THE STIMULUS was an immediate and startling success. In the Dáil bar, seats were removed entirely to make room for the hordes clamouring for the cheap drink. In the restaurant, the ominous Lenten offering of pancakes for breakfast gave way to turkey and ham for lunch.
On the streets, good news for the sports shops. They were doing a roaring Christmas trade in single golf clubs – for women “to use on the men who break their promises”, said a droll Joan Burton, her voice drilling into the two Brians’ headspace for the full quota of 45 minutes. And later on, the Minister for Finance declared that he doesn’t think there will be any international question marks about us after this Budget. Cheerio to the IMF so. Recovery in sight next year. Cheaper drink. Cheaper cars. We’re suckin’ diesel, lads.
Joan’s womanly observations will hardly win her any accolades at the next chartered accountants’ do, but they hit home. “It’s a kind of a Top Gear budget, a lads’ budget, the kind that would please Jeremy Clarkson – cut the price of drink and the price of cars . . .” And now that she mentioned it . . .
Who but a woman would observe that there is footfall around the streets and shopping centres, to be sure, “but you’ll see very, very few shopping bags”? Or that you’ll know the ones hit hardest if you compare the trolleys with the sausages and sliced pans with the ones boasting the good cuts of meat.
Richard Bruton’s contribution had a few contemporary cultural references too, albeit of a more macho bent.
Brian Lenihan’s optimistic pronouncements were akin to George Bush declaring “mission accomplished” after invading Iraq, he said, as the Minister tried to maintain that unblinking, politely interested look of one old Jesuit boy to another.
Garret FitzGerald was up in the distinguished visitors’ gallery, head deep in the Budget document, a few pews down from the new British ambassador to Ireland, Julian King. Nearby, Bertie Ahern had deigned to make a gracious appearance.
In fairness to the man at the centre of the action, his speech was deemed one of the better ones – just 17 large-print pages, nicely crafted, and expressed in decent, humanoid tones in a relatively brisk 50 minutes without resort to indigestible mumbo-jumbo or a sudden statement of intent to dispatch a few hundred thousand citizens for resettlement in Kilgarvan.
Old-timers noted that the atmosphere in the chamber was comparatively muted. The barracking lacked wit and precision for the most part. “You’re going to need more garlic,” bellowed a Fine Gaeler amid much guffawing, when the Minister talked about stabilising the banking system. “Another one!” shrieked Michael D Higgins to general approval, when Lenihan announced that the Government intended to undertake an efficiency review of the local authorities. The plan is working, said Lenihan. “The cow jumped over the moon,” jeered the Opposition.
“He did the job – got his four billion in savings,” sighed a veteran, conceding that there was little enough in the way of inspiration. As the Minister was on his feet, the Fine Gael numbers boys, Bruton and Leo Varadkar among them, were busily bashing large calculators. The uh-oh moments came early. That Bruton scrutiny of the precise vintage of the cut to be inflicted on Ministers’ salaries triggered some anxious looks among the Fianna Fáil backbenchers. Was it a stroke – an old cut being presented as something heroically new? Later, under media questioning, Lenihan showed a smidgeon of exasperation at the fuss. “This is terrible. It’s just derisory that this is all the Opposition could come up with”. Hmmm.
Well, the answer it seems, is that it’s mostly the old, voluntary cut with a bit tacked on and all of it now rendered permanent by the Minister. Anyway, he was standing his ground – which he does with calm, amiable intelligence. As rumours swirled about a rift in Government, Brian Lenihan looked like the man in charge – unflappable, assured, back in the saddle. Give that man a (cheap) drink.
