DOES some electoral equivalent of the hara kiri blade infest the atmosphere of the headquarters of Kildare County Council in Naas? Is it the deepest ambition of every councillor to make himself completely and totally unelectable? The way things are going in that peculiar" county, though bubonic plague; were to exterminate every candidate but one, and to eliminate; also the entire electorate save the candidate's mother and his dog Rufus, even then neither would vote for him.
The desire not to be elected is something new in democracy. It; has been one of the basic characteristics of homo politicus since the days of ancient Greece that if you stand up for election, you hope to gain votes. Kildare County Councillors are apparently pioneering a new experiment in political activity - vote minimisation, with the further unexpressed ambition to be cut by the electorate into small pieces, deep fried in old oil, and fed to Rufus.
Election Nerves
The surprising thing about this new disease, Inelectabilia Nervosa, is that it is completely cross party. Fine Gael councillors who have hitherto fixed every single planning permission with the name Kevin O'Higgins on their lips are at one with Fianna Fail councillors who had dedicated their entire careers to remembering the 77 executed hostages with each yard of roadway they have voted to have tarmacadamed up to a cumann member's front door. And now, suddenly, the two parties, are united in their determination to make themselves jointly reviled and execrated wherever they go.
Councillors who have been out at the electoral hustings return to their loved ones at the end of the day, tears of joy in their eyes as they relate how they were pelted with dead pigs in Kilcock, were ambushed between two combine harvesters in Kilcullen and soundly threshed, and were attacked and disembowelled by a party of Poor Clares on Retreat near Clane.
Tomorrow, bliss, they intend to present themselves before the farmers of the Curragh, where they confidently and joyously expect to be immersed in sheepdip, shorn and then dab bed with UP - a female sheepscent, I believe - around their nether regions before being herded by murderous collies out onto the great plain where the insatiable Great Ram awaits them, loins girt and member ready.
The following day, they intend to canvas at the National Stud, where the champion station Indian Ridge awaits them, nostrils flaring and in a ramrod condition. The day after that, they rather hope to limp gallantly off to do a spot of electioneering in Athy, where they understand there is a man witch a troupe of Siberian tigers in his farmyard and a large and unsated bull in a neighbouring field. The day after that they...
Courting Unpopularity
But enough of how people - feel about them. is it not interesting that these councillors seem to court unpopularity for reasons of general loftiness of principle unprecedented in political history? It is clear that the people of Clane and Kilcock do not want to have their delightful areas transformed into Tallaght Without The Square; and equally clear that their elected representatives - for the time that they remain so - are adamant that they should impose this noble vision on them, regardless of their wishes.
Maybe life within the County Hall in Naas is so insupportable that councillors vie with one another for defeat at the polls. Which is why the councillor for Ballyquim is proposing at the next council meeting that the IDA give a loo per cent capital grant to Sellafield, to move its entire plutonium processing plant to the Kildare shore of the Poulaphouca Reservoir, using the Liffey as coolant.
The motion is seconded by the honourable councillor for Kilcock, who, though coming from a different tradition, his family remaining true to The Republic, recognises the sincerity of the councillor's motives. He then proposes that a pig colon processing plant be constructed in the village of Kilcock, effluent being passed into the Grand Canal.
The Councillor for Monasterevin seconds that motion; and though proud to come; from Blueshirt traditions, pleads for cross party support for his proposal to build a Nelson's pillar style monument to Eddie Gallagher, in recognition of his contribution to Monasterevin's tourist industry. Murmurs of approval through the hall.
Another councillor proposes that another statue, this time of a group of IRA men in the process of kidnapping Shergar, be erected at the entrance to the Curragh racecourse, to honour the Provos for their contribution to the Irish bloodstock industry. More noises of assent through the chamber.
Roars of Approval
"And perhap's a Triumphal March of Crossed Armalites right over the racecourse," cries a right wing Fine Gael councillor whose father once buried three Irregulars alive, and used their exposed heads to improve his golfswing. Uproar of approval.
A Fianna Fail councillor stands to offer his congratulations to his fellow councillors. "Might I suggest," he continue's, "that the Catholic Church in the Curragh Army camp be given over to the Free Presbyterians, or turned into a carwash, whatever the house prefers."
"An abortion clinic," shrieks a prominent member of Opus Dei in delight, "which gives sexual counselling to 13 year old girls, and runs a massage par four for black lesbian unemployed mothers from Hammersmith." The house erupts in shrill ululations of delight.
"A most noble proposal," murmurs the honourable counsellor for Ballynat. "Might I suggest that the Army barracks be vacated and turned into a training ground for National Front skinheads from London? In their idle moments, they can dismantle Newbridge, Kilcullen and even distant Athy. The dears."
The chamber in Naas is now so awash that members barely notice as they vote to introduce the death sentence for mitching from school; and they never hear the panting sound from outside. It is Rufus, waiting for dinner.