Peggy has been a fine quiet woman since the election, so she has. We haven’t heard a word about hung Dáils, the stupidity of the people who voted for having Fianna Fáil back after only five years of repentence and praise the Lord, the words Baldy Biggane haven’t passed her lips even once – despite the fact that Baldy topped the poll here in our constituency for Fianna Fáil. And no, it hasn’t been because she’s got sense all of a sudden – but rather because she’s made wan right ass of herself in front of the whole country!
Shure, you’ve all seen it on the television and newspapers. Ah, you have, of course, you have. Remember the ballot paper with ‘Number 1 Daniel O’ Donnell’ and ‘Number 2 Liam Neeson’ written on it, the one that was shown on the 6 One news? Well, I can now tell you that that was the work of the bould Peggy Lysaght of Sugar Hill village in the County Limerick. Yes, our Peggy, the very same Peggy that’s been living next door here to me since I moved to the village ten years ago. I know you can hardly believe it, shure, I can hardly credit it myself.
Imagine, this is the same woman who’s been pontificating about the lads and lassies above in the GPO and they dying for Ireland and how the dead patriots are only spinning in their graves with the showers that are running the country for the last fifty years, blah, blah, blah. There she’s been, putting legs under hens for the rest of us and in the heel of the hunt, when her country is on its knees and calling all its children to her flag, the same woman only goes in to the polling station and brazenly spoils her own vote. Honestly, you’d want to have a doctorate in psychology to understand the workings of that woman’s head.
Of course, we’d know nothing at all about it were it not for Lourda Kennefick, one of the members of the Senior Citizens Club with Peggy. Lourda is one right bitch at the best of times so why Peggy was stupid enough to confess to Lourda is anyone’s guess. Apart from being a right wagon, the whole country knows that Lourda Kennefick is like a sieve leaking water for gossip and the woman couldn’t keep silent about anything if her life depended on it.
I can only surmise that Peggy was eaten up with so much guilt that she only blabs to the first person she has a conversation with and of course, that’s where Lourda came in. I have to hand it to Lourda, she always manages to be in the right place at the right time to pick up whatever’s going. So after the ballot paper appeared on the 6 One News, the fool of a woman only goes and spills the beans to Lourda that she was the one who had spoiled her vote . ‘Twas a protest, she claims, against all the Shoneens and gombeens who’ve been running the country into the ground for the last fifty years.
I should have known there was something up when Lourda sidled in my door on Saturday evening looking as if she was possession of the Third Secret of Fatima. I can tell you now that she was about as welcome as a dose of the shingles seeing that I was glued to the Election Count on RTE and didn’t want any interuptions, least of all from Lourda Kennefick. Of course, if I wasn’t so obsessed with the count, I’d have noticed that there hadn’t been a sign of Peggy all day. Normally, she’d come in and we’d have a cup of coffee together and sit down and watch the excitement as the boxes were being opened around the country and the tallies got busy with who was going to top the poll and who was likely to be eliminated.
After Lourda left (and she wasn’t encouraged to linger by the right wicked looking head on me) I sat there stunned. I thought back to the many times that Peggy pulled me up on things like parking in the correct space, having a current TV license and other equally unimportant matters, ending every telling off with the mantra that this wasn’t what the dead patriots had given their lives for way back in 1916. Well, if that woman was in front of me that minute, I’d have had to put my hands behind my back to stop myself from giving her a right belt across the kisser. I can promise you that I’ll be strongly impressing on Peggy Lysaght that voting number 1 for Daniel O’ Donnell and number 2 for Liam Neeson is most certainly not what James Connolly, Pearse and ‘poor sick little Plunkett’ gave their lives above in the GPO for!
After a bit, though, I calmed down. The more I thought of what Peggy had done, the more I began to cheer up. I even began to think that maybe I was a biteen short with Lourda. After all, by telling me what Peggy was after blabbing to her, wasn’t the woman only after giving me a fine big stick to beat Peggy Lysaght with for the next five years? So ignoring just one more of Labour’s trounced election candidates whinging into an RTE microphone about how the people had spoken and how they hadn’t appreciated that the Labour Party had put the country first, I put on my jacket and made my way out the front door.