Colin Sheridan: My presidency will be a masterclass in dignified inaction
Some of you might be wondering about my 'vision' for Ireland. Here it is: To be exactly the kind of president you forget is there until you see them on the news shaking hands with someone important. Picture: iStock
It is with deep humility, mild vanity, and a complete lack of preparation that I announce my intention to succeed Michael D Higgins as the next president of Ireland.
This is not a decision I arrived at lightly. No, this is the result of careful reflection, at least two long runs in the Phoenix Park, and a chance encounter with a sika deer who looked at me as if to say: “Colin, your time is now.”
Some will wonder what qualifies me for the highest office in the land. Well, 26 years’ service as an officer of the State and peacekeeper with the United Nations. That’s longer than Netflix has existed, longer than we’ve had the euro, and longer than Michael D’s hair has been blowing in the breeze on Áras lawns.
For over a quarter of a century, I stood between opposing forces, negotiating tense stand-offs, all the while wearing a beret and looking calm in the face of unimaginable chaos. Do you know how hard it is to look good wearing a beret?
This makes me uniquely suited to the presidency, where my role will be to stand between warring government factions, look concerned for the cameras, then drift off toward the canapé table without saying anything incendiary.
I have no intention of interfering in anything. This is not apathy. This is strategy. Interference is the enemy of peace — I learned that in Lebanon, Liberia, and Kabul.
My presidency will be a masterclass in dignified, studied inaction. I will be genocide-indifferent, a welcome break from our current president, who seems to prioritise principles over politics. Such nonsense!
Unlike my rival Catherine Connolly, I am, in fact, a man. This is not an attack — merely a biographical detail. She, presumably, will run on the radical ticket of “having opinions”. I, however, will run on the far safer platform of “not upsetting anyone”. In this increasingly polarised climate, that is no small feat.
And while Catherine might speak eloquently in the Dáil, I bring something no other candidate can match: The ability to run 10km through the Phoenix Park without looking like I’m being chased. I have spent countless mornings pounding those paths, nodding at other joggers in that silent fraternity of the slightly unhinged. Running there has taught me many things about endurance, resilience, and which bushes contain ... um ... adult adventurers.
It’s also where I refine my thoughts on the central issues of my campaign: The canapés. The Irish presidency has been crying out for someone to take the State’s finger food seriously. Too often have visiting dignitaries been fobbed off with a stale vol-au-vent or a micro-quiche that tastes like ambition left out in the rain.
Under my leadership, the Áras will be a fortress of hors d’oeuvres excellence. There will be smoked salmon blinis that make French ambassadors weep, sausage rolls of substance, and prawn skewers that actually contain prawn.
I have watched suspicious men in camouflage soften at the sight of a decent mini-spring roll. My canapé doctrine is simple: Feed them well and they will listen to you, or at least stop shouting long enough for the band to finish
Some of you might be wondering about my “vision” for Ireland. Here it is: To be exactly the kind of president you forget is there until you see them on the news shaking hands with someone important, at which point you think: “Fair play, he’s still going.” That’s the job. This is not America. We don’t want a president who interferes with policy, only with the placement of the Laphroaig at New Year’s.
My years with the UN have equipped me perfectly for ceremonial life. I can stand very still while being photographed. I can nod meaningfully during speeches I don’t understand. I can smile politely while someone tells me their entire family history in a language I do not speak. I am also capable of remembering the names of at least three people at any given reception — a skill honed under fire, both literal and metaphorical.
The Phoenix Park will, of course, remain central to my presidency. It is both my training ground and my metaphor. Just as the park contains majestic beauty, occasional chaos, and the faint smell of shit, so too will my term in office. I will invite foreign leaders to join me on runs there, at a pace slow enough to preserve diplomacy but fast enough to discourage overly long conversations about trade deficits.
The president’s role is to be the oil painting in the nation’s living room — always there, rarely the subject of an argument. I will be that oil painting, but one with excellent cardio and an eye for a decent canapé spread.
Michael D Higgins has set the bar high. He is learned, articulate, and capable of quoting obscure poets at a moment’s notice. I will not attempt to compete in that arena. Instead, I will focus on making guests feel welcome through my flagrant mediocrity.
In summary, 26 years of peace-keeping have prepared me to maintain harmony in the Áras without lifting more than an eyebrow.
I promise to interfere in absolutely nothing, unless the smoked salmon runs out, in which case all bets are off.
Ireland, I stand ready. Ready to host, to smile, to run, to nod, and to preside over the greatest finger-food renaissance our Republic has ever known. If you elect me, I will bring dignity, calm, and a discreet but determined focus on the important things, chiefly, remaining indifferent in the face of global entropy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must train. Not for the campaign trail — for the canapé table.
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