FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
On November 8 last President Michael Higgins dissolved the 33rd Dáil. DISSOLVED! Kept thinking about that word. Being an imaginative and creative sort of person I had this image in my mind of each one of our 160 TDs lining up in single file, walking into Áras an Uachtaráin and being dissolved by Michael!
But how, I wondered? Did he immerse each one in a vat of vinegar with a splash of decent down-to-earth tap water perhaps; acid, of course, would be out of the question as our President would no longer be dissolving the Dáil, but deceasing each and every one of our TDs. Something many of the population might not be averse to (steady on now, Gerry, steady on).
Or, did our President sprinkle them with a secret dissolving solvent, known only to those in high office, just as a priest would sprinkle the congregation with holy water at some religious ceremony or other? But no, Michael D dissolved the Dáil with the stroke of a pen. So, whatever about the pen being mightier than the sword it most certainly is mightier than any dissolving agents out there.
In the meantime, Mamma Mia – here we go again – to the polls when we, the electorate, get to flex a bit of political muscle and make our voices heard by ticking a few boxes that could well change the course of Irish political history! We wish. But who knows? Never underestimate your vote especially in our PR system where one’s vote can travel quite a way down that, at times, confusing list of candidates.
So, whatever the hell you do polling day cast your vote because you never know how it’s going to influence things. And how are you going to cast your vote, Gerry? Well, would you believe that at this stage of my life (I’m officially a senior) I am not entirely sure. Time was when I could not physically, or psychologically, vote for Fine Gael because of my family’s trenchant affiliation to Fine Fáil. Fifty years on all that has changed thanks primarily to many years of undergoing political psychotherapy. It does exist, you know.
And if you believe that you’ll believe anything – not least a lot of the political guff spouted on the campaign trail.
And what way are you inclined now, Gerry? I’m actually undecided – and I suppose I am undecided because at this stage of my life the many crises that exist in our society – housing, cost of living etc. etc. don’t particularly pertain to me who, being retired after working hard all his life, reasonably comfortable and considers himself very lucky; mortgage paid off and enough in my pocket for a few pints, the occasional meal out and the odd weekend away.
Mind you, I have four children who are not that comfortably off – but they live outside the country, are unlikely to come home, and so I’m not as fired up as perhaps I should be about the political landscape.
My heart, however, goes out to young people because of the precarious times in which they live, not least young couples trying to get a foot, a toe even, on the property ladder.
To be honest it’s not until I stand in the polling booth that I will make my final decision. Now I should mention that two candidates running in my constituency are past pupils of mine; two upstanding members of our community, one of whom was a member of the recently dissolved Government. It would be remiss of me if I did not give those two gentlemen a vote.
Finally, a small alert to all politicians who may call to my door – the bell isn’t working! Not deliberately I hasten to add. But should you knock hard enough and get an answer, one of the first questions I will ask is: would you happen to know of anyone who might fix this damn doorbell of mine?
Rghtly, or wrongly, I tend to vote with my heart as opposed to my head; not the best approach to voting in a General Election.
Oh, and where, you might well ask, is my heart at this moment in time? In the right place, I like to think, in the right place. I hope!
