Sunday 17 December 2017

Not that you'd blame Johnny...

It's ironic really that it's called a convention centre. Because Johnny Ronan is anything but conventional. You would imagine the man doesn't give a damn for convention -- unless there's a few hundred mill in it.

There was certainly nothing conventional about the opening of the centre. Indeed, it was highly unconventional: The country is largely acknowledged to be what is known in conventional terms as going down the toilet. And there we have our current leader and our iar-taoiseach, which I think means Taoiseach emeritus, Bertie, whooping it up with Johnny Ronan surrounded by Cacesceau-era white elephants like the derelict headquarters for the former best little bank in the world -- now the most bust bank in the world. All around them, monuments to our previous vanity. And the three of them having their pictures taken, like the Rat Pack or something.

Not that you'd blame Johnny. What else would Johnny do but turn up and try and look as if everything was coming up Rosies? But Brian Cowen? Cowen, who's been hiding away for most of the summer and the last few years? And then he suddenly decides it's time to show his face? And he does it there? Flanked by a devil-may-care Johnny and a recently rejuvenated Bertie?

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