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John Drennan: Biffo, dude, please tell me where's my country gone?

The polemicist Michael Moore famously summarised the feelings of Americans during the Bush regime with the query of "Dude, where's my country?"

Sadly, when it comes to our even more unpopular cabal, there's no point in asking. The one common theme surrounding last week's performances by Biffo, our Florence Nightmare in Health, Noel Dempsey and Dermot Ahern, was one of utter cluelessness.

At least we continue to be entertained by Enda's ongoing attempts to become the political equivalent of the old Six Million Dollar Man.

Sadly, the attempt by Lite to re-invent himself as a new "iron man" of Irish politics is not faring well.

The posh new southside spin doctors may believe that we can "rebrand him" to such an extent they'll even "drag the culchie" out of poor Enda.

However, the "iron" parts of Enda are rusted up to such an extent that these days Kenny looks more like Humpty Dumpty than any great super hero.

When it comes to Kenny, sometimes the fates are simply unkind for as we wandered around the Dail trying to think happy thoughts about Enda (no, seriously!) what did we see but the FG leader engaged in an intense conversation with that last great leader of the PDs, Mr What's His Name?

You could hardly blame us for wondering if Lite was asking Ciaran Cannon, who is now an FG senator, what it's like to lose the top job.

The good news for Enda is that if the PDs are anything to go by, losing the leadership is a bit like a visit to the dentist's except that instead of "feeling a little prick", you escape from a group of them.

Back in the Dail a new deity called the bond markets dominated the rest of the week.

As an FF-led Government that now operates a gerrymandered majority cowered under the lash of this and lesser deities such as the ratings agencies, it was all profoundly demoralising.

We may as recently as two years ago have been a reasonably civilised State, but our cabinet now resembles a superstitious tribe of cave-men trying to assuage some hideous demon that is impervious to logic or morality.

The bad news for us is that, like all primitive sub-species, so far the only response they have come up with is a plan to throw the nation into a fiscal volcano.

Our mood was not at all improved by the dialogue of the dunces as poor Lite and Mary "the lovely girl" Coughlan attempted to sort out the delights of subordinated debt.

It was all too clear the state of knowledge of the Dail's two natural blondes contained as much depth as Father Jack's views on "ecumenical matters".

Back in the curious land of Biffo, the Taoiseach still attempts to be combative, but nothing epitomised the ghosts Mr Cowen is haunted by more than his appeals to interrupting opponents to respect the dignity of his office.

And if you're wondering, should Enda ever ask Biffo "Dude where's my country?", all queries should be directed to a group of stupid FF men such as Biffo, Bertie and even more stupid PD men (and one woman for we haven't forgotten you Mary!) for they were the ones in charge when it was seen heading over a cliff.

Sunday Independent