Well, the election campaigns are over, thank God. And if I never hear the words "policy document launch" again it'll be too soon. I know it wasn't foremost in the general electorate's thinking (the outstanding issues have of course been apathy and, in the case of the European elections, ennui); but the past month has seen a truly appalling number of manifesto launches, and I feel like I attended every one.
If policy documents were missiles, the centre of Dublin would have been wiped out weeks ago. Indeed, as the launching pad for many of them, Buswell's Hotel would have qualified for bombing by NATO which, come to think of it, would probably have hit Leinster House instead, ending the whole business a lot earlier.
And yet those of us who were on the receiving end have not even been offered counselling.
Launches of one kind or another are a routine part of media life, to be sure, but during an election campaign they reach a level of intensity that even an experienced journalist cannot withstand without brain damage. Memory loss, inability to calculate expense claims and memory loss are only three of the common symptoms.
Media launches used at least to come with lunch - many still do. And, despite the truism that there's no such thing as a free one, lunch can sometimes take the unpleasantness out of these affairs, which of their nature lack either of the qualities - mileage and foreign travel - that inspire most journalists to keep going.
The other thing about election campaign launches compared with everyday media events is that they're much less likely to involve lunch, free or otherwise. Campaign budget restrictions mean that even tea and biscuits are not always guaranteed.
What you get instead is a brief, passionless encounter in an anonymous hotel room. After which you're left with nothing but a press release; feeling cheap and used, and sometimes in need of a cigarette.
It's one of the things the reader may not even notice, but we go to great lengths in this newspaper to avoid using the L-word. This is something they teach at journalism school, and it explains why you occasionally read stories that say: "Speaking at a policy document-publication type-of-event yesterday, Mr X said . . ."
And that's the point - it's very hard to come up with a meaningful alternative description for what happens at these events, which is frequently very little. Indeed, without the presence of at least one media person (see below), they would be like trees falling in a distant forest: it would be a philosophical argument as to whether they'd happened at all.
The dictionary alternatives for the L-word are "hurl, discharge, send forth (missile, blow, censure, threat, decree), burst (into strong language, etc) . . ." But, only if you're very lucky, does anything that violent ever occur on these occasions.
Like so many other things, launches used to be more meaningful. Old-time journalists probably got press releases saying: "you are cordially invited to the launch of Apollo 11," for example; or "please send a representative to the launch of our new inter-continental ballistic missile, aimed at Moscow. Tea and biscuits will be provided."
But we live in more banal times. And, as often as not these days, what's being "launched" is a mere leaflet, something you couldn't actually launch unless you folded it into the shape of an aeroplane. Of course, the worst launch of all for a journalist - a too-frequent experience during election campaigns - is the one where you're the only media person who turns up. This is like being the only one in a theatre audience: you're more nervous than the actors, and you know there's no chance of walking out without being noticed. But, at least at the theatre, you don't have to ask questions afterwards.
Now, I know press officers have a job to do and, since I may have to speak to some of them today, let me add that a very fine job it is too. But I think all of us in the information industry need to look again at the whole launch thing and see if we can reintroduce an element of actual launching.
Let me suggest one scenario, off the top of my head: A party leader bungee-jumps off the top of Liberty Hall into the River Liffey with the election manifesto held between his teeth, resurfacing to applause. I think I can say, without even running it past the news editor, that this would be guaranteed front-page material. It would certainly qualify as a launch - and, above all, it would "create a splash" (provided the tide was in, of course).
But it's only a thought.
I don't know if it's a related issue, but there seemed to be very little actual face-to-face canvassing in this election campaign. Although I live in an area where there are any number of burning issues (and the odd burning car as well), not one party person knocked on the door in the past month.
It's not even as if we have an angry dog or one of those signs saying "We shoot every third canvasser: the second one just left" or anything. But it's been like Halloween these past few weeks, with people tip-toeing up the path, slipping stuff through the letter box and creeping away, followed by a loud bang (that last bit is only Halloween, obviously, not the elections).
When you hear politicians defending bad poll results with the line "that's not what we're hearing on the doorsteps", this must be what they mean. What they're hearing on the doorsteps is the sound of leaflets dropping on the hall floor and then their own retreating feet. Maybe they get a lot of things hurled, discharged or sent forth back at them in this area, I don't know.
At least it's all over now - for another while anyway. I think I've survived without serious psychological damage. In fact, as I said to the polling officers yesterday: "I want to welcome you all here today for the official launch of my ballot paper. I'll be taking questions afterwards."
