He’s already started referring to his boss, the deputy, as “the minister-elect”, and sneers at Fianna Fail parliamentary assistants. One TD’s secretary, 35 years his senior, has been told that she “had better buck up her ideas”. Already he has plotted out a path which involves him taking a seat in the 2014 local elections, and a Taoiseach’s nomination to the Seanad when the coalition is “obviously” re-elected in 2016 (assuming this abolition thing is just for the proles) , or “Phase Two” as he calls it. Eyes roll at his over familiarity with people he’s never met before in One Pico, which isn’t helped when he hints that he’s “not a person you want to make an enemy of.”
In Doheny’s, on his fourth Martini, he boorishly jabs a finger at a Labour PA and tells her that her “crowd want to watch their mouth, as we’re only bringing you in to make up the numbers.”
On election day, his deputy loses his seat to the Labour candidate, the PA he jabbed in Doheny’s. In the toilets at the RDS, he starts crying big chunky snots onto the sleeve of his Marks and Sparks suit at the thought of working in his Dad’s Mace again.