Paul Hosford's 48 hours with Biden: Covering the Joe Show on an empty stomach
Joe Biden addressing the Oireachtas with some nice words about the links between the countries. Picture: Tony Maxwell/PA
It's just gone 7.18pm on Thursday and I'm standing in the lobby of the Printworks, the conference centre on the grounds of Dublin Castle which has been pressed into service for a gathering of the world's media.
Outside the mammoth hall, and its rows and rows of desks, hot food has been put on for the hacks who are still standing after a long day. I have my fork in my hand and am next in the queue, debating whether rice or baby potatoes are a better option for my curry.
"Paul, we're moving." The press pack is being moved across the courtyard to the front of the State Apartments, where the banquet in honour of President Joe Biden is being held.
I'm in the pool, which means I've been put into a small group of print journalists who are going inside to watch from the balconies as people more important and better looking converse and eat. I put down my fork, devastated, and trudge away, muttering about the indignity of it all.
While the state visit of the US President played out on screen in a very slick manner, being in the outer orbit of the event was anything but, as my 48 hours on the Joe Show proved.
To be clear, reportage of this kind is a huge thrill for any journalist, as it's so different from anything that we do, and being close to this kind of history is an incredible privilege. So any grumbles contained in this piece must be viewed through the lens that I am what you might charitably call "a bit of a whinge".
My two days with Joe begin on the M1 to Dundalk, more specifically the services outside Lusk.
There, I get my first taste of BidenMania in the form of a couple who are in a hurry to catch a glimpse of the 46th President. The man says they need to speed up to be in Dundalk for 1pm. I admire their optimism.
I've been told the Carlingford leg, which I am covering, will be officially starting at 2pm. Mr Biden won't arrive in Dundalk until at least 3pm, I think. File that one under foreshadowing.
Between the Department of Foreign Affairs, the Government Information Service, and the journalistic grapevine, I've been told not to arrive at the Dundalk IT press centre until 1pm at the earliest, but when I pull in at 12.25pm, there are a few journalists milling around.
I sit tight for a few minutes, change into my dress shoes (no paint-stained Nikes for the 46th President), and make my way into the theatre. The endeavour gets off to an inauspicious start as I load my gear into the security scanner.
The machine itself doesn't have anything beyond the belt, but some staff have rigged a few tables together to allow the plastic trays to be spat out, airport-style.
The tables, however, rest slightly above belt level, and the tray gently pushes the tables back, just enough for my laptop, phone, and coat to land squarely on the ground, but thankfully upright. The staff find a smaller table and the security operation is saved.
The grapevine has come alive. Wet and windy weather means Mr Biden will be driven from Dublin to Carlingford and will not use his helicopter, Marine One. This also means the Carlingford leg is likely delayed.
But the press centre is warm, has Tayto and Dairy Milks, and is, most crucially, indoors. Around 3.30pm the call comes, time to board our bus and drive the 30 minutes to Carlingford. Along the picturesque drive, the rain gets heavier.
I pat my bag to make sure I packed my raincoat. This will prove to have been an important decision. There are hundreds of people who have braved the elements and you can sense their anticipation. They are going to be so disappointed when I get off this bus, I think.
Luckily, there are members of the state broadcaster with us and the chance to appear on RTÉ lifts spirits before the hacks are led up the castle steps to a balcony from where we're told we will be able to see Mr Biden and Tánaiste Michéal Martin.
No, the formidable American woman with the earpiece says, we cannot see Mr Biden arrive at the front of the castle, the "service" won't allow it. "The Louth County Council service?" asks a bemused hack, who is swiftly reminded of who the guys with the guns everywhere work for.
Photographers are warned not to step out from under the wall while Mr Biden and Mr Martin are above us but it doesn't really matter because the last we heard, he had just hit the M1 and the rain had begun bucketing down, so we may have washed into Carlingford Lough by then.
Eventually, we sense the men above us, and a break is made, service be damned, by photographers and journalists tired of pressing against a wall like spies. The formidable woman is not impressed, but Mr Biden is okay with it.
He waves and answers a reporter's question about the weather but is less in the loop when a journalist asks Mr Martin how he is enjoying the trip and adds "Taoiseach?".
My hands are frozen. Joe Biden says the weather is "fine, it's Ireland". pic.twitter.com/NqXDGnGOM2
— Paul Hosford (@PTHosford) April 12, 2023
And with that, he's gone. The motorcade departs, taking a full minute to pass under the Castle's bridge, such is the scale of vehicles, headed to Dundalk.
Irish journalists, who unlike our American counterparts are not part of the motorcade, wait for the excitement to pass before boarding a bus back to Dundalk, where I jump in my car, blast the heating, and get on the road back to Dublin.
I'm in a service station in Castlebellingham before I remember the couple and say a prayer that they packed their raincoats.
And so we come to Thursday and my hunger. A domestic emergency involving a vomiting toddler, creche, and a sandpit meant I didn't have time to eat properly that morning.
We are under instructions to be at the press centre for no later than 11am because our bus is leaving for Leinster House at 1.30pm sharp. I know, those are two very far apart times, but the warning is made and obeyed.
When I arrive at Dublin Castle, security takes around 45 seconds as the cheerful gardaí send me through a metal detector, check my bags, and wave me on my way.
But I haven't eaten and a lifelong aversion to mayonnaise means the sandwich platters aren't an option. I pick up some chocolate as we watch the Presidents of the US and Ireland meet on a big screen.
A massive cheer goes up as we see one of Michael D Higgins's dogs approach. We explain the affection with which the pups are held to the foreign press. A check is made with the Àras press office to confirm that the dog was Misneach and not Bród.
But the merriment can't last too long. We are soon brought to our bus for Leinster House. Our Garda escort brings us down the empty Merrion Street but there's an issue.
The aforementioned domestic emergency and my sieve-like head have meant my tie is on my bed. At home. I have spares in the office and Mr Biden is yet to reach Farmleigh so there's surely no issue.
Myself and our Political Editor, Elaine Loughlin, are escorted to our office before being brought back to the corridor behind the press gallery, where we're to be held until Mr Biden is on the way.
The corridor has no access to food or drink and the canteen downstairs has been shut in anticipation of a 3.45pm speech. It also has no toilets, so a member of An Garda Síochána must be summoned to bring us to the loo in the building in which we work every day.
It's a surreal situation.
We are eventually told Mr Biden is expected "soon" and TDs and Senators begin to file into the chamber. We take our seats just as an email comes from the US pool reporter to say they've stopped for lunch in the US Ambassador's residence in Phoenix Park.
When Mr Biden does finally arrive, the normal rules for capturing images inside Leinster House go out the window, as TDs and Senators (and some journalists) whip out their phones. Of course, politicians push for a handshake.
US foreign and domestic policy isn't universally popular and the empty seats of People Before Profit are matched by Sinn Féin's Chris Andrews revealing a Palestine football jersey.
A cúpla focail, a nod to Labour Senator Rebecca Moynihan's baby, Margot, and some nice words about the links between the countries and Mr Biden is away. And so am I.
Back on the bus to Dublin Castle where the banquet is delayed. I have time to eat, thankfully. Or not, as the case turns out to be. We get to the hall and the invited guests are inside, having been told to be there for 6pm.
Rob Kearney is inside. Would he bring me some canapes, I wonder?
Mr Biden's schedule includes times listed as "TBD", which we're told is taken as "Til Biden Decides" by US staff. At 8.40pm, he arrives and I think that Rob Kearney is probably as in need of dinner as I am.
Mr Biden emerges from Cadillac One, or The Beast, and goes inside where the lamb smells amazing.
We are quickly ushered into a warren of offices leading to a balcony where we watch the speeches by Taoiseach Leo Varadkar and Mr Biden. With their dinners in sight, we are ushered back out.
We finish our work in the press centre and leave, eyes firmly on the first fast-food restaurant we find. We push open the door with what little strength we have and approach the counter ready to order every item on the menu, only to hear: "Sorry, we're just closing."
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