Lise Hand: Sean's fava beans and Chianti on hold as hopefuls start softly
THE flower-seller on Grafton Street cast an unimpressed eye over the posse of reporters who were quizzing Martin McGuinness at some length (in other words, blocking her stall from paying customers) about the minutiae of his past, present and his possible future as Uachtaran na hEireann.
"Jaysis, they're only short of asking him what colour shite he does," she sniffed in majestic disapproval. "The best of luck to him," she added.
Sadly, her pithy observation went (largely) unheard, for the candidate was striding off looking for hands to shake and the press pack were scattering like a gabbling swarm of Tasmanian Devils to another president-related engagement.