Hello, election poster. Goodbye, pothole
Our Denis reckons he has the key to topping the electoral polls, in this week's Lighten Up.
Just as the call of the cuckoo signals the beginning of summer, the filling of potholes is always a sign that an election is imminent.
And sure enough, I believe an election is just around a pothole-filled corner.
Not since the last election have so many holes seen tar.
The road from here to Kilmurry is now like Route 66, in comparison to the pathetic way it has been with the past four years.
No longer do I have to struggle around potholes like a fellow steering a tractor through a field of zigzagging ruts.
Of course, I still fear potholes. The damage was done, and it's hard to forget the feeling of neglect.
It's a pity we don't have elections more often, the roads could badly do with the lift.
Anyhow, while I welcome the 'election' tar, I do have a bone to pick with regards to the election poster.
Every silver lining I guess will always have a dark cloud attached to it.
Personally, I have nothing against those seeking election, their job is difficult enough. However, I do have a major problem with the smirking smiles and well-contented-looking faces that are now peering down on me as I make my way from post to pillar.
For the most part, those seeking a County Council seat are passable enough, but it's those seeking a seat in Brussels who really make my blood boil.
I realise Europe is a gravy train for many, but does it have to reflect itself so clearly on the faces of those seeking the nod.
If I were scrambling for a seat in Europe, I would wear a frown on me as large as the national debt.
I would have the demeanour of an undertaker.
I would have the sleeves rolled up, as if I had just pulled 20 calves and was ready and able to pull 20 more.
I'd have the look of a fellow you'd rush to call if you needed to cover a silage pit in a hurry.
I certainly would not delight in seeing a jovial picture of myself looking down on voters.
A well-fed and contented-looking Lehane would get the votes of precious few.
The bull in August, the fellow who looks like he is having his cake and eating it too, would not be the angle I would be aiming for.
This look not only angers hard working individuals, it goes against the natural beauty and serenity of rural Ireland.
In the olden days, when we all had more time on our hands, those with a black pen and an artistic tendency, would happily add a hairy tash or blackened eye to such pompous posters.
Back then, there was a Picasso in every parish.
Such additions helped greatly in grounding politicians and gave many road users a reason to smile when journeying past.
Alas, nowadays, with everyone hooked to an electronic gizmo, nobody bothers anymore with the pen and stepladder. And more's the pity.
The desecration of the election poster, for amusement purposes, like the corncrake of yesteryear, is but a distant memory.
This is a faded recollection for those who come from an era when we were all more carefree and when we didn't need an election to get a pothole filled.
