Gallagher goodies offer can-do candy

A BEAMING Sean Gallagher looked like he was high on Happy Pills.

Not the naughty sort that used to be available in head shops, but rather the sweetie variety dotted around the Candy Lab where he was turning his hand to a spot of electioneering ice cream making.

Indeed, Temple Bar’s Candy Lab seemed the perfect place for the ever-optimistic Gallagher message. It sits in the shadow of the Central Bank and next to a thrift shop — the incompetence of one creating the rise of the other — but it is ruled over by a mystery figure known as Prof Sugarcoats.

What better metaphor could there be for the Dragons’ Den pundit than Prof Sugarcoats, as Gallagher believes confidence is a virus and he was created to infect the whole of Ireland with it?

The Candy Lab suits the Gallagher agenda in other ways too, as handy wall signs show how to create your very own Happy Pills by first picking up a jar, deciding which goodies to place in it and then choosing your own label from a list provided.

Mr Gallagher is very keen to avoid the nasty-tasting label “Fianna Fáil” — despite staying on that party’s ruling national executive until this year — and has decided to plaster himself with the much less toxic tag “independent”. But that label is not available for your Happy Pills jar; selections include Sickly Sweet and No Money Honey, and while the title “Crooked Candy” certainly would not suit Mr Gallagher, the blurb that goes with it probably sums up his sudden appeal to voters in an underwhelming field.

It reads: “Is the Dáil making you bawl? Forget about it. Sugarcoat it with this sugary delight. They sure are easier to swallow.”

And Mr Gallagher sure knows how to spread a little sugarcoated happiness, as he proved at a breakfast business address where he had the audience fawning on his every hyper-positive word.

A surprisingly good public speaker away from the stilted exchanges of the overcrowded presidential TV debates, Mr Gallagher knew all the tricks and clicks of the motivational mentor and delivered a glowing, upbeat message about the need to feed people hope in these torrid times.

However, punter-friendly political banter appeared to come harder to him as, when making ice cream for the cameras later, he kept asking rather odd questions about encounters with cows.

But then it is often a surreal world inside the Candy Lab, which seemed stuffed full of subliminal messages for many of the other candidates as well.

A giant tape measure on the wall appears to call to former Rainbow government minister Michael D Higgins, the only candidate who can stop the election of Prof Sugarcoats, sorry, Mr Gallagher, and who is now famous for having to stand on a box during TV debates to raise him up to others’ eye level.

The height chart in the store implores: “3ft 4 inches? As tall as the littlest Rainbow ever recorded.”

The Temple Bar sweet shop also offers guilty delights for Dana and David Norris, who have painted themselves as victims of a vast media conspiracy because their opinions and past actions have come under legitimate scrutiny.

The Can-It Candy would suit them fine as it states: “Tired of toxic TV, negative newspapers and alarming airwaves? C’mon it’s not all bad — have a sweetie!”

But since both collapsing campaigns are now so far down the can neither candidate is likely to be able to claim the €200,000 in expenses that a 12.5% vote share would deliver, perhaps candy from Prof Sugarcoats would not be that much of a substitute.

Indeed, it looks like unhappy pills all round for Mr Gallagher’s opponents as the nation appears poised to choose sweet over sour on election day.

Though the special Candy Lab Happy Pills jar bearing the legend “Sean Gallagher For President: Sweeties For Strength, You’re Our No 1!” might just be enough to make you sick.