– Life along the Slaney

Imagine the scene. It’s early 2012. The air in Wexford is full of promise. The hurlers and footballers have just secured an All-Ireland double for the first time in their history. Colm Tóibín has been awarded a Nobel Prize for Literature. Ann Doyle is President of Ireland and a general election is in the offing.

Down Main Street in Gorey we see the Fine Gael posse being led by Deputy D’Arcy – the fastest gunslinger in the East. He is surrounded by his sycophantic lap dogs eager to please and each, to a man, willing to take a voter’s ire for their leader.

Rather than walking on the footpath, the ever-grinning, cock-a-hoop group walk down the middle of the street – such is their air of confidence and belief that the election is theirs to lose.

The Deputy is surrounded by the party faithful and local councillors who are looking to looking to secure their own votes for the local authority elections.

Fine Gael has decided to run fifteen candidates for the Gorey Town Council election – even though there are only nine seats – such is there self-confidence that (as the song says) nothing can stop them now. Indeed Cllr. Colin has a ghetto blaster strapped to his shoulder blaring out the Jefferson Starship classic as they stroll down the street.

As the group, now all singing in unison, approach the first house on the campaign trail, The Deputy turns to one of his lackies and asks: “Whose house is this pad’ner?” “It belongs to Edna Kelly, my liege. A staunch Blueshirt, she’s been voting Fine Gael for the past 60 years.”

“Good, good” replies The Deputy with a grin on his face. “How old is she?” “70, my liege.”

Knock, knock. “Who is it?” comes the voice from inside the house on Esmonde Street. With all the bravado and hubris of a fire fighter coming to rescue a distressed damsel, The Deputy coolly says: “It’s Fine Gael.”

Inside the house several chains and bolts are unlocked in a hurried manner. The Deputy takea step back, stretches out his arms and closes his eyes to await the adulation and praise from a loyal servant looking to bask in his glory.

“What the feck would I be voting for ye for? Sure didn’t ye want Inda Kenny out and now you want me to vote for him again. Are you joking me?”

Hmmm. Something is not quite right here, the astute Deputy realisess. There must be some misunderstanding, I’m sure we’ll be able to sort it out.

A hushed silence has now descended over the posse and behind their glorious leader the 15 council candidates and party faithful are ever-so-slowly moving backwards.

“Ah come on now Edna, that’s all in the past. We have moved on and are a united party once again. All that happened way back in the dim distant past of 2010. Sure we all think Inda’s great now. We were wrong about him.”

Edna, whose blue-rinse hair is not in keeping with her Blueshirt bashing, slowly shakes her head. “You, Deputy, came out against Inda yourself and wanted him gone. He was not the man to lead the country you said and now you have the temerity to tell me he is. I’m afraid that just won’t wash.”

As the door slams in his face, the forlorn Deputy turns to his posse for some reassurance. Unfortunately they have moved across the street and donned the Red Rose of the Labour Party and are now bowing and kneeling before their new idol, Cllr. Robbie Ireton who is seeking election to the Dáil for the first time.

The Deputy saunters down Esmonde Street into the sunset and wonders just what has happened and how could things have gone so wrong?