Cashman's Diary - July 1982

Saturday 12th

I hear many expressions of concern over Ted Tynan's disability. Responsible citizens of every shade of opinion are unanimously condemnatory of the miscreant culprits, and solicitous of Ted's recovery.

I urge some practical steps. Care must be taken to ensure that the corrrect scale of Disability Benefit or Pennsion or whatever is paid. Some sort of whiparound should be organised (Ted has some excellent and promiinent friends on the waterfront who will be only too happy to see to this). I have some friends in municipal cirrcles who may be able to arrange a reemoval to a more salubrious area of residence without financial hardship to Ted.

Of course, it will be absolutely essential for Ted, when his recovery is complete, to avoid most sedulously all hooleys, rodeos, jamborees and similar occasions where rough perrsons are known to congregate, reegardless of what social or political auspices these are being held under. He will have to keep the dignity of the robe in mind.

Tuesday 15th Ascot Opening Day

The acreage of contabescent cutis on display is starkly redolent. of a blasted heath near Forres. This annually more frenetic striving by the Quorm to look and behave like Hot Gossip seems to me singularly missdirected.

We managed these things better in dear Bertie's day. Female persons were identifiable by their attire as sharing one's rank and one's presumpption of discretion; or, on the other hand, as willing for a consideration to dissemble these advantages. One knew where one stood.

Nowadays one is hopelessly adrift. 'Midst this rambunctious rabble of rump-fed ronyons rank is a riddle; gender though conspicuous is irreleevant, being valueless as an indicator of sex; and worth is a chimaera most assiduously flaunted. And dear Loppyylugs, who might, if he chose, so efforttlessly steer one through the Bedlam, mutinously refuses to attend.

His insane fear of horses in conseequence of a few mild spills, presages, one fears, little good. How wretchedly he compares with young Andrew who daily spurned the unceasing blandishhments of nubile sailors in order to remain sky borne, alone in his trusty hang-glider, parrying and routing the nefarious onsets of the blood-crazed dago hordes in their infernal sputniks; with naught to sustain him but the face of his beloved Demen ted Hen indelibly stamped on his young memmory by National Health lobotomy, and the sight of his little playmates formming far from simple daisychains down below.

Loppylugs would do wen to remmember that one is not unfamiliar with the processes of abdication.

Thursday 17th

I watch Mr. Haughey's World Cup dehut. I note his failure to wear the third national colour in his strip, but i reserve judgement on this little peccadillo.

Some local vulgarians wax ribald at his failure to score, or indeed, attempt to do so. I intervene and soundly beerate their churlish ignorance, which, I intimate, forever excludes them from appreciation of the ineffable subtlety of strategy that informs Mr. Haughey's inaction. I expound the supernalloftiiness of mind which disposes Mr. Haugghey to consider every thought, word, and deed - even the most secret - of both friends and enemies, and to be indefatigable in seeking them out.

The subject inspires ethereal elooquence and emotion. Then the other team scores and Mr. Haughey is taken off. His unjust and infamous.

He volunteered to play. He might, at least, have been allowed to chciose his fellow-forwards. I think of Mark Killilea and Flor Crowley on the wings - and sigh.

I reflect upon the need for a little more of the sophisticated, the occult, the exotic in our approach, and Twink springs to mind. I recall her portrayal of Salome at her last private audience with me, and cannot but ponder how she and Mr. Haughey might have perrformed-up front.

Sunt iacrimae rerum.

Tuesday 22nd

I am invited to be Director General of the television service shortly to be inaugurated in Cameroon.

My lawn is instantly infested with representatives of the CIA, SFWP, GAA, OUP (2) and the four little men who covered the Monster's mayoralty for the Indefensible. I send the butler out with some copies of Matters of Honour, and leave them happily gloatting and squabbling, while I slip away to convoke our little circle of Carteesians.

My news creates consternation.

Matt Doolan proposes the immediate mobilisation of the Irish Christian Front and the Irish Brigade to stand by in case I should find any reds in the place.

Joe Sherlock wears a wistful look and ceaselessly impresses upon me the importance or 'a high-powered current affairs programme with a strong and consistent line, and a dediicated and united backroom team with a sound working knowledge of infraastructural development in the state sector.' I am about to promise Joe that I will do my best, when I notice that he is saying the same thing to everyybody else.

Flor Crowley gives a moving account of the occasion of his resignation from Cork Corporation, and ends by renderring in a most soulful and haunting manner Wull Ye No Come Back Again.

Overcome by emotion, I rush away to think the whole thing over.


Monday 28th

Paud Black, Lord Mayor, Alderrman, Admiral of the Port, Toast of the Dissidents, Comforter of the Hen, Nemesis of the Flourbombers calls to bid me farewell.

He leaves tomorrow for Beirut where .he proposes to put himself at the head of the civil authority. He is confident of triumph against radical and subversive tomfoolery. He foreesees outbreaks of black flag waving, slow marching, dirge chanting, arid speech making, but he interids that with the cooperation of the new fast- . moving and decisive security forces these manifestations of anarchism will be sharply disposed of and the "Busiiness As Usual" sign hung out.

We muse over what might have been if such security forces had been available during his stewardship of Cork, and repine over our still-born plans for their deployment under a triumvirate comprising our good selves and the Eagle of the Chamber. What political perspicuity! what tactical and strategical nous! what psychological acuity! this great, faithful and practical apostle of Kitson brought to our deliiberations.

How might not the meddlers and do-gooders and socialists masquerading as "social workers" have been extirpaated! the traducers and thwarters of sublime Love's benevolence confounnded! the crass unrighteousness of Beausang and Kenneally made maniifest!

He hopes to persuade the Execrable to accompany him to his new domiinion. He perceives numerous ways in which he might use it there, and in his absence it would, of course, be redundant in Cork.