She didn’t join Fine Gael. She is Fine Gael, since the foundation of the state and from when her grandfather would think nothing of taking out the hounds and shooting a few pheasants (She has to be careful pronouncing that word.) or the odd Sinn Fein irregular.She can’t understand how Fianna Fail keep winning elections as she doesn’t know anyone who votes for them. Her cousin voted for the Progressive Democrats, but then she always was a bit, well, plain. Even her sons, Sebastian and Florence, didn’t vote for them, so it can’t be the young people, although she’s not sure they vote at all, too busy chasing those Alexandra College girls who seem a little too willing to open their Christmas boxes early, if you know what she means.
Not that she’s above using her own sexual appeal in the cause of the party. The hint of leather and the waft of Yardley from her cleavage always make sure the older men at the branch meeting dig deep for the raffle and put up the posters as instructed, nodding hypnotically as she barks instructions, and she was thrilled at the Ard Fheis when the dashing Simon Coveney couldn’t take his eyes off her vast expanse, even if it was less out of lust than out of fear that he might fall in.
She didn’t really like Garrett, he was a bit too metropolitan for her tastes, but Liam Cosgrave, who knew his way around a hunt meet and where he stood on law and order, now there was a leader. And that flat Dublin accent! She’s always had a hankering for a bit of Dublin rough.