The Dail Dawn Chorus

Could've been in the back garden with a good book

I drove back to Dublin from the midlands on Wednesday thinking I’d never been as hot at mid-day in Italy. Having *filed my copy* to the Indo (so love saying that) I made my way into the Dail for what was to be the night of #lapgate and the #Daildawnchorus. 

When I arrived in Kildare Street the sitting was adjourned for two hours and, damn, I had nobody to meet, it was way too sunny to go inside so I found myself engrossed in watching the protesters from a safe distance. It wasn’t very comfortable to be honest, seeing these two factions being kept in line by the Gardai, shouting Father Ted slogans at each other. This is supposed to be about dignity for women, not a side show. A crowd gathered around my side of the street, the army was mobilising from the well-funded, expensively t-shirted campaign group. It was time to retreat to the dark depths of Buswells and have a *healthy* salad and chips. What on earth was I doing in the city centre on a sunny Wednesday evening alone in Buswells? There is a back garden and a good book as an option, Mad Ted. I realised I was in deep; and deeply committed to changing something if I can. Changing a man-made law that would ease the trauma on women and men of a double tragedy.

The vote on the Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill was supposed to be decided by 10pm, it was extended until 2am and while I sat in the gallery, I heard a furore from the benches and a bluster from Gerry Adams. The doors opened, all and sundry piled in, most interesting was the press gallery, the narrow overhang filled to the brim, 21 journo’s jammed in a row. The doyenne, Miriam Lord, took her seat, delightful Lise Hand beside her. The silver glint of David McCullagh’s hair flashed in the harsh light. David Davin Power nestled between the smart glossy locked girls from the other papers.

The majority decided to extend the vote until 5am. There was a quick exodus, I checked my Dublin Bus App and went home. I assumed they were all having late committee meetings elsewhere, perhaps a nap on a trolley in the corridor, provided by Minister Reilly. They could hardly be drinking in the bar with such a serious issue going on? Drinking at work?

Back home, with the magic of Twitter I discovered the live link to the chamber, much to my amazement I actually watched until 5am. I looked outside, shocked, I haven’t been up ‘til that hour without revellers in my house trying to find the stash of duty free sambuca or whatever remained from the old days, me hoping they wouldn’t wake the sleeping children, who by now were revelling somewhere themselves. Plus ca change.

Well, at least I’d enough to write about for the Irish Times next day and, surprisingly, a radio interview with the lovely Matt Cooper. On Friday evening, I sat in FM104 with an ice bucket of cool beers and baskets of tortilla chips in view, times have changed since I worked in a *real office*. As I waited to go into studio I stuck my tongue in my broken tooth, chipped during the Dail Chorus by a diversionary caramel, for once, I wished I was in a dentist’s waiting room. It’s awful having to recall a very unhappy time, again and again. 

In between Druids and Dail Debates, I'm interviewing new tenants for landladyhouse. Stalwart gentleman lodger #1 is still with me, just trying to find someone to match him.

Sent to the Bold Room

As I walked up Molesworth Street, I could see the placards and averted my eyes crossing Kildare Street. Somebody beeped their horn and the crowd laughed and cheered. They called themselves Pro-Life. The images of babies in the womb were raw and upsetting to someone who has lost a baby through a fatal abnormality. To someone, who is in fact pro-life.

Up Against a Brick Wall

At the committee Hearings into the Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill, I sat making notes quietly on my iPad until the stern usher approached and asked me to put it away, I explained it was just a notebook and I had no pen, he went away, checked with his boss, came back with bald usher and said as I’d no pen, I could do it just this once.  Couldn’t help notice Michael Lowry pop in to listen, David Norris sat in front of me and caused a furore over his use of the word ‘buffoonery’. Chairman, Jerry Buttimer took no nonsense, especially putting manners on John Crown when he used the opportunity for stand-up comedy.

On day three I sat alone in the gallery, forgetting to bring paper this time, I started to make notes on the iPad, a baby-faced usher approached from the far side of the room; I explained it wasn't connected to wi-fi, baby-face turned into very cross face. Then a chief usher was called, this sinister looking man sat down beside me and asked how I was. I smiled, 'I'm well thank you’.  I clearly don't get out enough, apparently his question was a polite way of saying ‘stop what you're at immediately or I’ll take it from you’.

One of the sisterhood came over from the press gallery and asked me for coffee and said they’d try and get me in there, seeing as I was a free-lance writer. Great, I thought, at least I'd have some company.  In the canteen, Mary Banotti very kindly told me she heard my radio interview on her way to Galway and had to pull in to the side of the road to listen quietly. That was very touching. So, there I am up in the press gallery, delighted with myself, surrounded by friendly people; journalists who tell me they’ve been tweeting about me. I only wish I’d made news for something more joyful. Next thing, the all-seeing baby-faced usher is on to me like a light, 'you can't come in here without a press pass,' he says. Even the redoubtable Ms Banotti can’t persuade him. And I’m escorted away.

‘Can I just get a press pass?’ I ask, reasonably.

We bump into one of the Indo’s leading journo’s and he asks her to deal with it. She takes me under her wing. I explain my interest in the hearings, ‘will you do a piece for us?’ her eyes twinkle.  She passes her phone to me outside in the sunshine and I talk to her editor, ‘I’ll have something this evening’, I promise, anything to get back to the fun side of the House.

Now that I know where the canteen is I make my way unescorted, there are no prices on anything, I don't know a single person but they all look familiar, someone asks who I am, 'I heard you were here,' she said, and introduces me to her colleague, they invite me to their table, we go to pay, the food is weighed! I ask do we get a calorie count on the receipt, that is not, apparently, funny. I sit with Senator Ivana Bacik, Kathleen Lynch, Cork TD and Ciara Conway, Waterford TD. It feels truly surreal to speak openly about something that has for so long been so private.

Turns out a press pass is just going to take too long, so I return to the gallery looking at the back of Frank Callanan’s head, along with that of Judge Catherine McGuinness, Dr Maria Cahill, a woman who is far too young to have such extreme right wing views and a doctor with the most alarming duct tape eyebrows (I see them on the monitor).

There are some legal students sitting near me, smart suits, shabby shoes and little notebooks. Stern usher tells them to put away their phones.  Of course, we are only using our phones for tweeting, like John Crown, who tweets all day during the Hearings.

I surreptitiously tweet that my iPad is banned. Bald usher is down on me now like a ton of bricks.

Indo Journo, Lise Hand, pops in with some news. She says I can watch the remainder of the Hearings in the Press Room and write my piece. I follow her down labyrinthine corridors to Fionnan Sheahan's office and I'm given a desk, I face the wall.

I am in the Bold Room.