MAY I be hopelessly shallow and view the presidential race on appearances alone and declare Michael D Higgins duly elected? I have yet to see a photograph of the Labour candidate where I didn't want to reach in and give him a big cuddle.
Of course, photographs are one thing, listening to Michael D reciting his own poems in his native tongue is a whole different kettle of Connemara catch. Still, until David Norris changes his mind or Brendan Gleeson gets off his big Hollywood behind, Michael D has my vote. He is our Bilbo Baggins. Come dance with him.