The old man is holding court in the middle of the No 27 bor – out of his bin, of course – going, “More Champagne . . . Judge, you’ll have another glass, surely . . . Leave the car, Deputy – come back and get it tomorrow!”
He runs his hand through his hair – in other words, wig – and he orders six more bottles of Dom Perignon. Some random bird behind me goes, “The man has sex coming out of his pores.”
My stomach does a quick somersault.
And that’s when he cops me and Sorcha, staring at him from the other side of the bor. He goes, “There they are! The power couple of the moment! The New Republic Teachta Dála-elect for the constituency of Dublin Bay South – and, well, her husband.”
See, that's all I am to him now? Sorcha's husband. He doesn't even shout anything about the incredible rugby career that I very nearly had.
He staggers over to us – he really is mashed – and goes, "It's wonderful to see you both. I'm sorry if I was rather vague about my reasons for inviting you here tonight."
I’m looking around me. The place is, like, wall-to-wall with his mates – a lot of them, like Sorcha, are going to be candidates for this new porty of his in the next election.
Sorcha goes, “What’s it all about, Chorles? Is it anything to do with the White Paper I sent you on the issue of water chorges?”
He’s like, “Errr,” obviously not wanting to admit that he stuck that thing on the fire within five minutes of her handing it to him.
She goes, “I genuinely think, Chorles, that if we knocked on people’s doors and explained to them the environmental benefits that will result from us – as a society – becoming more aware of our water consumption, then everyone would pay their water chorges. They’d actually think they were getting value.”
I can see the old man looking at her, thinking, “Am I incredibly pissed here or is she?”
He goes, “The Coalition’s in bloody well disarray on the issue. Why in the name of Hades would we do anything to help them?”
“Because,” Sorcha goes, “when we set up New Republic, we promised people that we were interested in a new way of doing politics.”
“Did we?”
“Yes. And I like to think that what we meant by that was that we would always do the right thing rather than the politically expedient thing. As the porty’s Environment, Community, Sustainability and Issues Surrounding Sustainability spokesperson, I genuinely believe that New Republic should take the lead and confront the water chorge protestors head-on – with, like, information. I’m talking about actually turning up at their protests – and using megaphones, if necessary – to inform them of the facts regarding our wastage of water and the statistic that 5,000 people die every day for the want of a resource that we take for – oh my God – granted.”
The old man stares at her for a good 10 seconds after she’s finished talking, then he breaks his hole laughing. “Good Lord, you almost had me there!” he goes. “Excuse me a moment, you two, I promised everyone I’d make my announcement.”
Off he trots, up to the top of the room.
Sorcha turns around to me and goes, “We don’t have any policies. How can we expect people to vote for us if we don’t have a position on any actual issues?”
I’m there, “Hey, I told you to have nothing to do with him.”
And that’s when the old man suddenly calls for hush.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he goes, "friends from the fields of politics, business and law, exactly 18 months ago today – at the urging of a number of people present in this very room – I decided, for my sins, to re-enter public life. I did so because I felt that a vacuum had opened up in Irish politics. I felt then that there was room for a sixth major political party in this country, or seventh if you still count the Greens. "
Sorcha’s face is suddenly lit up like an airport runway.
“Oh my God,” she whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “I think he’s about to resign!”
I’m there, “Really? Do you think so?”
She goes, “Maybe he wants to hand over the porty to someone who knows how to connect with actual people, someone who’s prepared to make brave political choices – and that’s not me being a bitch.”
The old man goes, “I told you that I would resign if I failed to establish New Republic as a major political force before the next General Election. I promised I would step down and allow someone else to take over the running of the party.”
Sorcha’s like, “Oh my God, this is it. Don’t let me drink too much tonight – I have a leadership contest to prepare for!”
The old man goes, "I have always been a man of my word. Tomorrow morning, the famous Irish Times is to publish the results of an Ipsos MRBI Poll. That poll will reveal . . ."
There’s, like, total silence in the bor.
“ . . . that New Republic,” he goes, “is now the second most popular party in the country!”
All hell breaks literally loose. People are, like, punching the air and high-fiving each other and hugging.
"Not only that," the old man goes – and the hush descends again, "but Charles O'Carroll-Kelly has the second highest approval rating of any party leader – just two points behind Enda, the Cabinet Secretary of the Vichy Republic!"
Again, there’s a massive cheer.
He’s there, “I’m going to make another promise to you here tonight. I will lead this country after the next general election!”
There’s, like, suddenly mayhem. People are chanting, “CO’CK for Taoiseach! CO’CK for Taoiseach!” over and over again.
I look at Sorcha, who goes, “I don’t understand it.”
And I’m there, “It’s the hairpiece, stupid. At this rate, I think he could end up ruling the world.”