Antics of Seanadfornia put TV reality show to shame
David Norris should have looked a tad closer to home before launching his attack on a similarly named late night tat-fest on TV3.
Seanadfornia is a place where shameless wannabes — wannabe presidents, wannabe TDs — now vie with each other to grab at the cheapest headline in their lust for attention.
And, in a cross-fertilisation of the worst genres of TV hell, they do so not to make a few quid from guest appearances at some swinging night spot in Castlebar like the poor creatures who inhabit inferior substitute Tallafornia; no, the senators’ only concern is to avoid being voted out of their cushy number by the public in next year’s referendum on abolishing the upper house of the Oireachtas.
One particular episode of Tallafornia — featuring a stripper pole and drunken lap dancing — was “obnoxious” Mr Norris informed the Seanad. So “obnoxious” in fact that he could clearly not tear himself away from the screen, as he breathlessly informed his fellow senators of the grubby details.
“I call for a debate having watched a programme called Tallafornia, which is both compulsive and repulsive viewing. It is a seriously drink-sodden programme where young people are exploited.
“Three young men and three young women are put into an atmosphere of continual drinking. They are encouraged to behave licentiously and compete to bring people home to bed them.
“The last episode was obnoxious. There was simulated sexual activity, leading, apparently, to full sexual activity. I wonder what values such behaviour inculcates and whether it is appropriate? I am not entirely familiar on a habitual basis, even in my neck of the woods, with the language used,” our one-time next president grandly announced.
Leaving aside the intriguing question of what foul-mouthed “neck of the woods” Mr Norris actually does inhabit (surely he was not alluding to the tutorial room at Trinity?), he misses a number of key points: a) nobody is forcing him to watch Tallafornia; b) the really offensive thing about the show is the blatant set-up of the viewer, and the tired old double standard it pumps out that all blokes are great and all women are dumb sluts, and c) surely, the Seanad has better things to be doing than reviewing tacky TV?
Thank God for the Dáil where they debate issues that actually matter to people — forget about the frivolous flim-flam of 500,000 unemployed and the return of forced mass emigration, Fine Gael TD Charlie Flanagan demanded, and was granted, an emergency debate on “cheese madness”.
Morphing into Alan Partridge, the normally quite reasonable Mr Flanagan railed magnificently against the evil “nanny state gone mad” antics of the broadcasting authority’s attempt to help stem the rise in child obesity by banning cheese adverts before the 9pm watershed.
And people complain the Oireachtas is detached from the reality of their lives?
Worried they were being outdone for Dáil dopeyness, two of Mr Flanagan’s colleagues decided to lock themselves out of their committee room — resulting in the Government losing an embarrassing vote despite its arrogance-inducing majority.
Not that the committee was anything important, just the key finance gathering that is supposed to oversee the fiscal working of the State — well it would be important if this was not a Toy Town government of an economically failed State — but, still, you’d think they’d make a bit of an effort to look vaguely capable?
Poor old Peter Mathews has been forced to take the shame for the slapstick incident, even though it wasn’t actually his fault.
For those unfamiliar with Mr Mathews, he is the publicity seeking missile who represents Dublin South East for Fine Gael — and usually destroys the eminently sensible stuff he says on banking by going about things in completely the wrong way.
His somewhat creepy, theatrical voice sounds like treacle sliding down a blackboard and can often be heard oozing around the corridors of Leinster House intoning his catch-phrase to journalists: “And if you are going to be so kind as to write about me, remember it’s Mathews with one T....” — by which point in the conversation I’m inevitably thinking: “Don’t worry mate, I’m not gonna be wasting my time writing about you, no matter how many T’s you’ve got.”
But his actions have been so spectacularly farcical I have no option but to afford him the oxygen of publicity he so longs for. And I note that idiot always has one T.
Mr Mathews (with one T) put down the quite sensible motion in the finance committee that it would be better if the Central Bank governor came to explain the outrageous handing over of €3.1bn to Anglo before the cash is flushed down the toilet on Mar 31, rather than afterwards, as planned.
Quite logical, one would have thought, but sadly not in the pole dancing, cheese-madness obsessed Oireachtas, where his Blueshirt buddies coldly informed him if he continued with that kind of malarkey he’d be out of the party.
So, with the thud of a morbidly obese, cheddar-stuffing stripper sliding down a steel pole, Mr Mathews (with one T) hit the floor and voted against his own motion.
As if this was not tragi-comedy enough, the Fine Gealers who threatened him with losing the whip then went outside the committee room to ring their skiving colleagues for back-up and where themselves locked out in the process and so missed a second vote on hauling the bank governor before the Dáil which the opposition won by a margin of two.
All the duo needed was a bucket of water and a ladder to complete their Laurel and Hardy moment as Oireachtas members know they have precisely four minutes to get to a vote from the moment when the division bell rings before the doors are locked.
Indeed, it is quite fitting to see deputies scampering down the corridors of Leinster House with siren bells booming around them in the manner of terrified laboratory mice — because, as Mr Mathews (with one T) has proved, that is exactly what they are.
What will the members of the upper house do next to try and outdo the “repulsive, compulsive” black comedy efforts of the Dáil and keep Seanadfornia in the public eye — surely a stripper pole and lap dancing in the chamber really would be a step too far?
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