You know, it's harder and harder these days to make sense of what's going on around us. This is especially true if we're the Bayern Munich goalkeeper, but even ordinary everyday life is full of confusion; which is why the public relations industry is so important in interpreting and explaining the world to us. Indeed it is the industry's very success in doing this which has seen it grow to become - and I say this without any intended sincerity - one of the great institutions in public life today.
I always imagine the PR industry "arrived" in Ireland around the same time as the American fast-food chains. After all, the burger joints managed to convince us that "small" was "regular" and, when you think about it, that's what PR companies have been doing ever since. But probably the greatest achievement of PR has been a relatively recent one: the creation of the public person who, when interviewed on radio or television, begins his every answer with:
I want to say this very clearly:
Yes, thanks to communications training, this innocuous little phrase has replaced "I'm glad you asked me that question" as the most overused sentence in public life. Sometimes it will be strung out a bit, as in: "I want to say this, and I want to say it very clearly". But the one thing you can be absolutely sure of when you hear the line spoken is that, in however many ways the person delivers his answer, clearly is not going to be one of them.
I think the phrase really took off during the early days of the peace process to mask the fact that for sound technical reasons, it was important that no two people anywhere arrived at the same interpretation of what certain politicians were saying. The tactic has become so widespread now, however, that even politicians with nothing to hide will use the phrase instinctively when faced with any vaguely threatening query, like "How'ryeh?".
OK, that's a little bug-bear of mine, but I'm not denying that PR firms have a role to play in bridging the gulf of misunderstanding that exists between me and, for instance:
The Garage Man:
In fact, I've been thinking of hiring a communications consultant to represent me in my dealings with the local garage. I just don't think I can take any more conversations which begin with me saying something like: "There's this funny noise coming from under the bonnet: I think it might be the, er, engine"; and end with the garage man saying things like: ". . .crank-shaft . . . spontaneous combustion . . . front and rear tie-bar bushings . . .completely b*****ed. . . £165 plus VAT".
He could tell me the engine needed a triple bypass operation and I wouldn't have the vocabulary to debate the issue with him beyond my standard, challenging response, which is: "Mmm!". So maybe we could just exchange faxes from now on, via a PR auto specialist who knows the terminology. It wouldn't necessarily save me money, but it might take the embarrassment out of the experience, which is one of the things PR companies do.
Of course, the other great thing they do is think up euphemisms for dodgy products. And although I have no idea whether a professional communications expert was responsible for it, my favourite euphemism at the moment is:
Special trains:
I was travelling on one of Iarnrod Eireann's "special" bank holiday trains recently, when it struck me (no, not the train, although I eventually wished it had) that if it was an ordinary CIE staff member who coined that phrase, he should quit now and start his own consultancy.
"Trains with special needs" would be a more accurate description, judging by the thing I travelled on, but either way the journey was certainly special. I didn't have a seat (I didn't look too hard because I was only going from Dublin to Tralee), and I had to share the standing space between cars with people who apparently did have seats but also needed to chain-smoke for the entire journey. And the fear that I might suffocate at least took my mind off worrying that the carriages might separate while I had a foot in either one.
I also have to say that although stowaways in the cargo holds of long-haul flights have arrived at their destinations in better shape than I did, the journey had a nostalgic quality. We may be living in the communications age, but it was reassuring to find you still couldn't hear a word of the announcements over the train's intercom system, and as usual this got people talking. Neighbours who hadn't exchanged a word since the start of the journey were suddenly asking: "What did he say?" and laughing; tourists were charmed; and it had a kind-of warm, 1970s feel to it. Which is more than you can say about:
Cold Guinness:
People have been inquiring about the progress to date in the Campaign Against Cold Guinness. There hasn't been much is the answer. The sad truth is that - inevitably, this being Ireland - divisions have already surfaced in the movement, and there's a fear among the leadership that if we move too quickly at the moment there could be a split.
I had assumed all our people were united on the issue that stout has been too cold for years. But it seems there is a sizeable band of - excuse me while I spit - moderates out there who draw the line only at the new "extra cold" product. The six to seven degree "normal" pint is fine by them, and those of us who disagree are being accused of fundamentalism - I ask you!
There are also mutterings about the campaign's lack of a proper acronym: "What sort of name is CACG?" the cynics ask, no doubt prompted by PR interests who see a lucrative contract here.
But concerned pint drinkers can rest assured that the campaign will be taking action in the near future. I can't give precise details like times or places here, because there are spies everywhere. So instead, I just want to say this, and I want to say it very clearly. . .
