Early pint and a puck around puts Her Nibs to the test
They had her flying around the place like a blue-arsed fly yesterday. They were throwing drink at her before noon.
Then she was brought to meet the undead in government buildings, followed by the long dead in Islandbridge. And all that was before communing with the ghosts of Croke Park, and a top-notch knees-up back in Dublin Castle.
The schedule was enough to render exhausted somebody half her age.
But after 60 years on the throne, and 300 trips around the globe under her belt, the Queen draws stamina from the road.
The day began with the Guinness Hopstore. A red carpet was laid out across the cobblestones to usher her in. The royal party ascended to the observation tower, from where Ryan Tubridy was on hand to point out city landmarks.
A guy called the master brewer went to work on a pint. He didn’t so much pull it as caress it lovingly into a glass. He plonked it up in front of the couple, and all but said there’s both eating and drinking in it. Longing was written on the Queen’s face, but she slowly moved away, in deference to her station in life.
Big Phil was more reluctant to pass up the opportunity to take the edge off the day. He looked at the pint, and then at his wife. His eyes said yes, but experience told him no. He laughed nervously at his conundrum. The pint was settling well. Big Phil appeared to be physically pulling himself away from temptation. The moment passed, and with it the prospect of history being made. Onward ho to meet Enda Kenny.
As Enda’s tenure in office stretches from weeks into months, it’s becoming obvious he has an issue with his hands. He rubs them constantly, like a man kneading a little piece of bread. He points a lot at nothing in particular. He pulls at his fingers. He should stop it now before it gets out of hand.
The Queen was brought into his office. Enda let his hands do the talking in the shadow of Mick Collins’ portrait, and the Queen nodded agreeably. Nobody nods as well as Her Nibs.
From there, history beckoned once more. On to The War Memorial at Islandbridge, where the Irish dead from two World Wars are remembered. If Tuesday was about the Queen acknowledging the legitimacy of those who took up arms against the crown, yesterday signalled this country has overcome its own growing pains.
The afternoon gig saw the royal entourage take a trip down Jones Road to Croke Park. The great stadium has never been as empty for a big occasion. Christy Cooney emerged from the tunnel in the company of the Queen and the President not to the sound of a roar from the stands, but the clicking of cameras corralled in the middle of the pitch.
They say the Queen is no fan of a blanket defence, but she is reputed to believe in the two-man full-forward line. Whether or not she discussed these issues with McAleese during a video presentation of the GAA’s history is known only to the president.
Back inside, former association president Nicky Brennan put his foot in it. The poor man thought he should help out an elderly lady by taking her by the arm. Nobody told him the royal space must not be invaded by commoners. Immediately a PPO (personal protection officer) moved in on the former Kilkenny hurler. He was told to reverse slowly out of the royal space, keeping his hands where they could be seen. Her Nibs didn’t appear to even notice.
The Croke Park visit gave off vibes of a cultural excursion, rather than the monarch visiting the scene of the Bloody Sunday crime. But she can’t go anywhere without the ghosts of conflict showing up for a sconce at the new dispensation.
And so it was last night, at the state dinner in the former seat of British rule, Dublin Castle. The Queen gave her only public address of the visit, and while loose talk of an apology had informed some speculation, it was neither on the cards, nor required. The highly unusual presence abroad together of the Queen, Prime Minister David Cameron and Foreign Secretary William Hague, spoke louder than any words.
