A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Polls

"We have just begun to navigate a strange region; we must expect to encounter strange adventures, strange perils."
- the great Arthur Machen (1863- 1947) uncannily foresees what we will have to endure with a new government

By Charley Brady

Yeah, yeah; I know. I should be talking about the election and I will, I promise; but since it will be all over by the time you read this can I just speak first about one of my many personal hates?

Joggers. Yes, that's right: in this vale of tears where I should have more on my mind than these yokes, they are the ones that are bugging me at the moment.

Probably one run in with them too many. Heh. That was a joke.

The old Brady humour; no one ever gets it.

You know, you're walking back from a hard hour of bowling; or a hard hour at the library; or even less often in this benighted country, a hard days' work and you're thinking about how your score should have been better, how your freaking LIFE should have been better and there you are on an empty pavement, ruminating away to yourself, minding your own business and in the distance you see one of these jogging planks charging towards you.

They have this... uh, we'll call it a focused look on their faces, although I'd prefer to call it deranged to a stage where they should be sectioned. Despite the fact that they're on a path where people should be able to just walk, push their kids' go-chairs, stop and look longingly into a shop window in which there's nothing they can afford to buy because they've been screwed by their government...

Where the hell was I? Not focused like these guys, you see. Oh, I know. Along comes a fool who should be out jogging in the many woodlands around here. You know, nice views to take away the look of agony on their faces; better for their knees than running on bloody concrete.

That wouldn't do, though. Unlike when I went out jogging a couple of centuries ago, I wasn't interested in showing people that I was such a great guy. No, it was about the training, not about being around other humans. Now that's nearly always a bad thing.

So he's eyeballing you and you're eyeballing him, because if you're anything like me you are not going to move for the bastard. Not on a public pavement you're not.

In the incident to hand I was actually coming from a pretty miserable working day and thinking how much nicer bowling would have been so I was in no humour for fools.

A few expletives deleted were exchanged and then off he went, scowling away to himself.

What's wrong with them? After our little altercation he jogged off and then there he was - you guessed it - jogging up and down at a traffic light that I was willing never to change. For all I know he's still there, in perpetual motion. Would it be un-Christian of me to say that I hope an election poster blew off a lamp-post and brained him?

Probably. So I won't say it.

I'm writing away here on a Saturday afternoon, so I don't know what way things will swing at the moment; but I've got a damned good idea.

Enda Kenny will without a doubt be our next Taoiseach, probably in a coalition with Labour. That should be fun, since they hate each other and we'll probably have a pretty good Sinn Fein representation, which should also be a barrel of laughs.

It seems that the limp Greens are gone now and I'm so happy that I may just have an orgasm simply by writing this: the Greens, the ghastly sell-out Greens have been given the kicking that they deserved for being a bunch of sell-out sods. Not one seat. Not even one.

If I dwell on this any more I may just go into a happy trance that I'll never wake up from and in twenty years' time a bunch of doctors and nurses will be grouped around me saying:

"The poor guy. The only words that he has uttered in twenty years are: 'The Green Party were decimated, the Green Party were decimated'. It must have been one of those tragic things that happened just before World War 3 broke out. Clean him up and wipe the drool off his happy face. Poor devil. He never knew how much worse things got afterwards."

Anyway, it doesn't matter since we are run by Europe now anyway and have no claim to sovereignty.

So let me get right on to defending a couple of people.

Take a big breath here now, because one of them is Gerry Adams. Yeah, the only guy in the world that didn't know that he had IRA connections.

Truth to tell, I have enjoyed seeing this apologist for terrorism take flak over the last couple of weeks.

He has been quizzed endlessly on his IRA connections - of course he bloody has them - but to see him almost being blamed for what is going on in Libya at the moment.... Ah, come on lads, give me a break.

Yes, the Provos were taking guns and ammo from them. For crying out loud they even brought down a British helicopter thanks to Uncle Gaddafi but it smacks of opportunism to me to suddenly bring this up.

Colonel Muamir Gaddifi was indeed giving a shed load of arms to the "brave freedom fighters" in the 'seventies but broke off with that until the 'eighties when America in its wisdom and backed by the United Kingdom bombed him out of it, only managing to kill his daughter and not him. Some things never change.

That would kind of cheese me off too. So we really do make our own enemies, don't we?

As Adams quite correctly pointed out, at the same time Official Ireland, despite knowing that Libya was sending in guns and weapons to kill people in the North of Ireland and the UK, were as happy as Larry to have a huge beef trade going on with... yeah, you guessed it, Libya. In fact our trade was bigger with them than with any other Arab state at that time.

So it's a bit bloody rich to suddenly now condemn Adams.

Just because I don't like him and would never trust the guy, doesn't mean that I can't smell a rotten piece of beef from a mile a way.

And it's not because I'm a bloody vegetarian. I'm not crazy about those weirdos either. For all I know, they probably jog around footpaths for a living.

I don't doubt for one second that Gerry Adams isn't as horrified as the rest of the world at what Gaddafi is doing to his own people, murderous frigging bastard that he undoubtedly is. I'll take that as a given, no matter how much I dislike the fact that the Sinn Fein bunch are down here now and look - as I write - likely to stay.

Anyway, one thing that we do know at the moment is that Gerry Adams has won his seat in Louth, and comfortably won it at that.

While we're on the subject of dirty politics, what about the slagging off that Fine Gael's Lucinda Creighton has been getting?

Now, granted I don't agree with her bulls*** about gay marriages and how she doesn't approve of them. Personally I don't give a damn one way or the other when it comes to how people live their lives. It seems to me that if consenting adults fall in love, irrespective of their gender relationships (my God, have I suddenly morphed into one of those Oprah Winfrey shows?) then good luck to them.

Love is love and as long as it's not between man or woman having it off with an animal then if all parties involved are consenting, what the hell, do your thing.

Lucinda believes that the main purpose of marriage is to "propagate and create an environment for children to grow up."

Why is she being castigated for this?

That's what we are supposed to believe here in Holy Ireland, isn't it? You know, Pope Bennie and all those before him telling us that we are evil if we enjoy sex just for its own sake?

If you're a good Catholic then sex should be tolerated just because we want to have a few more sprogs in the world.

I gotta tell you, if the divine Christine Hendricks of "Mad Men" were to say: 'Come on Brady, show me what you have, big boy', the last thing on my mind would be my good Catholic upbringing.

Now of course what Creighton is saying is absolute nonsense: the main purpose of marriage is to ensure that you will never ever have sex again without thinking about whose turn it is to change the diapers on the sprog when it starts to whine during the night.

The main purpose of marriage is to curtail any kind of normality in your life.

The main purpose of marriage is to bore your single friends - ME! - with shocking images of babies who all look the same even though you are supposed to goo-goo over them while reassuring the loving mum/dad that yes they have their Daddy's chin and their Mammy's eyes.

Well, here's the shocking truth: they don't! They look like wizened little things except to those that love them. Harsh, but true. I never want to have another baby photo shoved in my face again. They all look the bloody same.

Also, they're not toilet trained. If it were up to me they would be born at the age of at least ten. Then you could have a conversation with them, talk abut bowling or Stephen Hawkins' latest U- turn on how the Universe is expanding or not expanding depending on what this supposed genius feels on the particular day.

It could go any way with that guy.

But back to Lucinda: she has been bombarded with people calling for her head on a spike but it seems to me that if she has certain values that she wishes to uphold then who am I to look down my nose at her? I'm damned certain she wouldn't like some of my opinions, and I could care less. The point is that I expect people to take my views as they are written: just my views. You don't have to agree with me and in fact you don't even have to like me. Again, I could care less.

There is of course a problem when it comes to defending Lucinda Creighton and I'm not unaware of it; there's the small deal about her being FGs equality spokesman. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

And yet even Declan Ganley of Libertas - and heaven knows, considering the really unpleasant words that the two have had in the past - defended her. Instead of jumping on the bandwagon he backed her right to espouse her views.

That's what it is about, folks: defending people who have a different view to you. Unlike murderous Muslims and mad Catholics I am a reasonably laid back person, apart from those strange fits of frothing-at-the-mouth issues that I have over joggers and which I am being treated for by my kindly family doctor. She lives out in a hut in Renville Woods so I hope that the crushed-up powdered stuff that she is giving me is legit. If it's not then I look forward to sharing a ward with Keith Richards in the near future.

Anyway, it is certain that we have Enda Kenny as the next Taoiseach and maybe - probably - in coalition with Labour.

So I guess we'll have a lot to talk about in the future, because I have a sneaking feeling that there will be very little honeymoon period this time and let's be honest, no wriggle room for Kenny. I wish him the best but we are owned by Europe now.

Unless you are some kind of lunatic who likes jogging up and down public paths in the middle of the afternoon I hope to see you all again next week.

Same bat-time!

Same bat-channel!

You can reach Charley at chasbrady7@eircom.net