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Michael Moynihan: How Keir Starmer's Cork hop compares to other fabled visits by British PMs

While Keir and Micheál may have had their differences over the Cork football championship, it was nothing compared to other, ahem, state visits to the real capital in the past

Thu, 19 Mar, 2026 - 00:53

Michael Moynihan

Keir Starmer was in Cork last week.

You noticed, surely? There was a summit which might not have caught your eye, but there was also security, and plenty of it.

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No surprise there. The British Prime Minister is a man who takes some looking after, and not just because of his flex move at five-a-side soccer — wearing a Donegal football jersey.

While here, the PM said at Fota: “Europe needs to do more, we need to step up on defence and security, we all need to spend more but that has got to be co-ordinated.”

Well, there was a lot more of that kind of stuff to digest, and some sports-adjacent banter with the Taoiseach about the rugby.

But there was more to the visit than that, which I found out when I got a look at the Special Branch confidential notes:

Keir Starmer visit:

Arrived on time, public engagements with Taoiseach ran on schedule. Complications late in the evening when PM made rash comment on the Barrs’ chances in senior football championship outside Nemo Rangers clubhouse. Comment loudly contested by Taoiseach. PM offered pointed praise of Jimmy McGuinness. Told by Taoiseach to walk back to hotel. All friends again next morning on the Marina, coffee at Cortado. Toilet unavailable. PM made do behind the cannon by the rowing club. Quiet.

Interesting, no? Of course, almost every British Prime Minister has visited us on the QT over the last 40 -odd years.

I know because I accessed the secret reports of the Garda Special Branch protection squad.

See below:

Rishi Sunak visit:

Tricky one. We were waiting for someone with a bit of presence — you know, a Prime Minister? — but it turned out he’d walked past us and one of the lads had to pull him off the bus to the city centre. He said he was interested in visiting the English Market but it was well after teatime by the time we landed into town. We improvised — sent him off to one of the vape shops and said it was a pop-up version of the Market; he seemed happy enough. Told us he’d never had a sandwich as good as the Long Valley’s. Didn’t rise to a couple of jokes about Brexit. Quiet.

The Liz Truss visit turned out to be a bit of a damp squib, unsurprisingly:

No-show. We waited at Cork Airport for three hours, no sign. The pilot who brought in the last flight from Heathrow told us that he’d seen a woman in the airport walk past the queue for Cork and come running back as the plane taxied away. Maybe that was her. Bit of a communications breakdown but we got over that. Resigned before we even got our report filed

When Theresa May landed things were different.

What a night. Still not the better of it. Rolled off the plane in great humour and asked us would we stop in the Bull McCabe’s coming down the hill from the airport ‘for a quick quart’. Closed, drove on to the Beer Garden, great hour. Had to divert later to KC’s down in Douglas and when she skipped the queue there was a bit of a disagreement. We smoothed it over, though: bit of a communications breakdown but we got over that when we flashed the badges. Caught us for her order (two sausageburgers, two katsu fries) and then insisted on a visit to the South County 2to look up an old pal". Night ended in the residents’ bar of the hotel with herself giving it The Galtee Mountain Boy in the small hours. Rang in sick the following day. Not quiet.

Compare and contrast with Boris Johnson’s trip to Cork.

What a night, but for all the wrong reasons. He asked us to keep the noise down when we got in the car because he wanted to focus on his Candy Crush game. Frowned for an hour straight, then fell asleep, mouth wide open. Someone said he liked dancing so we suggested a jaunt up to Bruach na Carraige in Rockchapel for a skip: anything for a bit of variety. Looked at us like we sneezed into his cod liver oil. Quiet.

Things didn’t improve with a couple of the others, mind.

David Cameron visit.

An awful dose. Wasn’t in the car but started wanging on about cheese and West Cork and rennet and whey residue. Wouldn’t shut up, Durrus this and Gubeen that. None of us fancied hitting west that hour of night so we drove around in a circle and wound up in Dunnes Stores above in Ballyvolane. We told him he was actually in Castletownbere and that Calvita was a limited-edition experimental cheddar. He asked for the best accompaniment and when we worked out what he meant Seanie gave him a bottle of Tanora with the label torn off. Saw him sniffing the cork — er, bottle top — but we got over that. Quiet.

Gordon Brown visit.

A barrel of laughs, pity it was empty. Spent the journey in from the airport looking at a spreadsheet: interest rates and the like. Asked if any of us had heard how Raith Rovers (?) got on that day. Seanie told him Russell Rovers were in the east Cork junior final, bit of a communications breakdown, but we got over that. Perked up when we brought him into the Hi-B but kept asking for Scotch, and they didn’t appreciate him specifying ‘the good stuff’. And looking for Raith Rovers’ results. Quiet.

Tony Blair visit.

Taller than I expected. Very chatty. Name-dropper, told us George Bush was a very nice chap. We nodded along. Said he didn’t want any special treatment but put out with only five carfuls of Branch men. Mentioned his hair so much we brought him out to the Baldy Barbers; he seemed surprised it was closed until we pointed out it was 10 at night. He asked Seanie could we get it opened specially for him, we all laughed hearty. In fairness put his hand in his pocket when we stopped at Murphy’s chipper on the way back through Gerald Griffin Street. Laughed when I told him the mushy peas was Cork guacamole: Corkamole. Quiet.

To be fair, Blair’s predecessor made a good impression.

John Major visit.

Some crack. First stop, Zoe’s in Caroline Street where he told the DJ to ‘f— the slow set and give us the good stuff’: big man for the Prodigy, turns out. Hit Malibu’s and a few other spots after that, ended the night above in Sunday’s Well so he could look down on the cricket field in the Dyke as the sun came up. Off to Tony’s Bistro for the breakfast and himself left a hundred quid behind the counter. Great company. Not quiet.

No sign of a visit by Margaret Thatcher. Probably just as well.