John Drennan: The scary spectres who go bump in the night
Even the absence of the Dail doesn't stop John Drennan having troubling political dreams. He describes his nightmare before New Year
AS I dozed before a fire on New Year's Eve, a rare wintry smile crossed my rugged features, for it really had been the best Christmas.
Junior ministers had been roasted over an open fire, Greens boiled in the pot, while senior ministers had left crying after the Sketch warned them that the only presents they would get next year would be a multimillion-euro pension pot.
Then, just as my head began to nod in the way it normally does when 'Slieveen' O Caolain or Simon Coveney begin to speak in the Dail, a series of terrifying events occurred.