Jason OMahony - Irish political blogger, Irish politics, EU politics
 
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The Diary of Arthur Henchy TD Part 4

Posted by Jason O on Feb 18, 2014 in Irish Politics, Not quite serious., The Diary of Arthur Henchy TD

Not sure about this GSOC thing at all. As usual, of course, the kernel of the issue, the possibility that the state’s premier security agency has been spying on its own watchdog has been lost in the usual Irish hoohah of pointing fingers. As for the attitude of J. Edgar Shatter, you have to wonder is it really that wise that both the Gardaí and Army intelligence report into the same fella? I’m not sure it is. Even the Brits keep MI5, MI6 and Scotland Yard all separate. Why is it that every justice minister seems to become the Garda Commissioner’s man in cabinet?

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The Gimp reaches a new low this week, marching in a demo in the parish against cutbacks. He actually starts bawling his eyes out on the stage as he talks about the suffering of those at the frontline. He then hotfoots it up to the Seanad to vote in favour of the cuts, then back down to the constituency to attend another march. He once (very publicly) offered a dying man his kidney, having first sought a medical opinion on the sly as to how quickly the man would die first.

If he was any more of a sociopath he’d be on an episode of “Criminal Minds”.

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Was watching Boyd Barrett from the People’s Front of Killiney giving out yards about inequality in the chamber. Apparently we can pay for everything by magic oil and gas which will be brought ashore not by evil oil company drills (and certainly not in Dublin Bay. The horror!) but environmentally conscious fairies carrying it in gossamer (reusable, of course) thimbles. Only in Ireland do we get angry when we discover oil. Of course, if the Brits figure out a way of tunnelling from Wales and sucking oil or gas up to a facility there we’ll go ballistic.

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Young Patrick has put me on this Twitter thing. Don’t really understand it as it seems like a form of airborne graffiti, but must move with the times. Not surprisingly, there did not seem to be a huge market for my musings on the affairs of the Joint Oireachtas Committee on the future of the basket weaving industry. Then young Murphy from Dublin South East sidles up to me in the restaurant and nudges me, congratulating me on “embracing” the technology, and points out that my “followers” (sounds like a cult.) are shooting up. I have no idea what he’s talking about, so he shows me on his phone. Young Patrick has been posting pictures of me at meetings, speaking at committee, things in the constituency. Nothing special about that, save that nearly every one has Irka in the background, draped like she’s launching the new Porsche.

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Interesting remarks from Red Joan about making pensions compulsory. She’s right, of course, if being dangerously courageous. People say they can’t afford it, yet expect other people to afford the taxes to fund their pension when they reach retirement. Maybe we should mix the National Lottery and PRSI, as people don’t get seem to mind doing the lotto. Could throw in different pensions as prizes, maybe even the odd hip replacement, though I suspect An Post will give out blue murder about shipping titanium joints around the place. Of course, there are many that say the pensions in here are like Lottery prizes. They’re right. We have a ludicrous scenario where individual taxpayers who can’t afford private pensions are paying taxes to ensure that higher paid ministers and Oireachtas members get free and lucrative pensions. It’s actually obscene. I mentioned it once at a parliamentary party meeting and it was like declaring yourself a character witness for Jimmy Saville. So I wrote to the Department of Finance and told them that I’d only be taking a half pension, which is more than enough when I leave this place. Within a day some official (with a face like a downtrodden Easter Island statue) was around demanding that I withdraw the offer, or there would be “consequences”. “Like what? Take my pension off me?” I asked. He scowled, looking desperately through his notes for an answer. Apparently no one ever asks Finance what “consequences” means. He scuttled off, and I’ve heard nothing since. They’ll probably firebomb the house.

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The Gimp has taken to carrying a jar around the place filled with a discoloured liquid and a plastic model of a foetus in it. He keeps leaving it down, and now Irka and Young Patrick have a competition as to who can sneak things into the jar like pickled eggs and the like. Of course, it all kicked off when one of them replaced the model with a plastic dinosaur, which started bobbing around the jar and upset the anti-evolutionists, who thought it was a slight. The Gimp ends up announcing to the Seanad that not only was he opposed to Darwin, but he didn’t even enjoy “Jurassic Park”.

Arthur Henchy TD was first elected for Kildare East in 1981. He can equally enjoy a day at the races or a nice mug of tea, a chocolate digestive, and The Economist. He regards himself as a Garret man. 

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