DÁIL SKETCH: The Enda tapes, or where he tries to soft-soap Nicolas Sarkozy the Mayo way

HELLO. HELLO. HELLO.

Is that you, President Sarkozy? It’s Enda here. Aah, you do know me. Enda, Enda Kenny.

No. He does the Riverdance. I’m the prime minister of Ireland. Or Taoiseach, as we do call it in the Gaelic.

No. I’m definitely not Bono.

Anyway listen, Nicolas.

I just thought I’d give you a bell to tell you I’m here in Paris and I’ve a few hours to kill before Fionnuala gets back from the shops. I might call around, if you’re not doing anything in particular.

How’s Carla, by the way? As we do say here in Mayo: ‘Is she nearly ready to drop?’ I’ll be arriving on my own. Baldy – between yourself and myself – is involved in some sort of economic tryst with Madam Lagarde. They’ve been getting on like a house on fire, waltzing all over Europe.

Actually, Nicky, I think that’s a good thing. It means we can have a good old chat, mano-a-mano, as I do like to say to Deputy Gilmore.

Ah, c’mon now, Nicky. Stall the ball, as we do say in Castlebar.

There’s no need to be like that. Brian Cowen is a lovely singer. And sure didn’t you get the chandelier fixed on the insurance? No harm done.

Anyway, we’re not the previous crowd, as I am constantly having to remind them in our parliament. Mind you, I’m not sure how long I can keep getting away with blaming them for everything.

The main reason for my call, Nicky, is that the leader of our Opposition was giving me a terrible time in the Dáil before I left this morning. He seems to think either you don’t want to talk to me about a cut in our interest rate or I’m afraid to open my mouth to you about it.

Micheál Martin kept on repeating how he found it “extraordinary” that we haven’t been in contact with each other for over three months. “Incredible” he said.

I have to say, mon ami, I felt a bit embarrassed.

After all, you are the main obstacle standing in the way of a rate reduction on our bailout loan. My situation is becoming increasingly difficult. A member of the Labour Party – they are my Coalition partners – had the temerity to ask for a referendum on the bailout.

I don’t need to tell you, Nicky, about our track record in that department. If Tommy Broughan gets his way, you can wave au revoir to your precious euro.

Things got worse when I was attacked by journalists demanding to know why I wasn’t trying to get in touch with you to discuss the interest rate.

“What do you want me to do? Ring up the Élysée and say I’m here and I want to talk to you?” I said to them in no uncertain terms.

But Nicky, I could see that’s exactly what they expected.

It’s not like I would be doing anything untoward. Charles Haughey was always on the line to dear old François Mitterrand, and Albert Reynolds thought nothing of lifting the phone to shout ‘Howaya Helmet!” to the German chancellor. When Bertie Ahern wasn’t talking to Tony Blair, he was cosying up to Bill Clinton.

So look. Here’s what I’m proposing: When you see me at the EU summit tomorrow, welcome me the way Christine Lagarde welcomes Michael Noonan.

“Brief encounters at the side of noisy council meetings do not constitute substantive bilateral engagement,” Micheál Martin said.

So I want you to make a big show of me.

Kiss me on all my cheeks, as you French do.

That should silence the lot of them.

Oh, here comes Fionnuala, back early from the shops. I won’t be able to call around for that one-on-one meeting now.

See you in Brussels, so, and remember what I said.

Take it handy and keep between the ditches, as we do say.

Who am I again? I told you, Nicky. It’s Enda. Enda Kenny. K-E-N-N-Y.

Bye now.