The Life and Times of Royston Brady, MEP

Long time no update...

Fri, 11 Mar 2005 16:14:14 GMT

But seeing as I've managed to get myself yet another job despite no qualifications, I thought I might let my legions of adoring fans know.

See, it's all about who you know, not what you know.

Head above the ramparts

Wed, 20 Oct 2004 17:03:09 GMT

I've been taking it easy of late, as you may have noticed. Or not noticed, seeing as I've been keeping a low profile. Unusual, but true.

Still, I think it's time to dip my toes in the water of public life again. So I commissioned an interview in The Village Magazine, the new weekly news and current affairs thingy published by Vincent Browne.

Named some names. Set some facts straight. Got me own back on one or two people. Without actually saying anything, if you see what I mean. Think I came across really well - a tough, mature, driven man with commitment, yet with a sensitive side under that handsome but rugged exterior.

Some nicely posed photos, too, cos like, bein' on the dole for a bit now, I might need to fall back on the modelling for a bit. Strictly part time, obviously.

HAH! In your face, Cyprian! Nyah Nyah Nyah!

*Ahem*

Anyway - the Village Magazine. 80 pages, some of them with me on them, and a bloody good read, too, all for a couple of yoyos. Available from all good newsagents, now.

The Rose of Tralee

Tue, 24 Aug 2004 22:40:07 GMT

One of my Dedicated Readers, my_name_is_fiki, has requested my thoughts on the Rose of Tralee Festival, and I am happy to oblige.

Now, Mr. Fiki describes the event as a fiasco, and I have to say I think that's a little harsh. It has it's good years and it's bad - a bit like a Fianna Fáil selection convention or Ard Fheis, in that regard.

Undoubtedly it's finest year in recent memory was in 2001, when the quality of escort was exquisite. Sure I'm half convinced my own stalwart performance at the week-long event was a contributory factor in my elevation to Lord Mayor of Dublin. Having being selected as one of the 26 most eligible bachelors in all Ireland, could Bertie afford to ignore my ascendency? Of course not!

Em, the women weren't half bad looking either.

It was, of course, impossible for the organisers to match that, and I'm afraid things have gone downhill from there. Last year, of course, was a disaster, what with the burst water pipe and the poor girls not being able to shower. Let me tell you, some of them were the worst for that! Even I, Lord Mayor of Dublin at the time, was forced to use bottled water to brush my teeth! But sure not to worry, didn't I have an aide to bring me up 20 litres of Evian so I could shower. Personally, I blame that gombeen Jackie Healy-Rae. If he'd got more money spent on the waterworks instead of upgrading the roads around his house, we'd have been grand.

Being in attendance as Lord Mayor of Dublin had it's perks, of course, and let's just say the Dublin Rose did well that year and leave it at that...

More famouser

Tue, 10 Aug 2004 09:59:50 GMT

If you have your own website, that means you're famous, right?

Admittedly I haven't bothered updating it any time recently. I'm still claiming to be the Lord Mayor, f'rinstance. But hey, I've been on my holidays!

So if you have two websites, that means you're more famouser, right?

Good, 'cos I appear to have another one. Funnily enough, I don't seem to remember making the newer one...

I haven't gone away, you know...

Thu, 15 Jul 2004 16:06:11 GMT

Royston Brady, and my part in his downfall

I'D FIRST met the colourful Dublin lord mayor at the Rose of Tralee (where else?) and, in truth, I was quite impressed by him. Personable and chatty, he seemed refreshingly straightforward for a politician - particularly a Fianna Fail one. Within 10 minutes of meeting him, I asked if he'd be interested in doing an interview. He readily agreed, but it took a couple of months before we got around to doing it.

When it eventually happened, on a sunny October afternoon, he gave me a brief tour of the Mansion House and poured me a perfect pint of Guinness before we got started (he drank water). He actually told me the story about his father's taxi being hijacked by loyalists at the very start of the interview, but that wasn't the only revelation in the remarkably candid, hour-long, conversation which followed.

He told another story about snooker legend Alex Higgins running up a huge bill and doing a runner at the Royal Marine Hotel, which Brady used to manage.

"He checked into the Royal Marine - with no bag, no nothing with him. He was totally off his head. And he was on a huge amount of tablets, because we found tablets in the room and stuff afterwards. But he basically did a runner. You know, he was ordering drinks to his room - he was on his own, like - totally sad stuff now, I have to say. I think he was two or three days with us . . . But he disappeared after a couple of days; ran off without paying the money."

On a more personal level, Royston was admirably open and honest about the serious depression he suffered following his father's death, his heavy drinking binges in New York and soft drug-taking in Amsterdam.

He described his return to America after his father's Dublin funeral as one of the worst moves he ever made: ". . . because I started going on the sauce all the time and stuff like that. And I wasn't going to work and I wasn't turning up. I just couldn't hack it, that's just being honest with you."

While he admitted to smoking the odd joint during a stint working in an Amsterdam hotel, he didn't agree that cannabis should be legalised - except for terminally-ill cancer patients or MS sufferers. "By Jesus, if I was dying of cancer I'd be smoking it. I can tell you that out straight! Or if I was terminally ill. If it relieves people in any way, for God's sake, give it to them!

"When you look at the quantities we sell alcohol in and it drives people demented, because all they want to do is kill each other. Obviously it affects people in different ways, but I've never seen anybody on dope, or after smoking a joint, that wanted to bust ye or have a pop at ye or whatever."

What I thought would attract wider media interest and upset his FF colleagues, though, was his scathing attack on Noel Ahern.

"You've a Minister for Drugs - who's the Taoiseach's brother - and he hasn't done anything [on the drug issue]. He hasn't done anything. That's the bottom line. He hasn't done anything.

"His office is on the Quays, in the Custom House; that's where he's based. If you look out from his office, you can see Pearse Street, which is where a lot of drug activity happens. They're openly selling methadone on Butt Bridge. I pass them every day. His office is right there. You can't have that. We've failed these people."

Unfortunately, his most outrageous comments - calling for the immediate jailing of two of Ireland's most prominent businessmen - were deemed libellous by the lawyers and, much to my disappointment, had to be excised from the published interview.

All in all, though, I reckoned there was more than enough material there to provoke a media shitstorm. But the day the interview came out coincided with the day Brady pulled a publicity coup by allowing the Mansion House to be used for a young homeless couple's wedding reception. My interview got lost in a sea of feel-good press and passed more or less unnoticed.

It wasn't until the Sunday Independent's Joe Jackson asked him about his claims a fortnight ago that the veracity of the story about his father's taxi became an issue.

Personally, I don't feel he told the taxi story for any cynical political gain. It was me who brought the subject of his father up and I think he was just being naive and forgot that there was a tape running.

I think that his reluctance to go on air in his own defence, combined with a ridiculously excessive postering campaign - did him as much political damage as the interviews and subsequent question marks over the "taxi-nap" story.

He may be licking his wounds at the moment, but you can't keep a big mouth closed and I'm quite sure we haven't heard the last of Royston Brady. Apparently he's currently in negotiations to write a weekly tabloid column. Personally, I can't wait.

After all, he's obviously much better suited to the entertainment business than he is to politics.

Olaf Tyaransen's collected interviews 'Palace of Wisdom: Confessions of the Famous and the Infamous' will be published by Hot Press Books next month.

Olaf Tyaransen

Bloody cheek! And, er, negotiations continue.

I did it... My Way

Thu, 24 Jun 2004 14:49:13 GMT

And now, the end is near
Well, actually, it was last Monday.
It's time to face the final curtain
And tidy up one or two loose ends.
My friend, I'll say it clear
Ye didn't vote for me, ye bastard.
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
Well, maybe that's going a bit too far. I've managed a whole year without stating my case!

I've lived a life that's full.
Of what, we won't say.
I've traveled each and ev'ry highway;
And put posters on every one of 'em.
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
With just some input from Bertie.

Regrets, I've had a few;
That whole kidnapping thing, for example.
But then again, too few to mention.
So I didn't bother apologising. Or explaining.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.
Ah, now, let's not mention planning... I'm waaay to young to have been involved in any of that mullarkey!

The record shows I took the blows -
And did it... my way!

Not like the new guy. One Cllr Michael Conaghan. Bloody lefty, towing his party line. And expressing opinions! The office of Lord Mayor should be above politics! Or opinions. Or policies. Or, as I linked to earlier, any philosophy. Much safer that way.

Better go now - Thursday is my signing-on day down at the dole office...

I WIN AGAIN!

Mon, 21 Jun 2004 10:06:27 GMT

Woohoo, some good news at last! According to the news yesterday, I had the highest spend-per-vote of any Irish candidate in the European elections. I win again! It's always good to be on top!

I've heard also been reading that Dana, the split-personality-in-a-dress, will be giving up politics to resume her singing 'career'; while, depending on who you're reading, she's simultaneously going to run for President this autumn.

Personally, I hope it's the latter. She's sure to be whipped by us Soldiers of Destiny (Ah! Bad choice of phrase! Let me just banish those mental images!) and that should wrap up her political ambitions for good. That way, if I decide to contest the 2011 election, I'll have plenty of time for a sex-change operation* first, and one less opponent to worry about.

The former option, resuming her singing career, is an utterly appalling vista.

* Yes, I realise this would be an extremely drastic move just to get elected. I'd also risk alienating my core support of 47,000 young, female voters in the Dublin region. But think of the publicity!

Jobs

Wed, 16 Jun 2004 09:41:35 GMT

Well, I got a good bit of the mundane job out of the way last night. Had two cans of red bull after dinner, and flew around Dublin taking down posters. Paid some foreign chappies to take some posters down, too. Couldn't understand a word they were saying, though. I asked them where they were from and they said something like "Frenchfurzeboyaye", which I guess must be in France. That's one of the old EU countries, isn't it? No work permit problems, then.

So of next week, I've no job. On the plus side, that means I don't have to spend any more time with those chancers, wasters and idiots on the Council. And then there's the opposition!

(Oh yeah, I had to apologise for calling them idiots before... hopefully they won't see this, then).

So I sat down last night and thought about what job I want to be(*). Here's my list:

1. Taoiseach. Advantages: It's a very important job. Lots of foreign travel. Get to go to America every Paddy's Day. Long holidays. Disadvantages: Bertie'd bleedin' kill me!

2. President. Advantages: Same as above, with no responsibilities. Big house - even bigger than the one I have now! Disadvantages: You have to get elected, and apparently only women are eligible now - Mary Robinson, Mary McAleese, Michael D. Higgins...

3. President of the EU Commission. Bertie has his eye on that one, too. Bugger.

4. Sec. Gen. of the UN. Advantages: Lots of foreign travel. Disadvantages: Need to know the names of lots of countries. Not my forte.

5. Taxi driver. Follow in dad's footsteps? Too dangerous, with all those bleedin' terrorists about.

Hmm. May require further thought. Not to worry, though, I'll be looked after... thank God for nepotism and clientilism, the things that made this country what it is today!

* I'm way too important to do a job, I'm the sort of person that needs to be a job. The Lord Mayor, not a Lord Mayor!

Begrudgers!

Mon, 14 Jun 2004 11:59:28 GMT

Those bastards in the Irish Times are writing about me again!

Mark Hennessy, Political Correspondent

Royston Brady's rise and fall: For years, Dublin's Lord Mayor Royston Brady
imagined he could be a younger Bertie Ahern. He saw himself as much-loved on
Dublin's northside and destined for a glittering political career.

Today, the comparison is better made with Icarus, who flew too close to the
sun and fell to the sea when his wings of wax melted.

Instead of being bound for the European Parliament, Mr Brady will have to
endure his final days as Lord Mayor knowing that he will neither be an MEP
nor a member of Dublin City Council.

It looked so different just a few weeks ago. The first Irish Times/tns mrbi
opinion poll showed the 31-year-old in line to get an 18 per cent first
preference share.

The candidate was thrilled beyond belief. Others in his campaign were not:
"He couldn't see that the last thing he needed was to be seen to be out in
front so early," one of them said yesterday.

Today, no doubt, Mr Brady is feeling bitter towards the media, which
displayed little enthusiasm at the prospect of him becoming an MEP. However,
those who live by the sword occasionally feel its sharp edge.

During his term in the Mansion House, Brady exploited press coverage at
every opportunity.

Portraying himself as a tough-talker, he took swipes at his council
colleagues, describing them as "clowns" and "pathetic" figures who had sat
back once elected. His quotable image made him the tabloids' darling,
particularly when he hosted a down-and-outs wedding and defended lap-dancing
clubs.

Once the campaign began, however, a different Brady was on view, or, more
accurately, vanished from view: "A decision was made to keep him off the
radio and away from the papers at all costs," a campaign source said.

The campaign was well funded, largely thanks to a packed lunch in the
Mansion House's Fadó restaurant where supporters paid between €2,500 and
€5,000 a table. The Taoiseach was the main speaker.

Mr Ahern's relationship with Mr Brady has been misunderstood. Many insist on
believing the Taoiseach looked on him as a favourite son. The reality is
different.

Although Mr Ahern's Drumcondra Mafia would have been happy to see Mr Brady
head for Brussels, this had more to do with the fact that they would have
been glad to get rid of him.

Relations with the camp of Fianna Fáil's other Dublin Euro candidate, Eoin
Ryan, were never good. However, the mood quickly became poisonous when Mr
Ryan refused to divide the Dublin constituency at the Liffey.

Though the candidate will find it hard to accept, his campaign was fatally
undermined by no one other than himself by his claims about his father's
abduction before the Dublin/ Monaghan bombings.

Now that he has been left without even a base on the council, few close to
Mr Ahern will grieve for him.

© The Irish Times

Could they not have left me alone today of all days? Bastards. Well, shag them, anyway. I'll show that Hennessy git, though - I'll carve my name on his desk next time I'm in there, so I will!

Let's get one thing straight.

The abduction thing. My da was a taxi driver, and he told the ma after he didn't come the night of the bombings that he'd been kidnapped at gunpoint by loyalists and made drive all over the place, after she started shouting at him when he came home the next morning.

I remember it clear as day, I do... the shouting and effing and blinding... anyone would have thought it was Shinners house if they'd overheard! And then da gave me a fiver to wash the car and clean it up good. And I did... it took me ages t get it clean, even the footprints on the inside of the roof! (I assume the da put them there in the struggle when he was fighting off the kidnappers. Awful small footprints, though).

Hmm, wonder how the public will view that newspaper story. Ah, sure, only shagging left-wing liberals and wets from Dublin 4 read the bleedin' Times, anyway. And yer man Icarus - wasn't he in some Greek thing? That'll make me come across as an intellectual. See, there's always a bright side.

Anyway, best be off - have to find a scapegoat for this election debacle.

Counting day

Sun, 13 Jun 2004 22:19:22 GMT

Bugger.

First post.

Sat, 12 Jun 2004 00:24:36 GMT

Right, I think I've got this thing sorted out, now. Bloody complicated, these computers. And as for the Internet. Full of porn.

But anyway. This is the start of my diary thing.

I called it the Life and Times of Royston Brady, MEP. I hope I'm not being presumptious there. Well, we'll see.

Anyway, best get started.

Dear Diary,

I got up early this morning, washed, dressed, said my prayers, had breakfast, and went to the polling station to vote.

Had a nasty scare when I realised I'd forgotten any ID, but I brought the returning officer outside, and pointed at some of my posters that those nice Moldovans had/had not put up/taken down the other day, and that was ok, so it was.

Had another nasty scare when I saw a journalist, but got the Gardai to move him on for causing an obstruction.

Should know if I've been elected sometime tomorrow. I hope I am, because I like planes.

Came home and stayed indoors, like Bertie told me too, and didn't answer the door to anyone.

Wrote some more press releases. Bertie wants to see them all before I issue any more, for some reason. I wonder why? I hope it's not because he wants to steal my ideas!

Well, that's all for now - time to pray under the pictures of Dev, JFK and the Pope, and off to bed.

Royston.