He woos Merkel, but Enda’s not quite Clint
“I’m a hard grafter and, as some of them found out, they shouldn’t tangle with me too often, you know.”
All the Irish Examiner had asked was whether he thought he was a lucky general after Italy and Spain had done all the dirty work at the conference table and he collected the winnings — and there he was coming across like Clint Eastwood.
But Enda, who had looked tired and downbeat at Dublin press gigs earlier in the week, was positively glowing as he emerged into the dawn light at 5.29am to announce the deal.
Indeed, his make-up was immaculate with no hint of five o’clock shadow for the TV cameras — that austerity-proof taxpayer investment in his foundation is really paying off.
Especially when compared to EU president José Manuel Barroso, whose make-up had been troweled on so thick he looked like Jordan at a hen party.
But away from the blusher and back to the bailout, Enda was near ecstatic at the closing press conference, where he started larging it about how he and the boys talked tough with Angela as the footie played out in the background.
And in a shining example of statesmanship, all concerned decided to put the euro ahead of the Euros, as Enda revealed: “There were a couple of questions as to whether we should break for the match, then it drifted on to more conversation, then the result was coming through that it was 2-0 at half time for Italia and people said we had better stick with it.”
Thanks lads.
But, ever the charmer, as the Italians put the boot in around the conference table, Enda ambled up to a suddenly vulnerable Angela and asked her for a date — is there nothing this man will not do for Ireland?
Cute hoor Kenny sidled up to Merkel and said something along the lines of: “Hey, my little Berlin baby, fancy a night at the Aviva in October for the Ireland/Germany match? I’ve got a ticket in my pocket and I’m a-hoping you’re gonna help me rock it.”
The revelation of the invite prompted the Irish Examiner to enquire: “Will we let them win?” A question that illicited a rye smile from the Taoiseach as he, no doubt, mentally noted that we do not need to let anybody beat us at football these days — they just do.
With that, he was out of the conference room so fast he forgot his mobile — a battered old Nokia which, due to its colour, is known to his crew as “the golden phone”.
A helpful journalist handed it over to staff without checking to see if there were any tantal-ising texts from Angela.
At least we can be sure the chancellor — and all of Europe — now knows not to tangle with our turbo-charged Taoiseach.
