Queue forms in rush for life-boats
AS was fitting on a day when evening classes in the ancient art of ark-building would have been over-subscribed, Charlie McCreevy chose the Department of Finance’s aquarium as the venue to launch his Book of Estimates.
It’s not really an aquarium of course, but with its green-blue carpets, blue-grey walls, greenygrey curtains and backdrops framed in turquoise and azure, the splendid second room to the right on the ground floor of the house of money churned up thoughts of all things oceanic.
Charlie chose well, given the sinking feeling his news would provoke. Like drowning off the Isle of Capri, the outcome may be unpleasant but at least the setting was delightful.
In fairness, from the moment he dipped his toe into the room, the minister never hinted there was anything other than a giant hole in the hull and he was going to have to chuck some cargo overboard in order to stay afloat.
He wore a stony grey suit that had the look of wet seashore pebbles - those evil, lurking kind of ones that even Spiderman in suction pads would lose his footing on.
Departing with the theme, his tie was pale pink dotted with small blue strips like baby gift wrap bought by a clever clogs relative who can’t remember whether the newborn is called Alma or Alan.
It might have been his way of saying: ‘don’t hit me - I have a soft side - really’. But whatever the reason, it wasn’t Baywatch red and it stated clearly that today, the minister was no lifeguard.
He didn’t even do a ‘this is your captain speaking’ address. No hello. No good afternoon. No thanks for coming. Just straight into the figures and he hardly looked up until he got to the end of his speech.
There was no point anyway - he couldn’t navigate by the stars in our eyes anymore because the twinkle that had been there from previous bonanza budgets had all but gone out.
He spared us none of the awful truth about the jagged rocks and iceberg lying in our path. At least that’s what we thought until we heard later about the bus fares and the drug schemes and the hedge schools and all those minor details that would sting like a jellyfish.
He spoke of uncertainty like uncharted waters, the impact of downturns like tidal waves crashing upon us, and persistent lows in tax revenues like the pressure belts fishermen dread.
“We must cut our cloth according to our means,” he declared solemnly. This, just when we were about to ask couldn’t we borrow a few extra yards of sailcloth to keep the ship going at full steam.
“In the past people said: ‘Ah, ha, a little bit of borrowing would be okay’,” he explained. But like a little bit of water in the hull, he warned, a little bit became a big bit and then it’s very hard to row back.
But the doldrums didn’t knock all the wind out of the minister’s sails and he was in full flow with a tide of strong words like sustainability, control, consolidation, focus, priority, value and achieving economies.
Like a man saving us from drowning while simultaneously cutting lengths out of the rescue rope, it all sounded quite positive or maybe we just had water in our ears.
He finished with a flourish, like Columbus whipping up excitement for the appearance of America on the horizon but failing to mention the tropical diseases and hostile natives that awaited.
Patting his pinky-blue tie reassuringly he told us: “You have nothing to fear from me”. So the minister is no monster from the deep. We just have to fear the turbulent waters he inhabits.
