Scanlan15 Leaders’ Jibba-rish reaches new levels
JOBS FOR THE TOYS IN DAIL..
PLAYING IT COOL: Ireland’s entry Bambie Thug out and about in Sweden this week
THERE was a time when many wouldn’t admit they liked Eurovision for fear of being deemed uncool.
Now people are readily proclaiming they like Eurovision even when not asked... for fear of being deemed uncool.
There’s more evidence of our evolution as a nation, be it for better or worse. Now, many people have dropped the word “the” from “the Eurovision”.
We settle for just saying “Eurovision” in the same way we settle for saying “we’re having dinner” instead of “we’re having the dinner”.
Instead of having “the dinner” shortly after “the breakfast” many now just have “dinner” — possibly even while watching “Eurovision”.
And I’m not sure what any of this means, if anything, but I thought I’d point it out anyway.
APOLOGY: This column avoids politics as it’s Saturday and life’s too short.
I regret to inform you that this week is an exception. Sometimes things happen that I can’t ignore, as much as I try to. I’ve been successfully ignoring Simon Harris ever since he first happened.
I worked in a toy shop around the same time Simon Harris would have been a toy shop customer — since then our lives took different paths.
I left the toy shop for a demotion into the less serious world of journalism — Simon Harris became a politician.
Now, many years later, those paths are merging again. Something strange is happening.
Spindly
And it’s this: When I worked in the toy shop there was a toy that was really popular with kids, and possibly Simon Harris.
It was a spindly doll, and when it shook it made a squeaky noise. Now, years later, Simon Harris is turning into one...
The Taoiseach is turning into a Jibba Jabber. I repeat: Simon Harris is TURNING INTO A JIBBA JABBER.
I’ll leave it to the political experts to analyse how or why he took the job of Taoiseach when it’s the only job less attractive than Ireland football manager. But having first-hand professional experience of toy crazes in the 1990s, I think I know a bloody Jibba Jabber when I see one.
The key characteristics were that they initially looked almost lifeless until let out of the box. And when they got a shake they’d wobble all over the place, spindly legs and arms flying, and make a loud, high-pitched, distinctive squeaking sound.
Fuss
They were popular — briefly. Then everyone realised they were irritating. A while later nobody could understand all the fuss.
Today, when I look at or listen to Simon Harris I see and hear a Jibba Jabber. There’s nuances to their movement that’s unmistakable to an expert’s eye.
The more rapidly Simon Harris moves from side to side, the higher his voice becomes, trademark Jibba Jabber stuff right there.
I’m not comfortable with the thought of a Jibba Jabber as Taoiseach, either in its original form or as Simon Harris. I didn’t vote for either of them. Then, given the state of the nation, I struggle to have confidence in a Jibba Jabber Taoiseach.
It’s Saturday, but it’s serious — Jibba Jabbers weren’t designed to run nations, except perhaps a nation of Jibba Jabbers.
I don’t think we’re that. I hope Simon Jabbers — sorry Harris — and his wavy arms feel better soon. And apologies again.
THE Re-turn shambles rolls on as the godforsaken machines continue to roll cans back out.
Let the record show this column was the first to red flag a scheme that plays so fast and loose with hyphens.
The warning signs were th-ere.