EMISSIONS:Séamus Brennan was alone in a Cabinet stuffed with self-importance, writes Kilian Doyle.
I WAS HUGELY saddened to hear of the death of our former transport minister Séamus Brennan.
I had more than a sneaking regard for him. In fact, I genuinely liked him, despite only meeting him in passing a few times. I doubt he'd have remembered me if I walked up and kissed him smack on the forehead. But that doesn't matter; I remember him.
Many dubbed him - unfairly - Minister for Promises. He was forever announcing new initiatives, new proposals, new projects. But that's what politicians do. The one difference between him and the others was he actually bothered to try and see them through.
Sure, I gently extracted the mickey from aul' Mr Brennan more than once. (Remember his "Golden Gate of the Southside" gushfest?) But never with malice. That I reserve for those who deserve it.
I also unashamedly buttered Mr Brennan's bread when warranted. Which was often. So what are his greatest achievements?
Towering above the rest is the fact that he, in the face of ridicule from all quarters, including, I must confess, this one, took the brave decision of rolling out the first phase of penalty points, despite knowing the system to be flawed.
Many hate them, many love them, but all can agree that they made the consequences of careening around the roads like headless chickens something to be properly scared of.
He also showed that what he lacked in stature he made up for in mettle when he set the Traffic Corps ball rolling, despite having to shove it like Sisyphus up the mountain of resistance from Darth McDowell, Chuckles McCreevy and the Phoenix Park Garda honchos.
With these two acts alone, by my reckoning, he is directly responsible for saving hundreds of people from death or serious injury.
He steered the Luas, albeit slowly, into Dublin. Hundreds of thousands of commuters owe him a debt of gratitude.
There's lots, lots more. But I have limited space.
What most endeared me to him was the fact he was human. He was so affable that you'd nearly forget he'd fallen in with a bad lot when he was shoved in front of the cameras once again to defend the latest Government shambles.
He - alone among a Cabinet so stuffed with self-importance that most of them would summon their chauffeured limos to bring them to the bathroom - cycled into work alongside the proles, replete with trouser clips, wonky helmet and a grin.
I also admired the way he got a rally driver to give him lessons before passing his driving test a few years ago. If you are going to do it all, do it right. Not only that, but he resisted the obvious temptation as Minister for Transport to pull rank, opting instead to spend months on the waiting list like the rest of us.
I really felt for him when he was demoted from transport and replaced by that prancing buffoon, Martin Cullen.
While Brennan himself insisted it wasn't a demotion, we all knew it was. Bertie, to whom he had been loyal to the end, bowed to union pressure and shafted him in favour of a walking liability. That must have hurt.
I know it must have hurt because I've seen it happen. I've watched - helpless - as decent, hard-working folk who wouldn't dream of pulling a stroke got shunted or stabbed in the back by people in positions of power, people who have been blinded by the antics of the type of self-aggrandising, self-promoting gobdaws that invariably claw their way to the surface of the venal, grubby cesspit that is Irish society (Bitter, me? Yup. As a bag of unripened lemons).
So farewell then, aul' Mr Brennan. Rest assured that you will be remembered not only as one of the good guys, but as having done the State some service. You'll be missed. Not least by me.