Gene Kerrigan: As Time Goes By

There now follows a party political broadcast on behalf of ...

Do we really need Leitrim? It's not an easy question to ask. People's feelings can be hurt. The issue may prove divisive. Nevertheless, the Spontaneous Aggravation Party (SAP) has earned its reputation of grasping the nettle by the horns of the dilemma. And last month's Execuutive meeting of SAP did that very thing - and in the process forged a new economic concept.

Things being what they are, holidays and stuff, I'm a bit pressed for time this month and so I've roped in a couple of guest stars to help out with the column. Like you to meet two of the finest people it's been my pleasure to know - Ira Ellenthal and Lou Porterfield. Big hand for Ira and Lou - thank you.

There I was, February 1973. A young man in a world of infinite promise. A bit worried about some of the things in that world, but confident enough that it would all come right in the final reel. And we all had a chance to make sure it did. Here came an election. My first general election. The first election in which the kids of the Sixties could vote (they wouldn't let us vote in '69, you had to be 21).

In his first year as Director (of the Arts Council), 0 Briain gave a memorable lecture/performance at the National Gallery in Dublin. Sitting in a dentist's chair and wearing a crash helmet he held forth on the state of the arts in Ireland. The same year he opened the Living Art Exhibition sitting in a deck chair with his back to the audience, wearing a pair of swimming trunks. Sunday Tribune May 8

Not doing too bad, are we? Most political movements burrow away for years and all they have to show for it is a few TDs elected. And, as all but the lame-brained will tell you, TDs are not so much an asset as an affliction. But we in the Spontaneous Aggravation Party have managed to destabilise the country in the space of a couple of years.

The guy with the scraggy mustache nicked another of my cigarettes and said, "Of course, Ballagh is an excellent technician, but, well, one looks for more ... more heart really. Don't you think?"

Garret FitzGerald is ruining the art of conversation. Was a time you went down the pub and you chatted about work and movies and music and people you knew and what was on the Late Late last week and guess which TD I just saw throwing up inside in the jacks. Must have been all the words he's had to eat since the last election. That kind of thing.

So, now you suckers know what they meant when they promised us a stable government. They're going to tax us so much we all end up living in stables. Only thing you can afford to eat is hay. We in the Spontaneous Aggravation Party did our best to warn you but you made your bed and now you'll have to lie in it - shivering, when they cut off the electricity.

Used to be that Christmas wasn't Christmas without a torch. You woke about 4 or 5am, used your foot to locate the weight at the end of

the bed, rolled out from under the covers like John Wayne rolling out from behind the rock to loose off a couple of slugs at the unshaven heavies. Pounce on the parcels, working by touch. The Annuals, yeah! Maybe The Rover or The Adventure (until those two comics were amalgamated with The Wizard), probably something more exotic, like The Tiger or The Lion or even Buffalo Bill. Didn't much matter, where's the bleedin' torch?