Every fourteen years we have a little bunfight here in Ireland.
We call it The Presidential Election. It’s supposed to happen every seven years, but we find it easier to let the current incumbent run for a second term without contest. It’s simpler and less confusing that way, and no one gives a shite about who is doing the job anyway.
The office of President is a little confusing. For a start, it is a non-political post. Yet one of the main ways to get your name on the ballot paper is to be nominated by a political party. I could never understand the logic there. But if you think that’s confusing, then consider the other method of being nominated – you have to be put forward by four County Councils. Fucking weird, in the extreme. “Come on lads! Forget about filling holes in the road; we have to nominate a president.”
Other criteria are that you have to be over 35 [thanks be to fuck – that knocks out Jedward] and you apparently have to live in or near Dublin, which in turn weeds out a lot of rednecks and Culchies. But then that may refer to after the election in order to cut down on the commuting?
The current list of candidates makes strange reading. For some reason quite a few heads of charities are applying for the post. The are a couple of academics, one of whom is homosexual [which doesn’t bother me but might be a little disconcerting to visiting dignitaries]. We have a failed television presenter who became a politician and ended up becoming President of the European Parliament. He now wants to come home, and I hope to God he doesn’t succeed. We also have a right gobshite whose only claim to fame is that he is a panellist on “Dragon’s Den”. I would nearly prefer Jedward to him. Or Dustin the Turkey. Or Daniel O’Donnell. Or anyone for that matter.
All in all, they are an eclectic bunch.
I’d run for the post myself, but I’m happy in the mountains.
I don’t fancy living in a public park in Dublin.