Most sane people were turning over in their beds last Sunday week when the election was called. The majority of normal people were thinking of Sunday newspapers, sausages and rashers and maybe even their weekly religious service. Not me, however. I am one of a minority of political anoraks who, on hearing the news of the election, leapt out of our beds, slipped on our best canvassing shoes and set off with haste to throw leaflets in doors and tie posters to anything resembling a vertical construction.
Election time for some is like the World Cup for soccer fans. General elections are extra special – three-plus weeks of organised chaos with unsuspecting householders on the receiving end of promises, leaflets, stickers, balloons and canvass cards. Irish society has of course changed and with the advent of the mobile phone, unannounced door-knocking is more unusual than ever before. So when the door is opened and a smiling rosette-wearing candidate is on the other side, asking for something that sounds like an infantile expression for urination (number one, that is) it can be a little disconcerting.
I can honestly say that I thoroughly enjoyed my campaign three years ago in the 2004 local elections, and actually sorely missed the experience after I was elected. The togetherness and companionship of the month of the campaign is something quite unique. It is rare to have all your friends and family around you daily for an entire month working towards a common goal and believing that they were doing something truly worthwhile.
Then of course you get the casual indifference, the polite apathy, the violent door-slamming and the craic. Last week I met a man who told me he was an ABBA fan – “An ABBA fan?” I asked confused.
So, now we’re off and running, and as PJ Mara once famously said, “It’s showtime!”