Time to bring the curtain down, baby
With the presidential election set to get underway in less than 24 hours, I think one thing is blatantly clear at this stage.
Elvis and myself are not going to win.
The numbers simply don’t add up, no matter how you do the sums.
To add to our misery, there was a cock-up at the printers, I have been informed that our names will not even appear on the ballot paper. So ’twas all for nothing. Yes, it will be very hard to win now.
As for King himself, well he was in sombre old form in The Greyhound yesterday evening, as he lamented, “It’s time to bring the curtain down, baby,” before finishing his pint and heading west.
Bar some class of a miracle, it seems increasingly likely that you will be stuck with me here on this paper for the foreseeable future. This will upset sensitive readers who have grown weary of my coarseness, but how much worse is it for me? I thought I was gone. My bags were packed, bridges have been burned.
The Áras, so tantalisingly close at one stage, is now miles away again. Where did it all go wrong, I ask you?
Was there anything more that could have been done? Probably not. Anyhow before the dust settles on the shenanigans of tomorrow, I just want to thank all who helped out in providing the King and I with every conceivable hospitality, as we went from lounge bar to public house, urging all to toss a vote in our direction.
While we may not have set the opinion polls alight, we sure racked up a fair few bills by way of booze and food in our gallant effort to charm the ladies and encourage the men to make our ambitious dream a reality.
Alas, it was not to be. What I’m calling for is the setting up of some class of a fund to help us get back down to earth after having our heads stuck up in the clouds. While we made a lot of friends along the way, they won’t be long turning into enemies if we don’t settle our account. Regrettably, we have left quite a few IOUS in our wake. And have no doubt about it, but there will be legal action and hell to pay, if the cash isn’t immediately forthcoming.
For starters. we had a good few wild nights out here in west Cork over the past two months, in which we consumed approximately 100 pints of stout and 13 bottles of whisky.
Needless to say, all was consumed under the umbrella of our presidential campaign and so, naturally enough, we felt immune from all financial responsibilities. And then there was the eating of 125 chicken suppers and 147 full Irish breakfasts, all washed down the hatch with copious amounts of sobering black coffee. Elvis and myself needed such sustenance as we went about the chore of pressing the flesh, and so on and so forth.
This business of getting yourself fed and watered as you embark on the road to the Áras, we found to be an expensive and exhausting endeavour.
Now, with the writing on the wall, and our bid gone arseways entirely, I’m pleading with the wealthy amongst you to give what you can in support of a good cause, that had gone very astray.
Our fight for the Áras is at an end.
Our fight to pay for it is only beginning.
Due to a cock-up at the printers, the name Denis Lehane will not be on the ballot paper tomorrow.
The expensive fuel of Denis and Elvis’s presidential campaign.