by Donal Conaty
First published in 2011 by Y Books
Lucan, Co. Dublin
Ireland
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Text © 2011 Donal Conaty
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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-908023-18-6
Ebook - Mobi format ISBN: 978-1-908023-19-3
Ebook - epub format ISBN: 978-1-908023-20-9
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CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE Ajai Has Landed
CHAPTER TWO We Operate in the Grey Area
CHAPTER THREE My Other Home is a Penthouse
CHAPTER FOUR Dermot Gets NAMA'd
CHAPTER FIVE The Odd Couple
CHAPER SIX Bunga Bunga
CHAPTER SEVEN Yes We Can – Sort Of
CHAPTER EIGHT Enda and His Imaginary Friend
CHAPTER NINE Paddy Wants a Better Bailout
CHAPTER TEN We Are Where We Are
BIOGRAPHY
Donal Conaty has worked as a journalist in Dublin and
London. He now lives in Sligo where he writes and
publishes the online satirical journal, The Mire.
www.themire.net
DEDICATION
For Anna, Laoise and Ríáin
ACKNOWLEDMENTS
This book would not have been possible were it not for the good work of Ajai Chopra and his colleagues in the IMF, EU and ECB. We shall never be able to repay your generosity.
I would like to thank Brian Cowen, Brian Lenihan and Mary Coughlan for their boundless enthusiasm in inspiring this book. Similar gratitude is also due to Taoiseach Enda Kenny, Minister for Finance Michael Noonan, Minister for Public Expenditure and Reform Brendan Howlin, Minister for Social Protection Joan Burton and Minister for Transport, Tourism and Sport Leo Varadkar for services to comedy. A nod also goes to Luke ‘Ming’ Flanagan, Mick Wallace, Mary O'Rourke and Joe Higgins. And I mustn't forget Mary Harney and Bertie Ahern.
Sean FitzPatrick, Michael Fingleton and sundry other bankers are also due a debt of gratitude. Thank you, gentlemen, thank you.
Mere words cannot express my gratitude to Ireland's senior civil servants. Heroic is what you are!
Sincere thanks to Robert Doran and Chenile Keogh of Y Books for seeing the opportunity for this book and for having the nerve to go for it. Thanks too for their patience while it was being written. Particular thanks to Robert for his excellent work in editing the book. Thanks also to Alan Clarke for the excellent cover illustration, Kieran Kelly for his legal expertise and to Natasha Mac a'Bháird for the proofread.
This book grew out of the @IMFDublinDiary Twitter feed and stories I wrote for my online journal, The Mire (www.themire.net). Thank you to the readers and followers of The Mire, @IMFDublinDiary and @themiredotnet on Twitter.
Thanks to Eoin Purcell of Irish Publishing News who was quick to see the potential of @IMFDublinDiary.
Special thanks to Daragh Fallon, Dessie McFadden, Oisin Horler, Dec Bruen, Colin Gillen and The Grange Players for helping with The Mire. Thanks too to Dermot Healy and the Dooneel Writing Group.
Writing a book in a few short months when you are used to writing stories four paragraphs long creates its own tensions. Thanks to my wife Anna and my children Laoise and Ríáin for indulging me in this and at other times.
Thanks also to those people, too numerous to mention, who have lent me money and bought me drinks over the years. Now would not be a good time to stop.
‘The boom times are getting even more boomier.’
Bertie Ahern, July 2006
‘[This is] the cheapest bailout in the world so far.’
Brian Lenihan, October 2008
‘We are not rushing into the banks without knowing
precisely what the position is in those banks.’
Brian Lenihan, November 2008
‘Let's be fair about it – we all partied.’
Brian Lenihan, November 2010
‘Ireland has made no application for external support.’
Brian Cowen, November 2010
‘Paddy likes to know what the story is.’
Enda Kenny, February 2011
‘We will not put any more money into Irish banks that
do not come up with a credible plan to debt share with
the bondholders, not one red cent.’
Leo Varadkar, February 2011
‘All politicians are spoofers.’
Michael Noonan, February 2011
‘This programme is a lifeline for Ireland. It represents
an Irish solution to an Irish problem.’
Ajai Chopra, April 2011
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction. It is also intended to be a work of humour and satire. None of the scenes described in this book have occurred. All characters who feature in the book, other than the politicians and well-known public representatives, are entirely imaginary and do not have any relationship to or foundation in any real persons. The thoughts, words and deeds attributed to all the characters in the book derive entirely from the author's imagination.
ONE
AJAI HAS LANDED
It was typical of Ajai to brief us on the mission mid-flight.
He just loves Criminal Minds.
We were sitting around the table digesting figures on the Irish banking and public finances crisis. Ajai handed out photos and short text profiles of the key figures involved.
‘As you know, we're going to Ireland,’ he said. ‘This shouldn't be the most difficult situation we've ever faced.’
We all agreed with him. How little we knew then.
‘Ten years ago the Irish inadvertently created a booming economy,’ Ajai continued. ‘Like many before them they thought it would last forever. It didn't. The economy collapsed four years ago and the Irish only realised it when the global financial crisis kicked in. They were still trying to sell the notion of a soft landing a full twelve months after their economy had crashed and burned.
‘On the one hand this is straightforward – we have to get them to cut back on public spending. A lot of jobs will have to go. During the so-called boom years every civil servant was given a civil servant. Importantly, their public service must also be seen to adjust, because the general population has already done so. A lot of Irish people thought they'd won the lottery without even buying a ticket. That's over and they know it. These people have had to rethink their lives. Their short- to medium-term future is high taxes, high unemployment and high emigration. The days of luxury living that some of them enjoyed are over.
‘On the other hand there's the banking crisis. Again, this should be straightforward. They should default, but Europe will fall like a house of cards if they do. So we have to cosy along with the ECB and pretend we think the Irish people should honour their banks’ debts, for the moment at least
.
‘Our mission is to make sure the situation doesn't worsen and that they learn a lesson here. We need to introduce a sensible, prudent culture in their Department of Finance.’
Ajai looked directly at me.
‘You're Irish, right?’ he asked.
I looked up. ‘Great-great-grandparents on both sides left Ireland during the Famine,’ I said. ‘The Great Hunger they called it. I'm as Irish as a pint of Guinness.’
‘Actually, Guinness is owned by a French company. So technically you'd have to be as French as Guinness.’ IMF whiz kid Nelson Coontz may have been a fully qualified actuary at the age of five but sometimes he could be a real pain in the ass.
‘Hey, I'm proud to be Irish. Watch what you're saying.’
Ajai raised a hand to calm us and showed me the most airbrushed photograph of any man I had ever seen. I shrugged, not recognising him.
‘Is he any relation to Silvio Berlusconi?’ I asked.
‘Let's hope not. That's Dermot Mulhearn, Chief of Staff of the Irish Department of Finance. Good relations with him are critical to the success of this project,’ Ajai said.
‘What about this guy?’ I held up a photo of a man with heavily dyed unnaturally-black hair.
‘That's the Minister for Finance, Brian Lenihan,’ Ajai said. ‘Be polite but try not to get cornered by him. I met him in a lift in Brussels once and it took me two hours to get away from him. He is a fervent believer in whatever he happens to be saying, even if he's reading it for the first time.
‘You should treat any government politicians you meet with a degree of respect. But don't waste time on them. Look at these two.’ Ajai waved headshots of two mundane looking middle-aged men in the air. ‘Dempsey and Ahern,’ he said. ‘Two of the most senior ministers in the Irish government. Two days ago they denied all knowledge that the IMF was coming to Ireland. These guys could meet us at the airport and tell us we're not there. The main thing to remember is that these politicians are just clinging to power for the next few months. The civil service is the key to this. Politicians come and go.’
‘What about the opposition?’ I asked.
Ajai permitted himself a rare smile.
‘Same thing applies. Again, be polite but don't waste time on them,’ he said.
He held up another photo. ‘This is the leader of the opposition and very probably the leader of the next Irish Government,’ he said. ‘Whenever the economy is mentioned his handlers send him to the corner shop for an ice cream. If you have to deal with him give him an errand to do. Apparently he's very biddable. I'm told he's compulsive about tidiness, so if all else fails get him to polish something shiny or clean the windows. It seems to work for his handlers.
‘So, are we clear that Mulhearn is our man? If we are to get Ireland living within its means, he is the one we have to convince.’
I studied the photograph of Mulhearn. It could have been issued by a Hollywood studio. He wasn't an old man, early forties I would guess, but he was clearly a fan of botox and sunbeds. His dyed-black eyebrows were in stark contrast to the burnt-orange colour of his face. His Italian-looking shoes were burnt orange too, as was the silk handkerchief in the breast pocket of his navy suit. The photograph showed him sitting on his desk. An elaborate chandelier was reflected in the shiny leather of his shoes, and there was something about his suit. I held the photograph up to the light.
‘Is that real gold thread on his suit collar?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said Ajai. ‘I admit he might need some convincing.’
When we arrived at Dublin Airport there was nothing to suggest a country in collapse. We were ushered through a magnificently opulent and utterly empty terminal. It had opened just the previous week, apparently. I shouldn't think they will be building any more of them. ‘Look at this!’ Ajai said. ‘They built a brand new terminal for their people to emigrate from.’ Like all of us, Ajai hates waste. It goes with the job.
We emerged into some confusion at arrivals. Airport staff, who clearly had nothing to do, and a few business travellers gathered around us.
‘Thank God you're here,’ said a businessman, grabbing my hand and shaking it vigorously. ‘We thought you'd never come.’
‘We've been expecting you for months,’ a woman in an Aer Lingus uniform said. ‘What took you so long?’ She held Ajai's hands in hers for what seemed like an eternity. ‘Count your fingers before you leave,’ she said. ‘They'll take everything you have, everything.’
Ajai broke away from her grip and we continued somewhat uneasily towards the exit. We were taken aback to find uniformed chauffeurs waiting outside the terminal for each of us. Ajai was furious at this extravagance but he told us to go with our drivers and meet at the hotel. Now that they were here they would have to be paid anyway.
My car, limousine really, was usually at the disposal of the Minister for Finance, the driver told me. It was beautifully finished in walnut and leather and came with ... someone's shopping.
‘Whose are these?’ I asked the driver, indicating the paper bags from a store called Brown Thomas.
‘They're yours!’ he said cheerily. ‘A small welcome gift from the Irish people to our friends in the IMF.’
I examined the contents of some of the bags. An Xbox Kinect with 250 GB console, an iPhone 4, a Kindle and a Sony Reader. This was extraordinary. And there were clothes, lots of designer clothes in my size and with my initials embroidered on them. You wouldn't get such extravagant goodie bags at the Oscars. An A4 envelope contained a Certificate of Irishness and a brief note from the Chief of Staff at the Department of Finance, Dermot Mulhearn. ‘Welcome home’ it said simply.
‘I can't accept this stuff,’ I said.
I could feel the driver sizing me up in the rearview mirror.
‘I suppose I could take the Xbox off your hands if you don't want it,’ he said tentatively.
‘Want it? I don't want any of it. It has to go back to be refunded. This can't be paid for by the taxpayer.’
I watched him roll his eyes heavenwards. ‘I pay tax,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, anyway. I don't mind you having them. Sure aren't you one of our own?’
When we arrived at the Merrion Hotel in central Dublin, Ajai and the rest of the team confirmed that they too had been given goodie bags. ‘Our Xbox consoles are only 4 GB though. They must like you,’ Ajai observed. ‘I guess they know you're Irish. We might be able to use that.’ Ajai dismissed our drivers and phoned the Department of Finance to make sure nothing like that happened again. ‘OK guys, check into your rooms and meet in the lobby in ten minutes,’ he told us. ‘We're going to walk to work.’
When you travel as much as we do you tend not to notice the hotels. One blurs into another. We're not looking for a room with a view, and we're generally just happy if it has working powerpoints, wifi and a trouser press. The Merrion Hotel had all that and then some. ‘Gracious Irish living’ is what they pride themselves on, or so the headed paper said. It was all chandeliers and Italian marble floors – a far cry from the Holiday Inn we stayed at in Athens. The Department of Finance had booked our rooms and they had gone over the top. There was champagne waiting for me in my suite, along with some handmade Irish chocolates and a complimentary Department of Finance bathrobe hung in the Jacuzzi-equipped bathroom.
Ten minutes later as we walked across the road to work, I reflected on our journey in from the airport. I guess we never visit a country that doesn't have problems, but at first glance Ireland didn't seem to have too many. We didn't need armed guards and there were no queues of desperate people at cash machines withdrawing their savings. However, there were homeless people at every cash machine. This struck me as strange in a country that according to our briefing documents has tens of thousands of empty houses. ‘They're already used to seeing beggars on the street. That's no bad thing,’ Ajai observed brightly.
We were greeted at the Department of Finance by a row of dignitaries. All the senior government ministers were there. I knew Dempsey and Ahern fro
m the photographs Ajai had showed us during the flight. They were too caught up in the game of Rock, Paper, Scissors they were playing to notice our arrival, however. Ministerial cars were double-parked on the street causing traffic chaos. I recognised my driver from earlier and acknowledged him but he stared right through me. Guess he had his heart set on that Xbox.
First we were introduced to a churlish, grumpy man who everyone called Taoiseach. An aide told us that Taoiseach was Irish for Prime Minister. I think this was my first experience of the famous Irish sense of humour at work. Whoever he was, they got rid of him quickly. ‘I'll catch ye later for a pint,’ he called over his shoulder as he was ushered away. ‘I can't be idly chatting to the IMF. Pat Carey is announcing a vital Irish language initiative.’
We were finally introduced to Dermot Mulhearn. ‘You'll meet the Taoiseach some night during the week,’ he assured us. ‘He's not really a morning person.’ Mulhearn was clearly the man in charge – he had a certain aura, like he was in higher definition to his compatriots. Even the Finance Minister, an intense, slightly manic man, deferred to him.
‘You are very welcome, gentlemen,’ the Minister began, ‘I've read all your books, Mr Chopra. Perhaps you would do me the great honour of signing them?’
‘I think you're referring to Deepak Chopra,’ Ajai told him with a grimace as he looked at the pile of paperbacks the Minister was holding.
‘I'll take it from here, Minister,’ Dermot interrupted. ‘Why don't you have a read of the sports pages?’ He handed him a newspaper. ‘Don't read the news section though – you'll only upset yourself.’
Everything about Dermot was richer than those around him. He looked like a 3D version of the airbrushed photograph Ajai showed me on the plane. The man towered over us. He was maybe 6 ft 2" but he held himself taller. His manner was disconcertingly informal.
