Miriam Lord: Predictions, promises and pratfalls for 2016

January

The new year begins on a promising note when two sporting unknowns burst on to the scene and are immediately hailed as strong medal prospects for the Rio Olympics in August.

Taoiseach Enda Kenny is installed as early favourite for gold in the Men's Breath-Holding Competition.

He showed his class over Christmas by holding on for days despite Opposition attempts to drag him out to see the flood damage and didn’t surface for air until New Year’s Eve.

Meanwhile, Tánaiste Joan Burton (pictured above) displayed awesome power and artistry when she executed a flawless dive from a small kayak into raging floodwater in Kilkenny before rapidly scrambling to dry land.

“She is such a talent,” sobbed Alan “Big Bawls” Kelly, highly emotional following baseless accusations that he had destabilised Joan’s canoe.

“She must be packed off to represent us in the political nosedive. I will reluctantly take charge,” wept her overwrought deputy leader.

“And anyway, I didn’t hear any of yis asking where Pat Rabbitte was when Joan of Ark went for a Burton,” he blubbered.

Stop press: Enda is banned on January 1st following a positive drug test. It seems he didn’t surface over Christmas because he was walloped by a vicious flu. “He’s been eating the tablets for a month,” revealed a handler.

When the Dáil returns on January 13th the Taoiseach regales the chamber with Tales from the Flood. His Government squelches back to Leinster House following a symbolic Cabinet meeting held on a dinghy in the Shannon basin.

“I understand how these people feel,” said Enda. “I myself am constantly inundated. Only yesterday, a woman swam up to me in Crossmolina and cried: ‘Thank you for everything you are doing for us. The land was parched for a sup of water and my poor filthy mother has taken her first bath in six months.’”

Mrs Inundata Sponge from Belmullet rang Joe Duffy immediately. "I told the Taoiseach that if I had an effin' harpoon I'd know where I'd effin' stick it."

February

Election fever grips the nation.Kenny finally goes to the Phoenix Park. “In all my years living and working in Dublin, I have never been to the zoo,” he declares.

Afterwards, he nips across to Áras an Uachtaráin and asks President Michael D Higgins to dissolve the 31st Dáil.

The Soldiers of Destiny unveil their election slogan: “Fianna Fáil: Sure Where Would You Be Without Us?”

Gerry Adams and Mary Lou McDonald feature a “good republican” for their poster boy. Thomas “Slab” Murphy smiles out from a pleasing backdrop of black bin bags stuffed with money and contraband.

The message is simple but effective: “Vote Sinn Féin – the Good Republican Party. Now You’re Washin’ Diesel!”

Labour take their social- media strategy “#OMFG!” to the lamp posts. In tiny white letters on a violent red background are the explanatory words: “Overall Majority Fine Gael” And above them, in heavy black type, the shortened version screams “OMFG!”

The Social Democrats still can’t agree on a leader, so Catherine Murphy, Róisín Shortall and Stephen Donnelly are pictured together on their pious poster. “Against Everything – the Troika You can Trust.”

“Bua for Renua. For a new style of Fine Gael” is the chirpy slogan on Lucinda Creighton’s tastefully designed “PD lifestyle” posterettes.

The Anti-Austerity Alliance unveils a large image of Burton falling out of her canoe under the heading “Joan of Ark”. And at the bottom it says “You Shudda Stayed in the Car, Joanie!”

Shane Ross’s face features prominently on the Independent Alliance poster, with his fellow TDs arrayed behind him. The message is clear: “Enough About Them – Let’s Talk About Me.”

All the parties promise “a new style of politics”.

Fine Gael goes down the stability route, with Kenny and Michael Noonan grinning out at voters. “For the Same Schtyle of Politics – Better the Divils You Know!”

March

Fine Gael returns as the largest party but Kenny doesn’t have the numbers to form a government. While a diminished Labour agonises over what to do, Enda opens talks with Fianna Fáil, for the laugh. Sinn Féin opens talks with Fianna Fáil, for the laugh. Bertie Ahern throws open his Drumcondra home and chairs the negotiations.

Kenny, having realised his dream of becoming the first Fine Gael Taoiseach to bag a second consecutive term, cobbles together a government with Labour and a rag-tag group of Independents. It’s a very shaky arrangement but at least everything is done in time for the centenary of the 1916 Rising.

Speaking from a platform outside the GPO, Enda, in full military dress, says he intends to govern forever, or at least for as long as Adams has been president of Sinn Féin.

April

Micheál Martin is deposed as leader of Fianna Fáil by a group of female TDs who got in only because the party had gender quotas to fill. Attracted by the offer from headquarters of a year’s supply of Persil and a free Dyson, women flocked to Fianna Fáil. But in a strange twist, most of them get elected. And more arrive following the byelections that take place after some of the lads drop dead with the shock.

Averil Power returns to the fold and is elected leader.

The Taoiseach informs a shocked Oireachtas that a leading multinational based in Ireland is being investigated for un-American activity when it is revealed that the company is almost paying its fair share of tax. "April Fools!" sez he.

May

The campaign to repeal the Eighth Amendment gathers dust while hundreds of Irish women – friends, sisters, daughters, mothers, loved ones of our legislators – have to make furtive journeys to grown-up countries outside the State in order to access safe and legal abortion services.

Enda, to the astonishment of everyone, says he intends to hold a referendum.

“It is time for a mature debate,” he tells a hushed Dáil. “For too long, the women and men of Dublin’s northside have been forced to suffer the indignity of having Áras an Uachtaráin in Dublin 8, when clearly it is in Dublin 7.”

“I’m worried about the Phoenix Park flood gates,” says Senator Jim Walsh. “What if they open? The President will be drowned in his bed along with the papal nuncio.”

“This is the human rights question of our generation,” quivers Burton, who lives in Cabra.

“It is not,” sobs Big Bawls Kelly, who is now Minister of State with Responsibility for Nothing. “What about me?”

June

The country closes down for the duration of Euro 2016. At the same time, a high-level parliamentary delegation travels to France to discuss issues of crucial importance to the future of Ireland. Membership of this delegation is hotly contested by all TDs and senators. It is decided to significantly increase the size of the travelling party.

Mick Wallace is chosen to lead the group and their extensive programme kicks off with a critical series of bilaterals with Sweden (June 13th, Stade de France); Belgium (June 18th, Bordeaux) and Italy (June 22nd, Lille).

July

The President leads the tributes to the Republic of Ireland’s all-conquering European Champions upon their triumphant return with the coveted trophy. Speaking from the Áras, his northside mansion in Dublin 7, Michael D recites a poe-im what he has written especially for the occasion. He then announces he intends to seek a second term in office, thus dashing the hopes of Miriam O’Callaghan, Denis O’Brien, Norah Casey and good republican Slab Murphy.

August

The country is consumed with speculation that Dubliner Aidan Turner, smouldering star of the television series Poldark, is set to follow in the footsteps of Navan man Pierce Brosnan and become the second Irishman to play James Bond.

But a new name sends the showbiz world into a frenzy. Who is this twinkly-eyed charmer with the magnificent teeth and tousled mane? This proud son of Clare, born to wear a dinner jacket? Women want him and men want to be him. It seems Marty Morrissey’s hour has come. But he won’t commit to the role until after the All-Ireland finals.

Is lovely Aidan back in the frame?

No, because the producer has set her sights on another smouldering Irishman. In what will become the enduring Bond image, this heavily moustachioed heart-throb looks menacingly into the lens, gimlet of eye, as he points an automatic pistol at some would-be assassin.

The new 007 is Willie O’Dea.

September

Ireland’s latest sporting heroine returns to work after a hectic few weeks.

“It won’t change me one bit,” promises Burton, who thrilled the nation when she won gold in the slalom canoe.

Meanwhile, Mary Lou McDonald lands in hot water when she speaks up for a constituent found guilty by the Special Criminal Court of doing terrible things.

Nigel "Nidgey" Murphy, a notorious animal lover who operated a specialised laundry and pest extermination service from his licensed premises in Dublin Central, had already paid millions in settlements to the Criminal Asset Bureau before he was disgracefully lifted by the rozzers. His fellow hoodlums were outraged.

“Poor Nidgey couldn’t even intimidate a witness because he was tried in a non-jury court. This is grossly unfair,” said a spokesman.

“We made a deal with the gubberment nearly 20 years ago. They said we could go racketeering and robbing to our hearts’ content once we didn’t annoy the ordinary folk. Now we’re going to have to start shooting innocent people again.”

Deputy McDonald said that while she did not condone any alleged wrongdoing which allegedly may have been perpetrated by the defendant, he is a much misunderstood decent skin.

“Nidgey Murphy is just a Dublin innkeeper who loves his pint and his pigeons. He is a good publican,” she declared.

October

Denis O’Brien sues himself. “Because I’m worth it,” he says, with a flick of his beautiful hair.

November/December

The Government falls. Enda is ousted. Simon Coveney, Frances Fitzgerald, Leo Varadkar and first-time TD Parteen Weir slug it out. A compromise candidate emerges. “I will electrify Ballymote. D’ya hear me!” vows John Perry.

For the second time in a year, the people go to the polls. But there is a twist in the tale.

Donald Trump (pictured below), having lost to Hillary Clinton in the US presidential election, retreats to his Doonbeg lair to lick his wounds. But he can't shake off the politics bug.

Trump’s Comb-over Party is born. Bachelor farmers all over the land rush to join up. So does fellow billionaire Denis O’Brien. The Donald and the Denis swap hair-care tips.

But their joy is short-lived. A different movement is born in Co Clare.

Because after losing the 007 role to O’Dea, a disillusioned Morrissey turns to politics.

The Marty Party sweeps all before it.