First of all, apologies for the lack of weekly missives, but promoting the book meant I was literally all over the place, leaving me oddly sympathetic to Katherine O'Hara. Secondly, apologies for the flagrant reference to the book. Did That Actually Happen. Which is in all good shops. And Amazon. RRP £11.99.
One of the politicians I mention in the book (this is a legitimate segue, I swear) has, coincidentally enough, re-emerged this week. For a few years, former Naas Mayor Darren Scully was cast back to the primordial ooze from whence he came for his refusal to see "Black Africans" at clinics. His old party Fine Gael, clearly unable to realise that "I'm not racist, but" is just code for a racist arse, want to make him their newest member, just in time for him to run again in the next election. Say what you want about Nigel Farage and his band of moonhowlers, but they at least have a better explusion strategy than the largest party in Ireland.
This is the sort of thing that Russell Brand would probably show as an example of the futility of party politics, or at least it would if he were bothered about Irish politics. Or any other kind. Revolution is more his thing, or at very least, revulsion of the democratic process. Robert Webb, the half of the double act that makes you wonder where it all went wrong, strenuously disagreed. Brand strenuously disagreed back, and was backed up somewhat by his now 9 million times viewed interlocutor, Jeremy Paxman, who also confessed to not voting at times. No great crime, considering most people would forgive him for wanting to strangle most cabinet members at various points.
Brand was one of the legion (their word, not mine) of Guy Fawkes mask-wearing people at Parliament Square, and all over the shop for that matter. In London the BBC reported "scuffles" broke out, (which sounds like a beloved pet going missing. "Scuffles! Come here, boy!") while Fox News had their website hacked. Rupert Murdoch will no doubt be spending his weekend rebooting his stormtroopers. Unlikely to be among News International's legion are Rhubehkuh Bruuuukhz and Andy Coulson, who it turns out had an affair for six years, managing to majorly disgust the world one last time.
In more life affirming news, this has been a good week for confronting the spectre of mental health taboos. The hurler Conor Cusack and radio presenter John Murray have done everyone a service by being so upfront with their battles with depression. The positive and irrefutable message of both Cusack and Murray is in sharp contrast to Richard Dawkins, who has a habit of making a fair point while sounding like an insufferable dick. His response to having his honey confiscated at the airport (oh, the humanity!) was like a bat signal for sarcasm. Amazing to me how the arch-Darwinist can never seem to come up with an evolved response.
Another person that fits in to that category of Admittedly Talented People I Can't Stand is Roy Keane, who now puts the "Ass" in Assistant Manager for the Ireland team. Martin O'Neill is the boss, who you could get the impression will spend most of his time screaming like a police chief in a 1970's cop show. Maybe they should have gone down the Star Wars route, and opened auditions up for the role. It'd cost a lot less, and there'd be much less chance of a walk out.
If you thought that the FAI (or the creators of Jar Jar Binks) must have been smoking crack to make such a fakakta appointment, then consider the odd story of Rob Ford, Mayor of Toronto and all-round road traffic collision of a man. He has admitted to smoking crack in a press conference revelation makes the Jeremy Kyle Show look like an EU Commission press briefing on fisheries quotas, though in fairness, who among us can honestly say we haven't sat down of a night, switched on Masterchef, and treated ourselves to a nice bag of crack? And it is really moreish. Almost as bad as his revelation was his excuse: he was probably in a "drunken stupor". Ah, fair enough so.