HARRY McGEE on the canvass with Mairéad McGuinness:The favourite to top the poll is a slick operator well versed in the ways of political survival
A GROUP of about 30 pensioners have gathered in the community hall in Dunshaughlin, Co Meath, for a matinee performance of Alan Bennett's play The Lady of Letters.
There’s an extra bonus for the good-humoured pensioners. An unscheduled warm-up act has arrived to perform an act that we’ll call “The Lady of Lettuce”. It doesn’t last too long, about 10 minutes.
But it is an impressive song-and-dance routine. The costume is immaculate. The choreography is perfect. And as for the delivery? As polished as Micheál MacLíammóir in all his pomp and glory.
Roughly about half the people that Mairéad McGuinness meets while canvassing tell her that they know her from television. They might as well add that they know her from vaudeville, cabaret, and grand opera. For in that strange feather-fluffing vote-mating ritual that politicians have to undergo every five years, she is undoubtedly the bill-topper.
The sitting MEP – and former TV celebrity and agriculture journalist – adjusts, hones and tailors her performance according to whoever she meets. She effortlessly flits from polite to raucous, from deferential to flirtatious. She looks the part too, a neat muted brown-green outfit set-off by a raffish pink scarf and bold designer specs.
Two hours spent in her company give ample evidence of that strange melding of spontaneity and discipline, celeb and politician, which have conspired to make her the favourite to top the poll in the East constituency.
This canvass mainly centres around Dunshaughlin, which has become a satellite commuter town for Dublin. She is accompanied by her own tight team and local canvassers including the big-hearted and big-framed (the latter detail will become important momentarily) Meath East TD Shane McEntee.
Inside the community hall, a local man, Paddy Power, well clued in to the political scene, asks her to outline her policies. She gives a smooth introduction to Fine Gael’s membership of the European People’s Party. “We do make a difference. It might sound cumbersome.”
Every time she is complemented on her appearance her standard reply is: “Years of practice and self-denial. You should try it. Many of the conversations, as you’d expect, revolve around farming. It all seems like plain sailing.
But then, unexpectedly, she hits choppy water. She goes over to a man sitting into a car to say hello. It later emerges that he was once a stalwart of the local Dunshaughlin football team. He complains loudly about politicians taking money off the people. At this stage, McEntee steps in.
“You know who took it off you. It was Fianna Fáil,” he interjects.
The man goes ballistic. Within a second, he’s out of his car, shouting: “It was the whole lot of youz! The only time youz agree with one another is when ye are getting a f*****g pay rise!”
At this stage McEntee, a former club footballer from a nearby parish, has stepped fully into the breach. Shapes are being thrown that suggest a rerun of ancient GAA hostilities between Nobber and Dunshaughlin. But the moment passes.