Bilocating Confucius Callely in the wilderness for 20 days and 20 nights

The saga of Ivor and his moveable expenses elbowed Senators off the centre stage

IT’S HERE, your super Seanad Summer Special for 2010! When the TDs are away, the Senators will play! Two whole days of action-packed thrills and spills from the upper house.

No Dáil. Simply Seanad.

That other crowd have gone. No publicity-mad deputies to steal the Senators’ thunder. Now, at last, they can shine.

The Seanad is the centre of the Leinster House universe this week.

Hear them roar! But what’s this? It can’t be.

Oh no, here comes Ivor Callely and he’s going to ruin everything . . .

Just when they thought they could snaffle a little bit of coverage for themselves in the absence any business in the Dáil chamber, the saga of Ivor and his moveable expenses elbowed them off the stage.

Confucius Callely took his wise sayings to a select committee of the Seanad on Tuesday to argue why he was completely within his rights to claim allowances for living permanently in west Cork while even the dogs in the streets said he resided in the Dublin suburb of Clontarf.

As a result, his colleagues’ golden opportunity to grab some media coverage for themselves in the absence of the Dáil was lost to the continuing Callely controversy.

Matters were due to come to a head last night, but in the meantime, while the business of the Seanad went ahead as normal, all eyes were on the committee investigating Ivor.

The six members met in private twice during the day and indicated they would issue their findings before the house adjourned for the summer.

The man at the centre of the storm didn’t seem too perturbed by all the fuss. He contributed during the Order of Business in the morning, addressing matters of international importance. He was also concerned at the length of the recess, given the “challenges” currently facing the country.

However, Ivor was remaining chipper. This could be seen in his choice of statement tie – a gaudy geometric assortment of circles and squares. The morning before, when he faced into an afternoon of questioning by the committee, he sported a different tie of many happy colours.

Interestingly, he changed into a sombre grey when the time came for him to be grilled by his peers.

Confucius Callely has been the soul of serenity over the past couple of days.

As he said during his committee ordeal: “Today is history; tomorrow is a mystery.”

From whence did he pluck that little gem of wisdom? It recently figured large in the movie Kung Fu Panda. The quote continues: "but today is a gift. That is why it is called the 'present'."

But there was to be no gift for Ivor.

Instead, the committee handed him a 20 sitting-day suspension and censured him for misrepresenting his normal place of residence for the purpose of claiming allowances.

It took the committee nearly 40 pages to say why they found reasonable cause to ground him, but that’s the gist.

His peers are not amused, not least because they hoped to be away before teatime, but because they had to stay on until nine o’clock so the report could be officially presented to the Seanad.

It was Ivor who requested an hour-long adjournment before the report was laid before the house. So Senators had to cool their heels until then and, when the time arrived, Confucius Callely didn’t show.

So many gems were overlooked because of bilocating Ivor’s exploits. Yesterday, for example, while the dog-breeding legislation was chewed over yet again, the Seanad pondered the “Definition of Bitch.” Nobody cared.

The house was suspended for five minutes at lunchtime to allow the Minister for the Environment to send a text message to somebody.

Again, hardly anyone outside the chamber noticed. Too busy on Ivor watch.

It appears the debate had run over time. As Minister Gormley waxed lyrical about groups of breeding bitches, he suddenly realised he had to be somewhere else. He became most agitated.

“It’s coming up to half past one. I’ve further engagements,” he declared, all of a dither.

“I’m in a situation . . . I don’t know how to go . . . I-I don’t know what we’re going to do. I-I-I really don’t know.”

The acting cathaoirleach told him the debate was scheduled to run until two o’clock. John looked distraught. “I’ll just text someone.” Well. Talk about a rum do. You can’t do those sort of things willy-nilly in Seanad Éireann. Paschal Mooney, who was in the chair, took command.

“Can I ask the acting leader to propose a suspension of the house for five minutes in order to facilitate everyone?” The house rose and John rushed away, clutching his mobile phone.

In the event, he wasn’t detained too much longer and arrived in the canteen before two where he had lunch with his press adviser and other members of his staff.

What could have been in that text he sent? “Order me the soup and stuffed Portobello mushroom,” perhaps? But nobody was paying any attention to the Seanad.

On Tuesday, there was a fine turnout for the Order of Business. A great day for a bit of coverage, members might have assumed. Not a bit of it, thanks to Confucious Callely.

So nobody got to hear Mary White speaking out on behalf of older people and telling Senator Ronan Mullen that he should consider going out with older women. (Apparently, Ronan said “I don’t go with older women” at some stage during the debate on the Civil Partnership Bill last week. Yes, we’re baffled too.)

She recommended a book to him by the man who coined the phrase “ageism.” It had a great chapter on “sex after 60”, the redoubtable Sen White told him.

A brief silence settled over the chamber at this point. But did anyone care about the over-Sixties and their sex lives? No.

And then there was Sen David Norris, who was very much concerned about the state of the “magnificent” organ in the National Concert Hall. Heads swivelled to the press gallery. Notes were being furiously taken. But never used. Callely’s fault.

He’s in the wilderness now. Twenty days – the full half of a biblical banishment.

Still, at least Ivor can enjoy the lovely wilderness of west Cork, and the principal residence he doesn’t actually own but has full residence rights – when he isn’t in Clontarf, his other principal residence.

Will he go quietly? Highly unlikely.