Colin Sheridan: As first days go, Ceann Comhairle's was 'Reeling in the Years' worthy

Verona Murphy had just one job to do — and even if that job was to herd a crowd of megalomaniac cats, she failed

Ceann Comhairle Verona Murphy was forced to suspend Dáil proceedings on her first day in the job. Picture: Maxwell's/PA 

First days can be tough. I’m pretty sure I wet myself on the first day of school. I can still recall walking through the gates thinking “don’t fuck this up,” only to promptly relieve myself in the sandpit during the first break. 

There was so much going on around me that my incontinence was lost in the chaos but for the rest of that first day, I had to walk the walk of a boy who just couldn’t hold it in. 

It could’ve defined the rest of my years in secondary school, but it didn’t. I think I put a positive spin on it, telling my classmates it was just a sign of a healthy body healing. Real Jordan Peterson stuff. I was ahead of my time really.

Movies skew our expectations on how first days should go. In the movies, you arrive at a skyscraper and skip up the steps like Simone Biles. 

An old college buddy — the one who sorted the job for you — would meet you in the lobby and you’d ride the elevator together to the 81st floor, laughing as you reminisce about the good old days on campus. 

Then, you’re shown to a corner office with a view of the Hudson River to the east, and the Manhattan skyline to the west. On your desk would be a bottle of 37-year-old Lagavulin with a note saying “Welcome to the club, Shooter!” 

Alongside that would be an envelope with $5,000 walking around money and two courtside tickets to the Knicks in the Garden. 

Pouring yourself a wee dram, you’d instruct your secretary to hold all calls for the afternoon and clear your schedule so you could have an extended lunch down at the Pig and Whistle. Thereafter, you’d retire to the couch, slip off your Ferragamo loafers, and take a two-hour nap.

But life is not like the movies, as poor Verona Murphy found out in Dáil Éireann on Wednesday. Far from sipping Lagavulin with her feet up in a corner office, she had what could only be described as a textbook sandbox first day as Ceann Comhairle.

Like my own introduction to public life, there was enough chaos kicking off around her to disguise much of her discomfort, but as debuts in the big leagues go, this was Reeling in the Years worthy.

Voices raised, fingers pointed, egos bruised. Insults were traded like cryptocurrency at a rugby international. 

What should’ve been a joyous day — according to those drunk on power at any rate — descended into an absolute farce. 

It might be an oversimplification to suggest Murphy had just one job to do, and even if that job was to herd a crowd of megalomaniac cats, she failed.

Chaos in the Dáil: Labour leader Ivana Bacik with party colleagues Marie Sherlock and Ged Nash as Verona Murphy suspended Dáil proceedings for the day. Picture: PA

There was little sympathy for her. Not because she is a woman — as some commentators have suggested — but, I think, because there is a record number of homeless people in Ireland. 

And because there is a housing crisis that — according to CSO figures released on Thursday — is getting worse. 

Because children with disabilities in this country (and those who care for them) feel let down and abandoned by a government she has now aligned herself with.

In that context, the pantomime in the Dáil and Murphy’s role in it is a hard one to stomach for people who will never have their families sit and look down on them from a comfortable gallery on their first day of a new job.

For most people, there are no Knicks tickets, no walking-around money, and no couch to recline on. 

Instead, there’s a commute. An infant to be collected (late) from childcare and a mortgage application that sits, unsubmitted, on a desk, because the thought of starting a new job in January is just about enough stress for one day.

Politicians spend a lot of time telling us they are people — just like us. That they hurt, cry, and bleed the same way we do. 

Wednesday did little to back that up. Taking to the plinth, as our new Taoiseach Micheál Martin did to talk of subversion of democracy because feelings were hurt when — only a few hundred yards away — homeless women and men stretched out damp cardboard on the cold wet ground to sleep for the night is as flagrant an example of being out of touch with your electorate as you could ever hope to see. 

Not to mention the din of dissent that echoed outside Leinster House all day long.

Such is the lack of respect for those admirable souls who went there to protest the Government's continuing inaction on Gaza and Palestine, their presence barely got a mention from the broadcast media who were only there, it seems, only to rub the bellies of those they are paid to hold to account.

So, a bad first day all around. But it could’ve been worse.

Elon Musk's official debut as Donald Trump's court jester climaxed with him giving what has been compared to two Nazi salutes as the entire world watched. Pulling a couple of Sieg Heils on a stage certainly puts my sandbox soiling into perspective.

Alas, you can only have one “first day” at anything.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.