Today is the day of our Presidential election.
I’ve mentioned it before, in the post where I declared my intention to stand as a candidate. That never happened, mainly because two men in dark suits with dark glasses (I didn’t know we had a CIA, I was quite impressed) arrived at my door and told me not to go for it. They said this blog showed that I would be a “loose cannon” President, since I have a penchant (they said that too, though they rhymed it with “pendant”) for inventing stories such as, for example, this one.
Vincent...
...and Miriam
Anyway, they did find seven people obviously less loose-cannonical than I am, though you wouldn’t know it to look at some of their histories. The sheer number of the candidates has made each televised Presidential debate, with each of them standing behind a little lectern, look like an episode of The Weakest Link, though the presenter has not worn black leather like Anne Robinson and winked at us all at the end (which is a pity in some cases, Miriam O’Callaghan would have looked great, though Vincent Browne not so much).
The office is largely ceremonial. The President does have some powers, some of them quite important, but essentially he or she is there to be a unifying figure for the people and an ambassador for Ireland both here and abroad. The last two have grown into the job and been terrific, so we can only hope for the best from this current lot, who at the moment range from the dreadfully mediocre to the simply dreadful.
This guy is the favourite to win
after the previous favourite imploded spectacularly during the last debate on Monday. His name is Michael D. Higgins, he’s been around politics since the time of Pitt the Younger, he’s a poet, a raconteur and frankly a bit of a windbag (look who’s talking, I hear you say), but basically a decent enough guy.
I can claim no credit for the picture below, but I thought I would share it with you all anyway:
My own opinion is that once that picture appeared on the internet Michael D should have replaced his own staid poster with it.
I reckon he’d have sailed in.
Worth Doing Badly 