Planet Dáil in turmoil as Fine Gael's shooting star turns out to be an alien

George Lee was never a typical TD, which is why he got elected in the first place and why his early departure is not such a huge surprise

IRISH POLITICS is in deep shock. A blue fireball blazed across the political firmament yesterday and plummeted into the heart of Leinster House.

Everyone was stunned. Politicians from all sides couldn’t believe what happened.

“Is it true?” they asked each other.

“It’s incredible!” they cried.

And so it was that the meteoric career of George Lee fell to earth. It was blinding, it was brilliant and it was over in a flash. Fine Gael’s shooting star shines no more.

They were utterly astounded. Because for politicians – who would sell their grannies for a safe seat in the Dáil – what George did defies reason.

TDs couldn’t understand why a newly-elected deputy, with an adoring public and a national profile they can only dream about, upped and walked away.

The idea of doing such a thing is alien to them. George and his principles? No, they will never get it, because it is beyond their ken.

And as the smoke cleared, and Fine Gael prepared to assess the damage and Fianna Fáil danced, all parties agreed on one thing: George Lee was never really one of them. Which is why he got elected in the first place.

The news broke at lunchtime. Few deputies and Senators were about, for the House doesn’t sit on Monday.

For those Fine Gaelers who were there, the same word kept cropping up: “Gutted.” George – The People’s Princess – had buoyed their spirits and cheered them. And now he was gone. Maybe they should have minded him a bit more.

He said they never included him in their plans. He was Inda’s plaything, paraded around the country for his celebrity status. But he had “zero impact or influence” on formulating economic policy.

As George put it in one of his many interviews yesterday: “If this was a relationship, it would be irretrievably broken down – I’m off!”

He stopped short of saying there were three people in the marriage – George, Enda and a clutch of frontbench heavyweights who are no respecters of Georgie Come Latelys, even if they arrive on the scene with an excellent pedigree, a stellar TV career and a landslide majority.

Now, in the wake of the departure of his South Dublin rose, all a devastated Inda can do is take comfort in the words of Sir Elton John: “Goodbye Georgie Lee, although I never knew you at all . . . ”

He issued a brief e-mail to mark the embarrassing departure, then stayed behind closed doors back in Castlebar. House private.

But George was talking. A lot.

He looked despondent. He sounded shattered.

His dream – the one he spoke about so eloquently nine months ago, was dead.

“I had to be true to myself . . . I’ve decided I’m not going to be fake . . . I am not prepared to live a lie.”

Congratulations to all those interviewers who resisted the urge to ask: “But what about the children, George?”

A bit late for that now. And did nobody in Fine Gael see this coming? Everybody else did.

The novelty of his new job would have kept deputy Lee going in the early months. But as time passed, that eagerness and enthusiasm visibly waned. Many commented on the regular sight in the Dáil chamber of finance spokesman Richard Bruton, in conclave with his deputy, Ciarán O’Donnell, while George, weighed down with folders and documents, looked on from a few rows behind.

Deputy Lee’s resignation will be no surprise to the “I told you so” brigade. They forecast it would end in tears from the start, knowing how the system works.

“He’ll need counselling within the month,” commented one Leinster House sage after George was received in triumph on his first day.

From the afternoon he was first unveiled to the public, Fine Gael treated Lee like a trophy wife.

At the time, the party leader joked they would have to employ a tour manager to organise George’s diary, such was the clamour from the grassroots to meet him. They put together an economic roadshow, with George as chairman, and blitzed the country.

But it was Richard and Ciarán, along with Leo Varadkar and Simon Coveney, who got to deliver the speeches. And when the platform speakers did their thing, they departed to continue formulating policy and thinking deep thoughts while economist George was left behind to press the flesh, sign autographs and pose for photos.

He didn’t like it. He wanted to have an input into that policy. He said his sole purpose for putting himself forward for election was to get his teeth stuck into shaping the party’s economic strategy.

What made him go? Innocence and ego or courage and principle? It’s probably somewhere in between. But George did a brave thing nonetheless.

Ironically, in those starry-eyed days, he said he went into politics because he felt “constrained” by his job in television. Little did he know.

We wished him the best when he said, “I am going to speak out and I don’t care if they don’t like it.” Noting the raised eyebrow he insisted: “I WILL!” It didn’t happen.

George Lee says Enda Kenny misjudged him. He wanted to be involved in formulating policy, but he was cold-shouldered. His boss was more interested in using him as a show pony. “I’m not there to be used just for my celebrity or [to] draw a crowd.”

The jokes have started already: RTÉ is to air a new reality show staring Charlie Bird and George Lee. It’ll be called Celebrity Big Baby. It’s a cruel world outside Montrose.