If You Ask Me
by Fionola Meredith

Hang on a minute, this can’t be right. Doesn’t the government realise that Northern Ireland’s politicians have a monopoly on misbehaving, getting stroppy with each other and generally screwing things up?

That’s the job of our own locally elected representatives, and – let’s face it - they could do it in their sleep. But lately, it seems that there’s been a weird inversion in politics, an odd reversal of ingrained behaviour patterns. We must have fallen through a wormhole in the space/time fabric.

Normally, the urbane London politicians look on with lofty disdain and world-weary patience while our boys and girls get all red-faced and shouty. They’ll never say it, but you know they regard us with a mixture of perplexity and contempt. For all the lip-service they pay to our ticklish political sensitivities, I bet they secretly see us a crazy rabble of Guinness-swilling, God-fearing yokels, charging about the country, yelling noisily about past and present injustices. And so often we do little to counter the impression that we’re just a bunch of ignorant and incompetent culchies.

But now the Labour government is giving us a run for our money when it comes to behaving badly.

They can’t look down their noses at us in quite the same way any more.

Not after the ‘triple whammy’ of Charles Clarke’s cock-up over foreign criminals, Patricia Hewitt’s woeful misdiagnosis of the NHS and John Prescott’s admission to owning a regrettable gingham shirt – and, of course, sleeping with his diary secretary.

The combined antics of Bungle, George and – er – Zippy make our politicians look like a sedate Sunday-school outing.

And it seems that a spring-time mood has taken hold of even our most intransigent public figures. As cherry-blossom froths, and lambs bleat in the meadows, it appears that old hostilities are starting to - very gradually - thaw.

First there was Peter and Jeffrey’s DUP jaunt to Killarney, to call in and say hi to a meeting of the British-Irish Interparliamentary Body, something they’d have had a blue fit about if David Trimble had tried it.

Now the Orange Order and other marching organisations are holding unprecedented talks with both the Dublin Government and the SDLP. Admittedly, republicans are showing few signs of spring fever, but the sap is rising and it can’t be long before the tree-hugging season begins. Once that kicks off, Gerry and Co won’t be able to resist spreading a little love around.

Who am I kidding? Bitter experience of this place shows that these tantalisingly brief glimpses of forward movement and positive engagement are quickly obliterated by the usual fights and setbacks. It’s all just a strange aberration. Soon, we’ll be restored to our rightful place as the most politically dysfunctional corner of Britain and Ireland. Normal service resumed.

If You Ask Me Archive