Minister gets shirty; Russians wouldn't bat an eyelid; what about Alan and Garret?; praise for Dáil Chambers; Ring used his loaf; testicles everywhere; Hanafin's cup of tea; no cold turkey; good eggs, bad eggs and eggheads
“NAME THE Minister!” The cry went up from Fianna Fáil backbenchers, but the injured party refused to identify the bad-mannered cabinet minister who treated him like a member of the lower orders in the presence of nobility.
“Name him!” they insisted.
But MJ Nolan demurred, and for the rest of the week, deputies and senators have been speculating on who it might be.
The message after Fianna Fáil’s parliamentary party meeting on Wednesday was that everyone kissed and made up. No blood on the floor counts as constructive and cordial in FF’s book these day.
It wasn’t just Brian Cowen who came in for some harsh criticism. Deputies complained about their Ministers, saying they are unavailable and often disagreeable.
The highlight came in a contribution from Carlow/ Kilkenny’s MJ Nolan, crystallising opinion on the issue.
MJ has made no bones about his anger at the Taoiseach for promoting Mary White of the Greens to a junior ministry, while he and two FF colleagues are left to fight it out in the same constituency.
However, his dissatisfaction goes beyond the recent reshuffle. He highlighted the difficulty TDs are having trying to meet their own Ministers, often having to wait weeks for a hearing. Sometimes, a Minister won’t meet them at all.
MJ gave an example, which had his audience both rolling in the aisles and baying for blood.
He asked recently for a meeting with a particular Fianna Fáil Minister, and had to wait four weeks before he was summoned. On the day, he enters to see the Minister on the phone. He looks up briefly – still talking – and beckons MJ towards his desk.
“It was then I realised he was talking to his Garda driver about picking up his dry-cleaning,” Nolan told his colleagues in a detailed account of the incident.
The Minister waves a hand at MJ, indicating he should say his piece. So the seething backbencher attempts to make his points.
When he hesitates – as one might in the face of such rudeness – he gets another wave of the hand. “Keep talking, keep talking . . . that’s the white shirts and the two navy suit . . . I’m listening, I’m listening . . . hang them up in the back that’ll be fine . . . Keep talking, keep talking . . . bring those ones home and keep them in the boot . . . I’m listening, I’m listening . . . and while you’re at it . . .” Nolan painted a vivid picture, and his colleagues were outraged on his behalf.
“That sums it all up – these guys have lost the run of themselves. They’ve become totally detached from real life,” said one senior backbencher after the meeting. “I think the Taoiseach should discipline the Minister concerned, and at the very least, make him apologise for his lack of courtesy.”
The list of suspects has been whittled down to three. (It’s not a woman.) All are long-serving Cabinet heavyweights and one in particular is noted for his pristine shirts.
Eddie’s heavies
Lunchtime. Dublin. Wednesday.
A man, wearing a neat dark suit, is standing at the corner of Dame Street and Trinity Street. He looks around while speaking into a walkie-talkie. He holds a mobile phone in his other hand.
Trinity Street is crawling with security people. Some of them are wearing earpieces.
And so to lunch in lovely Le Pichet restaurant. People are agog. Is a world leader, or an international VIP, due in? Then the door flies open and in comes a besuited heavy. Behind him walks Eddie Hobbs, followed by a second beefy security officer. We are not making this up.
As diners in the busy bistro pretend not to look and miss their mouths with their forks, Eddie joins an old friend for lunch – personal finance expert Jill Kerby.
While they eat, one guard takes up position at the far end of the restaurant, facing on to Andrew’s Lane. He talks into his sleeve. Another is patrolling the lane outside while a colleague patrols around the corner near the front door. Others appear to be watching Eddie through the plate glass window.
He finishes his grub and leaves. So do his minders. When he gets outside, he is closely surrounded by a number of guards who move slowly, with him in the middle, to one of two big cars. They help Eddie Hobbs inside, one jumps into the passenger seat and more pile in beside the financial adviser. The remainder dive into the second car and they drive off at speed.
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it” said one (well fed) eyewitness. “Brian Cowen wouldn’t get that sort of security. I never saw anything like it.” What, in God’s name, is going on? Has a contract taken out on Eddie? Is a client upset over an investment that hasn’t performed? Did he read the “They Deserve to be Shot” headline in that morning’s Star and panic? We rang him.
It seems Eddie has a couple of buddies who are ex-Army Rangers and they run a top notch security firm. Last week, they were doing “a close body protection” course and asked him to stand in as the client.
“’Twas mortifying and a hoot at the same time. Three car-loads of them arrived at the house on Wednesday morning and robbed me of my personal freedom for the rest of the day. I had to go into the solicitors Arthur Cox to sign some things and they brought me in through the basement. They’d been in checking out the place in advance – it was a very serious training exercise.
“Then they picked up Jill Kerby and frogmarched her down to the car to me. She was so discombobulated, she fell going into the restaurant and about five of them jumped on top of her. We were mortified during lunch when they kept staring at us through the window.
“After that, I went to the Derek Mooney show, where there was nearly World War III between my minders and RTÉ security.
“In the evening, I was in Trinity College to address the Russian Society. I had to walk through the campus with about 10 security guards. They even accompanied me to the toilet. Funny enough, the Russians didn’t bat an eyelid.”
No Uncle Joe
Leo Varadkar became an uncle this week when his big sister Sonia gave birth to twin boys.
A delighted Leo suggested she might call them Garret and Alan, but instead, they are to be named Alex and Eric. (Eric is Leo’s middle name.) As for Leo, he flew out on holiday to Cuba yesterday morning. He promises he won’t come back a socialist.
Enda Kenny is said to be delighted with the peace already.
Say it with flowers
Speaking of Inda, we spotted him creeping along a Leinster House corridor on Wednesday clutching a large bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates. He told us he was on his way to the party whip’s office, there to present staff member Deirdre Chambers with a token of Fine Gael’s appreciation.
“She’s 32 years with us and began her career as the first receptionist in party headquarters. She was part of Garret’s “Buy a brick campaign” to purchase a head office and is 30 years here in Leinster House, hence the flowers.”
Deirdre, who is from Newport in Mayo, is a daughter of Tony Chambers, leader of the famous Ballroom of Romance Orchestra in the 1950s. He was also election agent for Patrick J Lindsay, former Master of the High Court.
Those foreigners
Mayo deputy Michael Ring also said a few words at the presentation to Deirdre. He was the epitome of west of Ireland charm, having calmed down since his shouting match in the Dáil chamber with Fianna Fáil’s Ned O’Keeffe.
It turned quite nasty between them during the debate on the banks, when Ring took issue with Ned’s words of support for AIB.
Ring: “What are ya talkin’ about. We had to bail them out.”
O’Keeffe: “Deputy Ring doesn’t know the first thing about banking and he can shut up. He should shut up, coming from . . .”
At this point, the Ceann Comhairle intervenes.
Ned protests: “I am being interrupted by an ignoramus from the west of Ireland.” The Ceann Comhairle appeals for decorum.
Ring protests: “I couldn’t listen to that nonsense.”
Whereupon Ned pleads again on behalf of AIB, saying Irish banks should not be dictated to by foreigners like the new regulator. “Michael Collins, Liam Lynch, Patrick Pearse, James Connolly, would not have those foreigners running our business. It is about time we looked after our Irish people who are well educated.”
The long-suffering Ceann Comhairle sighed and told Ned his time was up. Ned: “I’m sorry. I was interrupted by that man from Mayo, who knows nothing about banking but a bit about leaving cakes in a van.”
Ring: “I know more about banking than Ned O’Keeffe. All he cares about are his bloody shares. He says one thing on RTÉ and another in here.”
Ned: “Go home and bake some buns.”
This was a reference by the Cork deputy to what Michael Ring used to do before he became an auctioneer and politician. He worked for a bakery.
He didn’t hear the jibe during the proceedings, but was told by a colleague on the way out of the chamber.
As he passed O’Keeffe, he said loudly “Yes! I was in the bread business. An honourable profession. You were in the pig business and ya couldn’t even do that right!”
Anglo’s far reach
Anyway, it’s all down to the collapse of Lehman Brothers. Just as Bertie said. It was all down to them. Lehman Brothers were “systemic” to the American banking system. Just as Anglo Irish Bank is systemic to the business in Ireland. That’s Biffo’s line anyway and he’s sticking to it.
Bertie knew the score about Lehman’s, as he told The Irish Times in an interview last October. “They had testicles everywhere.” It’s the same with Anglo.
So maybe Gilmore was right when he attacked the Taoiseach on Wednesday. Biffo acted in order to preserve the testicles of Anglo, which are, apparently everywhere.
Even America – Charlie Bird is on the trail.
That’s not to be confused with Anglo’s missing balls, which are also everywhere. Last week, our Simon Carswell reported the vast sums of money spent by Anglo on corporate gifts, particularly of the golfing variety: €208,000 in three years on golf balls alone. They also spent €65,000 on “false-bottom bags”. For storing dirty laundry, apparently.
You couldn’t make it up.
Way to tea off
It’s nice to see a woman at the helm in sport. Mary Hanafin took her first ministerial questions during the week, and confessed she’s already being moithered by people looking for All-Ireland tickets.
Here’s how the Dáil record gives her answer to a question on Sport and Recreation development: “On the issue of schools, I was chuffed that my first function in my sporting capacity was last Saturday when I presented the cup for junior camomile [sic] to my alma mater, the Presentation Secondary School in Thurles which beat Grennan College in Thomastown 6-10 to 1-2. With two cousins on the team, I was particularly proud to be able to do it.”
Good girl, Mary! We heard the senior team were runners-up in the Darjeeling regionals while the trophy for intermediate Barry’s Gold Blend went across the border to Cork.
You can’t beat the women. As Sports Minister, Mary will be such an asset to the Cabinet. Would you like a cup of tea in your hand, Taoiseach? It’s camomile . . .
Life is a cabaret
Political junkies experiencing withdrawal symptoms during this Dáil Easter recess can get a fix on Thursday night when the Leviathan Political Cabaret returns to Dublin’s Button Factory.
Host for the night is David McWilliams, who will asking “Can the Unions be Part of Ireland’s Economic Recovery?”
Panellists to include Blair Horan of the CPSU (who was in Leinster House during the week to talk to Fianna Fáil backbenchers), Sally Anne Kinahan of Ictu, Richard Delevan of McConnells- integrated and UCD sociology lecturer Dr Kieran Allen.
Star attraction – with apologies to McWilliams – is Fianna Fáil maverick John McGuinness, champion of the public sector and thorn in Biffo’s side. McGuinness is behind the backbenchers’ group – referred to as the Lemass group – who meet regularly in the AV room in Leinster House.
He encouraged the likes of Niall Collins, Beverley Flynn, Seán Connick, Noel O’Flynn and others to invite people in to speak to them. The grouping was set up in response to a perceived lack of focus in the parliamentary party meetings.
Maybe the organisers should go for a cage-fighting theme – and set Blair Horan and John McGuinness on each other. Just a thought. Usual music and satire from Paddy Cullivan and The Emergency.
Gong time
And for the season that’s in it, maybe a few little gongs.
My Easter Bunny: James “Bonkers” Bannon of Longford/ Westmeath, who had to “seek the protection of the chair” on Thursday because Government backbench deputies were shouting him down as he railed against welfare cuts while the banks are getting a bailout.
Fresh from his latest fact- finding visit to Canada on behalf of the Environment Com-mit-tee, he treated the chamber to a trademark eruption.
“Deputy Bannon should not provoke reactions,” said the Ceann Comhairle, whereupon James burst with the pride.
My Easter Rabbitte: The Deputy for Dublin South West.
My Easter Chickie: Rónán Mullen, Independent Senator for the NUI, who is often called Monsignor Mullen by the cabal of heathens on the university panels. Rónán was spotted in the Dáil bar during the week selling Creme Eggs wrapped in little knitted chicken outfits – knitted by a lady from his village of Ahascragh. They were selling at one for €4 and three for a tenner – we don’t know if they were fertilised or unfertilised.
Lucky Bunny: Deputy Martin Mansergh, who came 13th in the recent Fianna Fáil superdraw, winning a digital camera.
Good Egg: Garret FitzGerald. Because he is.
Bad Eggs: Seánie and Fingers.
Egghead: Take your pick: Colm McCarthy, Brian Lucey, Karl Whelan, David McWilliams, Morgan Kelly, Moore McDowell, those chaps from the stockbrokers . . .
Eggspletive: Lord Swear and Dublin Mayoral hopeful, Paul “Gogo” Gogarty.
Easter Eggscuse me? Sinn Féin launched a new republican magazine during the week. Called Iris . . . just watch the pronunciation.
No Easter Bonnet because his head is too big: Veteran FF deputy Michael Woods who bragged at Thursday’s launch of the Foreign Affairs Com-mit-tee about the great work he has done overseas for Ireland. “I’m better known in the world than I am here at home.”
Eggspat of the week: David Drumm of Anglo, relocated to America, where all was good until the Jaws theme music started to play and one Charles Bird of RTÉ came a-menacing up the path.
Fabergé Egg: It has to be Charlie Bird.
How a downcast nation cheered when we saw him striding up to the front door of the former Anglo executive’s home in lovely Cape Cod. And it had all been going so well for David Drumm in his Yankee idyll, until that knock on the door, followed by the words “It’s Charlie Bird from RTÉ . . . Why are you ducking down Mr Drumm?” Happy Easter.