Election Diary cont:

Day 3.   

It’s begun – the canvassing, I mean and we’re besieged from all sides. I’ve made up my mind that any candidate who even whispers the word Fiscal Space will get short shrift and no vote from me. Peggy says that they’re all a disgrace and the boys and girls of 1916 are only spinning in their graves at what kind of Ireland these shooneens are after creating. She’s fond of saying the whole lot of them, starting with De Valera, have made a right dog’s dinner of running the country. Anyway she says that for years wasn’t it the Catholic church that ruled the roost and there we all were, bowing and scraping and kissing the bishops’ rings whenever they appeared. Kissing bishops’ rings like they were fecking royalty, she scoffs. Apart from anything else, shure, wasn’t it downright unhygienic, couldn’t we have caught anything from it? Imagine, all the germs dancing on top of them rings? She shudders at the thought but continues on without pausing for breath.

Then after getting rid of the bishops, it was the builders, the speculators and the bankers that were ruling the place. Anyway, she says what can you expect from people like Baldy Biggane of Fianna Fáil who, when it comes right down to it, doesn’t know his arse from his elbow and there he is, sitting in a cushy seat above in the Dail telling the rest of us what we must do to save the country. She says they whole lot of them have necks as thick as swans.

But wait, she’s started again on Fianna Fáil’s Baldy Biggane. She has her knife into him for the last fifteen years. In fact, the man avoids her like the plague when he sees her approaching. I’ve seen him duck into butchers’ shops and slip into doorways where he cowers until she’s well out of sight so there’ll be no chance of him attacking her in front of a delighted audience. And what’s it all about? A medical card, imagine!  According to Peggy, she was entitled to a medical card being a lone woman with no means except the state pension, blah, blah, blah. Then, she made the mistake of going into Baldy’s clinic so that he’d fill the form for her and make the whole thing go faster. Shure, we all know how things work in Ireland. Instead of that didn’t  ‘the thick made a right fecking hames of it’ so she had no card for years and going into the doctors for any ailment, particularly her rickety knees have cost her a fecking fortune, so it has. Oho, she says she’s only waiting for Biggane to stick his bald head around the door and when he does, by God, she says, won’t he be the sorry man?

I know damm well that if Baldy Biggane has any sense of self-preservation, he won’t go within an asses’ roar of her doorstep but I say nothing and let her rant on. Shure, there’s no stopping her anyway when she’s in full flow like this.


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