst comes to the worst,  with the rag-ends of Labour they can cobble together a government. But on present figures, not even FF+ FG + Labour = a government.  There is a mood out  there that will chomp deep into Fine Gael’s numbers, then chew up and spit out the Labour party. Meanwhile Fianna Fail for the next twelve months will be lighting holy candles in the hope that Micheal Martin’s boy-next-door manner will make the electorate’s memory go all whoozy and forget that Fianna Fail were the guys who let off the financial stink-bomb in the first place.  But not even novenas to St Anthony will help. Never again  glad confident morning for Fianna Fail.  Which is why the media pundits have sent out the call, the horns have sounded, the horses are poised to gallop out in search of that new party.

But but but, you say. You haven’t mentioned Sinn Féin. Don’t polls suggest they’re the biggest party in the southern statel?

OK. I can see I’m going to have to speak very slowly. Read.  Today’s. Editorial. In the Sindo. Headed ‘Can the centre hold against Sinn Féin?’,  it compares that party to a pack of  wild wolves which, as you’ll remember from poetry class at school,  descended on the helpless fold. The “conventional parties”, the Sindo says, must be “far more seductive in how they deal with the electorate”.

So why won’t the centre won’t hold against the Shinners? Well the Sindo speak of the “chilling” sight of Mary Lou McDonald “turning the floor of the Dail into a kangaroo court”. Imagine talking about  shady Ansbacher dealings by government ministers back in the day – you wouldn’t get ‘conventional parties’ at the likes of that. Enda and Micheal are noted for their refusal to invoke the past when a Sinn Féin TD asks a question. Or to make allegations without evidence.

But the ‘conventional parties’ , the editorial says, must start ‘seducing’ the electorate. If they don’t,   the south will find that “the political ethics of Sinn Féin’s Stalingrad of West Belfast are transported south of the Border”. (Yes, Virginia, that is a big B.) The editorial ends by warning  voters that they have “responsibilities as well as rights”, and warns ‘conventional parties  that “straight talking”  (as well as seduction) is called for.  That,  it concludes, “will serve us far better the the current Sinn Féin-led meme of maudlin self-pity.” (What’s a  ‘meme’, Victoria ? Pass.)

But whatever it means, the Sindo would prefer not just any of the existing parties to Sinn Féin, it’d prefer a party  not yet in existence to Sinn Féin. Because these are desperate times.  If the southern electorate don’t shape up and vote right, the Sin Féin tide will rise past their windpipe and they’ll die choking on memes.

Come out, come out, meme-free New Party, wherever you are. Ireland expects.

7 Responses to Let’s have a party

  1. Cal December 7, 2014 at 2:03 pm #

    At some point some bright spark at the indo is going to realise that the paper’s continual bashing of SF is actually counter productive.

  2. Pointis December 7, 2014 at 3:05 pm #

    Every time I read about the Sindo’s anti-Sinn Fein / McCarthyite rhetoric I can’t help thinking about Nero on his fiddle!

  3. Iolar December 7, 2014 at 3:36 pm #

    Recent history

    The “Gang of Four”, Jenkins, Owen, Rodgers and Williams were given a mandate by the electorate to represent the Labour Party and then decided to form the Social Democratic Party in 1981. The Progressive Democrats/An Páirtí Daonlathach was launched in Ireland in 1985 by politicians who had split from Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael. The party was dissolved in 2009 yet Ms Harney and Mr Grealish continued to support the government as Independents?

    Mark Reckless resigned as a sitting M.P. from the Conservative Party to join the United Kingdom Independence Party. He sought and obtained a political mandate from constituents in the Rochester – Strood by election in November 2014.

    The validity of a political mandate becomes an issue for scrutiny if an individual elected on a specific manifesto decides to travel in an alternative political direction. These are issues for the electorate. Who has decided there is a need for another political party? The electorate has not spoken, yet. It is clear that the vast majority of citizens will no longer tolerate austerity policies, stealth taxes, evictions, homelessness and food banks.

  4. Perkin Warbeck December 7, 2014 at 4:28 pm #


    That’s a good one alright, Esteemed Blogmeister. Someone in the Sunday Independent Cult has obviously been boning up on ‘The Selfish Gene’ by Richard Dawkins, lui meme, who coined the word which means ‘to imitate’.

    Oddly enough, apart from Gene Kerrigan that anomaly in SIC, nobody does ‘imitation’ better than the mentally tatooed membership of the Cult. Not least when it comes to ideas which are Telegraphed across the water in a westerly direction.

    Perkie must confess he hadn’t got as far as the editorial where the meme word appears as he was already in stitches, to say nothing of what was happening in his britches, after glimpsing what must surely be the prime candidate for hilarious headline of the year: ‘Let’s give up Hate for Christmas’.

    By none other than that stand-up comedienne supreme herself, Babe Ruth. Yes, she who keeps a metaphorical baseball bat behind her back while on stage, the better to hit her sit-down audience unexpectedly over the head with her fun-liners. Sophisticated she who makes Jo Brand seem like a po-faced upturner of pitiful potty-humour.

    Indeed, before Perkie’s inner Miriam Webster went thumbing through what Jo Brand calls her ‘dick-tionary’, one assumed it was some kind of contraction for a particular Mayo woman of the year in the middle part of the last century, one, Mamie Cadden, back street abortionist.

    For those of us sufficiently wrinkled of skin and zimmered of frame Nurse Cadden, who was sentenced to go hang in the Scaffold Suite of the Mountjoy Sheraton, was a synonym for the e word: evil. In fact, though usually referred to as such, Mamie C was not actually a back-street abortionist but rather a side-street one. On Hume Street (no relation) which runs off Stephen’s Green in Dublin 2.

    To give those not lucky enough to live through the Fabulous Fifties (when popular music was at its most sublime, combining as it did the last great pages of the Great American song book, the birth of rock and roll, Bridie balladry, the comet like existence of calypso and skiffle and the apex of c and w which is now x-rated) to give an idea of just how low in the general scheme of things the reputation of Mamie C was, think, well, no better not.

    Rather, think of the general meme of things nowadays and you just begin to get the picture.

    You mention, Esteemed Blogmeister, the ‘boy next door manner of Micheal Martin’. Funny thing, but Mamie Cadden’s next door neighbour on Hume Street was the HQ of the Fine Gael Party. It is best left to Perkie’s last remaining discerning reader to decide which house number – 15 or 17 – most lowered the tone of this toney street in the mid 50s.

    Hard to avoid Mayo Persons of the Year these days. It is a measure of just how far the Free Southern Stateen has sophisticated up since those mediaeval days of the mid Fifites that the FSS of the Year Award was presented to, by none other than Stephen Fry from Panegyric Inc across the water, to – roll of bums, please and no hissing in the pits, pulease ! – Ms. Panti Bliss itself (?) !!!

    Ms. PB, of course, was born Rory O’Neill (and not Rory O’Moore as some Neanderthals have suggested) in the County of Mayo. And it is a long and curvaceous road he has travelled from there in the intervening years. All of which he chronicled in her autobiography. The name of which escapres Perkie at the moment though it could well be ‘The Shellfish Gene’,lui meme..

    Mayo, of course, is the county which spawned the song (popular in the Fifties !) called ‘The Boys of the County Mayo’ the key chorus line of which comes out as: ‘So, boys cling together/In all kinds of weather’ . This is the line which the Prime Minister of the Free Southern Stateen obviously learned by h. as a schoolboy, and took to h. too if one is to judge (one is, one is! as sure as kangaoos offspring are called Joeys, even if they happen to be Josephines) by his unepected dropping by at the Panti Bliss bar in Capel Street.

    Fine Gael Spin Doctors’ prescription to keep the party’s Enda up in the equality shuffle.

    Which had one Una Mullally of The Unionist Times doffing her duncher in admiration. She even went so far as to quote the highest moral authority in the land, one Fintan Caraountoole approvingly when the latter day saint pronounced the homily delivered by Miss Panti Bliss himself from the stage of the world-famous hissy-fit up Abbey Theatre itself earlier this year of our Lord, 2014, as – wait for it – ‘the most eloquent Irish speech since Daniel O’Connell was in his prime’.

    The most e. speech of DOC was not actually mentioned but Fine Gael y’are Fintan might well have had a specific one gentle on his mind, the speech delivered by the Uncrowned King of the Beggars/ The Beggar of Kings when the Crowned King of the UK arrived in Howth in 1821.

    The Head of State in the UK was actually on his ear and and as legless as your average Leicester wyvern on disembarkation at Howth harbour into the warm, welcoming and huggy bear-like embrace of Dan the Man: ‘Yerra, howareoohoorinoohooroo and sorra to hear about oor missus and all dat shtuffeen but yerra, we’ll shoon see to it ye’re as right as de rain dat do be fallin on dish part of your ghrand kingdom, yer honor’ and so in so and on in Jackie HealyR-speak to George R.

    And in truth for King George !V was in double mourning, for the death of his wife and first cousin, the previous week. That would have been the rather (gulp) coarse and vulgar Queen Caroline. Georgie Porgie soon perked up on being told a brand new, straigth as a die road had been hastily constructed by the peasantry of Royal Meath to his latest lady love’s bedchamber, Elizabeth, Lady Coynhgham, the chateleine of Slane Castle on the banks of Boyne Water.

    The dipsomaniacal monarch was christened by total immesion in the same water as ‘The Bottle of the Boyne’, a historical fact which one hopes will not curry too many cartons of Crooked Mouth’s favourite yoghurt.

    Of course, the adjectives ‘course and vulgar’ would not have sat easily upon the elegant figure of the Lady Liz, no more than they would have sat upon the sophistiated form of her descendant and current incumbent in the modest pile on the plains of Meath. That would be Henry Mountcharles, lui meme, rock promoter and rock-solid member of Fine Gael.

    To conclude this little detour from swerve of shore and bend of bay back to Capel Street. Which was the birthstreet of those next door neighbors, Sean Lemass and Darby O’Gill, aka Jimmy O Dea. The Fianna Failures do seem to have a thing about next door neighbourlliness

    While Darby O’Gill of course became proficient in the lingua franca of the leprehcaun, alas the future Prime Minister of the FSS never quite got past the cupla fuckle at the bottom line of his letters: Mise, Lemass.

    • Jude Collins December 7, 2014 at 4:40 pm #

      Revered Perkie – I assure you, you have more than one reader. Your name is on the lips of every reader of my blogs that I encounter in the flesh (it only sounds naughty). Today, my Top of Verbal Twists is “The Head of State in the UK was actually on his ear and and as legless as your average Leicester wyvern on disembarkation at Howth harbour into the warm, welcoming and huggy bear-like embrace of Dan the Man: ‘Yerra, howareoohoorinoohooroo and sorra to hear about oor missus and all dat shtuffeen but yerra, we’ll shoon see to it ye’re as right as de rain dat do be fallin on dish part of your ghrand kingdom, yer honor’ and so in so and on in Jackie HealyR-speak to George R.” How DO you do it? We indeed are not worthy…

  5. Perkin Warbeck December 7, 2014 at 5:29 pm #

    GRMA, Esteemed Blogmeister.

    But all praise to one’s teacher of the Q’s English who done a good job.

    PS One suspects there was more to that clingy cead mile failte by cute hoor Yerra man, The Gliberator, not to mention the ‘alleged’ drunkeness of Incapability George.

    While Dan O’ was probably checking the monarch’s royal robes for the concealed bodkin (a daarlin’ word, Joxer, a daarlin’word) no doubt Georgie Porgy was sussing the pockets of his host’s velvet-collared surtout for the presence of a fairly lethal brass barrel, smooth bore flintlock pistol.

    Contrary to what that smooth bore St. Fintan would have us believe, though Daniel the Deliverer was indeed a dab hand at whacking Kerry cows across the arse with his boyhood banjo, in later life, if the truthiness would but out, he was not all about Duelling Banjos.

    Time to disinter D’Esterre, perhaps?.

  6. Ruaidri Ua Conchobai December 8, 2014 at 5:53 pm #

    How about an Alcohol Party – we Irish don’t do Tea Party’s 🙂

    You keep per-kin us up – Jude is 100% correct in his above observatin 🙂