Emissions/Kilian Doyle:I'm guessing there's many a pale face around the Cabinet table this week. Those pesky European Commission busybodies have really done it this time.
That limit of 130 grams of carbon dioxide per kilometre for new cars will have them in conniptions. What are they to be driven around in? Hatchbacks? The horror.
Then again, they mightn't give a puff. Most are resigned to the fact that by the time the EC directive comes into law in 2012 their ministerial careers will, like their own emissions, have gone up in smoke. That said, some might still harbour ambitions to be the Boss some day. For their sakes, I have devised a cunning plan.
Ministers love their cars. Some, like Micheál Martin and Éamon Ó Cuiv, love them so much they regularly spend the equivalent of over 200 hours a month in them. How they manage to run the country so competently is beyond me.
The point is, they not only love their cars, but they love them big. The bigger the better.
And with bigger cars, come bigger emissions. Some retch as much gunk into the air as Chinese steel mills. By my rough calculations, Ó Cuiv's Volvo, which has carried him around 300,000 kilometres, emitting 252 grams of CO2 for each and every one of them, has coughed out over 75 tonnes of the stuff. Which, to translate for the non-mathematicians amongst you, is a lot.
You may imagine my proposal is that they see logic and take the hybrid route. But no.
It is far more cunning than that. My plan revolves around the invention of a device that would capture the exhaust fumes and deoxygenise the nasty CO2. The precious oxygen could then be released into the atmosphere where it's needed, leaving behind it a pile of raw, malleable carbon.
Sculptors can then be brought in to turn the leftover deposits into life-size dummies - no pun intended - of our 15 fabulous ministers. Going by Ó Cuiv's example, there will be so much of the stuff that dozens upon dozens of ministerial mannequins could be churned out.
A dirty, unpleasant job, of that there is no doubt. Still, the knowledge that they are helping the model citizens upon whom their creations are based will surely be reward enough for the sculptors. If they protest, they can be brought out the back and deoxygenised themselves, if you catch my drift.
Each statue could be fitted with a loudspeaker for ranting, an earpiece (permanently turned off) for pretending to listen to the Plain People of Ireland and a mechanical hand for back-slapping, cutting ribbons and sod-turning. Fake rubber lips for kissing babies might be considered, but only in certain cases. It's an empirical fact that most Irish politicians have faces only a blind mother could love.
Then one of these carbon copies could be placed in every town and village on the respective minister's patch. (A few non-specific, faceless minister-shaped ones can be kept aside for use in those situations where any old minister will do.)
Once the carbon copies are safely installed, ministers would benefit hugely from the increased visibility afforded by their seemingly miraculous feats of bi- and tri- and ad infinitum-location. Not only that, but they wouldn't have to spend their lives being driven around and their cars would spout out less emissions. Told you it was cunning.
Naturally, there is a downside - the public would soon realise the ersatz ministers all had hearts of stone and feet of clay. Which, obviously, couldn't be further from reality.
(While we're on the subject, can someone answer me this - if the Greens find themselves in government after the next election, what'll their ministers do about transport? Surely they can't just hop into a dirty big Merc, its vast expanses of leather still warm from their predecessor's posterior? Will they put their money where their mouths are and opt instead for ministerial tandems, with a Garda cyclist doing the heavy work at the front as they run the country while perched on the rear? That, it goes without saying, I'd like to see.)