Why were there no decades of the Rosary for the conversion of Red China?

WASN'T the visit by the Chinese Tánaiste a great success? Our own equivalent, Eamon Gilmore, nearly wet himself with excitement. This man has achieved his position without a vote being fired and, moreover, he'll be China's Taoiseach soon. Even Eamon's old pals in North Korea couldn't arrange it better â€â€ not for love, nor counterfeit money. Now Eamon dreams of things that never were and he asks 'Why not?' Why not no elections, no pesky media, no awkward questions asked by awkward backbenchers? Why not lock up septic tank and household charge protestors in mental institutions? Imagine if the central committee of the Labour Party, with him as top dog, made all the country's decisions. Why not take Enda's job at the stroke of a pen, or something more lethal if necessary? But let's leave Eamon and his dreams to one side for the moment and get back to the question on everyone's lips. Why did Xi Jinping, known affectionately as Ping Pong, come here? Forget the most open, export-opportunity, diplomatic success drivel that's been rammed down our throats over the past few days â€â€ the truth is quite simple. He came because we're the only European nation currently up for sale on the open market. That's it. A small ad recently placed in the Totalitarian Times read: [private] For Sale: Small, soon-to-be-uninhabited island off the coast of Europe. In need of major restoration, but with great potential for the right investor. Might suit superpower considering expansion. No planning restrictions, labour laws or financial regulations in place. All reasonable offers considered. Regrettably, Ping Pong wasn't a genuine bidder. He just popped in to see if there was anything going for a song in the closing down sale, a state company here, a bit of technology there. You can't be up to the Chinese. Just ask the Yanks. They're forever banging on about the Chinese swiping their technology, copying it, and then flogging back to them the stuff they produce with it at half the US price. And there we were showing Pong and Co a newborn calf in Sixmilebridge. Have we no sense? Before we know it they'll be breeding calves from Sichuan to Shandong and there'll be no selling them beef after that. In another short while we'll be buttering the toast with Cochin Gold and the supermarket fridges will be groaning under the weight of Beijing Bawn milk. Where will it all end? Mind you, I'm sure Gilmore gave Pong a fair earful over the issue of human rights in China. I can just hear him: 'Comrade Pong, you don't mind me calling you Pong do you? Everyone else does. Grand â€â€ listen â€â€ I'm having my ear bent about human rights by all these liberal diehards. No, we can't just shoot them or lock them up like you lot do â€â€ more's the pity. Sure, I have a bloody dissident here, Diarmuid Martin, giving me a pain in the noodles over closing the Vatican embassy. It's putting the kibosh on my plans to return to the Penal Laws. If that meddlesome priest had to spend his Sundays up the Dublin Mountains saying Mass on a rock he'd have more to worry him than his boss's embassy. 'Anyway, Pong, could the Party see its way to letting that Falun Gong shower go to Mass or make their Holy Communion in public or whatever it is they do? We're not bothered about the death penalty, Michael Noonan reckons sending the bill for the bullet to the family of the late departed sets a great example in a time of austerity. But we're a bit touchy about religion around here. The opium of the people, you know yourself, but sure it keeps them quiet if they think things will be better in the Afterlife. There's shag all hope for most of them in this one. Do what you can, we'll say no more about it.' The highlight of Tánaiste Ping Pong's trip was undoubtedly the visit to Croke Park. He wanted to see the site of Ireland's equivalent of the Tiananmen Square massacre. Luckily, the subtle differences between Chinese opening fire on Chinese in 1989 and the British-sponsored slaughter in 1920 were lost in translation. The day was saved when he was introduced to the humble camán, the hurley. He was so impressed that he ordered 100,000 on the spot for State Security interrogation squads. RTÉ ran this as a justification for their sycophantic coverage of the visit, claiming that the order would create up to 12 jobs for camán makers. There are hopes of a similar boost for the Irish cattle prod industry but the prospects of an export-driven boom in bodhráns have been dashed by an UN embargo on the export of torture tools to regimes with questionable human rights records. Bureaucracy gone mad, I tell you. What this visit noticeably lacked, however, was a passionate protest. If a White House filing clerk had arrived on his holidays the right-on lefties, peaceniks and rent-a-mob rights brigade would have poured down from the hills to wave home-made placards for the cameras. Mind, you, they probably realised our state-owned broadcaster wouldn't cover it so assumed there was no point. But where were the clergy when we needed them? Why were there no mass Rosaries held to pray for the conversion of Red China? What we needed was a good old-fashioned fire-and-brimstone priest denouncing Mao, his works and his ilk for the atheistic heathens they are and forbidding his flock to offer as much as a cup of tea to the infidel. What we got was an orgy of national obsequiousness as we desperately attempted to prostitute ourselves to the man with the biggest wad in the world. We may gain a few jobs in the long run, but as of now, we've just sold our soul.   â€Â¢ â€Â¢ â€Â¢   I'm with the reactionaries â€â€ reopen the embassy at once I'VE been inundated with appeals from readers who hang on my every word to offer some guidance on the vexed question of the closure of the embassy. Should the Government stand its ground or give in and reopen it? On the one hand I understand why people feel that the last thing we need is an expensive embassy and ambassador to what is essentially a reactionary theocracy, albeit one with a fancy army and tentacles dipping into some of the world's hot spots. But, on the other, it's important that we have friends at court if things get rough and for that reason alone, I'm in favour of the aforementioned Eamon Gilmore caving in on this one, and reopening the shop. Embassies are not institutions that trouble the ordinary five-eighth in the normal course of events. I've only had to call on one once. Some of you may remember the old Irish passport. It was a monstrous beast, based on the original template for the Book of Kells. It had a bullet-proof green cover made of durable cardboard and was filled with parchment leaves for collecting the passport stamps you got back then when you crossed international borders like Holyhead and Newry. With a bit of manipulation, the hulk could travel in the back pocket of your jeans. Mine lived happily there for ages but time and a couple of years hitching about Europe took their toll. The old girl looked a bit worse for wear. The once solid cover took on a battered, dishevelled appearance and the binding gave out so that when opened it resembled a collection of loose leaves. It served well enough however, until disaster struck. One morning I thumbed a lift into Montpellier and tracked down one of those infernal squat loos favoured by the French. Unfortunately, I deposited more than I had intended into the pan. Horror-stricken, I retrieved the pages and cleaned them off as best I could but I knew the time had come for my passport and me to go our separate ways. Border guards are a fastidious lot at the best of times and I knew they wouldn't appreciate being offered my mysteriously stained pages for their perusal. I hitched back to Paris and presented the offending document to a beauty in the Irish embassy. Diplomat that she undoubtedly became, she didn't blink an eye, and arranged a replacement within the day. She even treated me to lunch. By nightfall I had my thumb out and was heading south again. Which is why I have a soft spot for embassies, even one in a place where men in dresses run the show, where women are second-class citizens and where superstitions and medieval worship are the order of the day. I still think we should be represented there, just in case. Stalin once asked how many divisions the Pope commanded. That's not something that concerns me. What really worries me is the nuclear arsenal Iran is building. Can we really afford to offend these lunatics? No, keep the embassy in Iran open, I say. â€Â¢ â€Â¢ â€Â¢   Quote of the Week   'Diplomacy is the art of saying â€Ëœnice doggie' until you can find a rock.' â€â€Will Rogers [/private]