Lighten Up: From Cahirmee to the Conclave, choosing a new Pope is no joke
Denis's empty fertiliser bags helped create the black smoke from the Sistine Chapel. Picture: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images
Choosing a new pope was never going to be easy, and I said as much as soon as I arrived.
But look, the job is done now, and we will just have to make the best of it.
I was in Rome of course, for the selection process. I was there representing the small stock holders of Ireland. We have had a vote on the council, since the time of de Valera.
And in the finish, this time, there was very little between the man who won and the fellow who came in second.
Anyhow, business aside, I was put up in the finest of hotels while there.
No expense was spared, for Rome has plenty of money.
Forget about your bed pans and wash basins, this hotel had toilets, bathtubs and all calibre of shooting fountains.
And as for food and drink! Sweet divine, it was like the wedding feast of Cana every night.
In no time at all, I was like a bullock with bloat.
I had a wonderful time, and 'tis a wonder I ever came back home.
I loved Rome and I found my trip there gave me the chance to recharge the farming batteries and change the farming socks.
But back to business, the job of choosing a new pope is not as easy as it sounds.
It's not like picking out a champion weanling at Kanturk mart.
You don't just slap a back and say: "This is our lad."
And while I've no doubt the man chosen in the finish will make an excellent pope, he wasn't the fellow I had backed.
I had backed an outsider, auld Lehane was on the long-short, as usual.
My money was this little-known character who belonged to an outlier of a church. A man who takes a drink, enjoys a cigarette and backs a horse occasionally.
A man who I felt, while perhaps not the most devout individual on the planet, would have a lot more in common with the common man.
T'was hard to strike a deal. I must have spat on my hands a thousand times.
"We have no Pope picked!" came the roar after day one, and worse again, there was nothing to burn to create the black smoke either.
Well lucky for all, I had a few empty fertiliser bags in my luggage and soon the flame was lit.
And then when the pope was finally chosen, sure up again went the cry for firing.
Once more, I saved the day for of course I had plenty of straw stuck to clothes in my luggage, and it was first rate straw, all the way from Kilmichael in Co Cork. Within a short while it too was lit.
And so, as the world held its breath, it was the straw from Kilmichael, the hot air if you like, which finally signalled to the world that we had a new pope.
