14th February 2001
In my World Books Dictionary 'Junket' is described as "(1) A pleasure trip, especially one taken by an official at the expense of the government."
Any hint of being a politician, anyone even remotely involved in medicine and others as well are included under the heading of "official". Coming under the heading in a dual capacity it would seem reasonable that I should spend most of my life lolling about under palm trees, drinking Pinacoladas (they are delicious - I first had one in the Yucatan Peninsula paid for by self) a bit like the young man in the Lotto ad - well, maybe a bit more like the slightly older people in the ad!
Here is an account of my last political junket. With five other elected members of Leinster House and one important official I set off on a day junket to Cardiff. I don't know about you but if I have an early flight I wake at 2am, 5am and half an hour before I need to do so on the morning of the flight. Eat breakfast, (it can be, and was, nasty on the plane) and go to airport. Flight is delayed, about an hour to wait, but we are all there and have travelled together previously to remote places like the Slieve Donard Hotel, Galway, London and other exotic places dans les environs de Leinster House so we chat amicably. Indeed, on our last trip to London we took turns in directing the bus drivers who were conveying us around that city as to where we should be because we were all much more familiar with the place than those foreign drivers were, so we have a good level of camaraderie. These outings are interparty, plus independents like me, which makes it easier for people to be friendly than if all were of one party.
Off we go to Cardiff (Tra la, tra la) in a Tiger Moth and remember, this is a junket. The weather was appalling, rain and wind as one expects in February over Ireland and Wales, not to mind the snot green sea in between. Now I don't mind small planes, after all, on the trip from Dublin to Cork one can inspect cows' BSE status, but one of our number was ashen. He explained later he cannot travel in the back seat of a car without feeling sick but he looked so ill it seemed to me a by-election could be likely, so I sat on my medical hat and looked solely political.
In search of information (not, I repeat, not, gossip) I conversed with my nearest companion on the tribulations of our Leinster House colleagues before the courts and tribunals completely forgetting that he had what is known as "his own troubles" as well. Gentleman that he is, he refrained from reminding me. Anyway, perhaps he thought, seeing that I am a patron of the Irish Penal Reform Trust, I was wondering how soon I can tactfully approach Liam Lawlor and ask him to take an interest in the organisation following his Mountjoy experience.
Bucking and lepping through the sky (no thank you to dry looking Danish's for breakfast) we reached Cardiff but could we get down? No. The runway was flooded. Now, I don't know how they did it but after circling the Severn estuary at very close quarters for about an hour someone had hoovered or swept up enough water to let us land. The pilot probably adored the outing. There are two small islands in the Severn estuary I would like to inspect from sea level at some stage but never again from a couple of hundred feet. Later in the day I found out they are called Flat Holm and Steep Holm - guess which is higher!
Out onto the tarmac by way of a small staircase, run through the rain to Cardiff International Airport. To be fair to them, our hosts from the Welsh Assembly and our own Consul, Conor Riordan, couldn't have been better, but really, was this an exotic day? We didn't get to meet Dr. Brian Gibbons, a UCG graduate, but left good wishes for him. I did get a gift. The entire lunch for a group of about 10 of us was totally Welsh. I admired a Welsh cheese with mustard seeds in it and the Minister insisted I take some of that which was left over with me. It was still delicious at dinner a few nights later.
Back to the airport , now beautiful sunshine. A bit of a delay but off we go on Ryanair and, with the sun setting behind Ireland, we sweep up the Wexford and Wicklow coasts. It was a sight for which many would pay punts. A blood red sky behind them, Rosslare Harbour, the Wexford slobs, the Wicklow beaches and on to Greystones, Dalkey, Dunlaoghaire and Dublin harbours. I would have paid my own money not to mind the Government's for this show and no one had told me it would be laid on. The Welsh are great, the important official and I agreed as I gave him a lift to the Stillorgan Flier stop at the Burlington bus stop.
Entry (2) in my dictionary under "junket" is "curdled milk, sweetened and flavoured, eaten as a dessert". And wasn't that a bit the way my junket was?
Senator Mary Henry, MD
