You can keep the presidency, there’s no way I could be ‘happier’ than thou

ON THIS page, last week, Ivan Yates briefly and facetiously included my name in a list of women to be considered as nominees for the presidency before deciding — as he would — that to put a third woman in Áras an Uachtaráin would be excessive and it was time the job reverted to the male side of the population.

It was the nearest I’ll ever get to the Áras. In theory, I should be cutting out the column, flattening it under glass and making sure anybody mentioning me in despatches adds the thrilling “was suggested as a potential presidential candidate by a former government minister in 2009”. In reality, Ivan and his suggestion are drying out in my garage, the newspaper in which they appeared having been first soaked in rainwater, then scrunched into a papier-mâché briquette. Once Mr Yates and his suggestion are less soggy, into the fire they’ll go, which is right and proper.

Because nobody ever suggested me as a possibility before Ivan did, I hadn’t realised until last week how much I would hate to be president. Being president of Ireland has all the disadvantages of a politician, including having to get elected, with all the best bits taken away.