Now I don’t mean to be too political, but did you ever see the like of the carry on among that clatter of politicians who don’t know whether or not they’re going to set up new political parties?

“I might and I mightn’t, I should and I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”

They all tell us we need decisive leadership, people with vision and determination to do what needs to be done. Meanwhile, they themselves are about as decisive as a child in a sweet shop.

Indeed, so far anyone who has put their head above the parapet has done so with the speed of a snail on sleeping tablets. In fact, it has taken all kinds of persuasion to get them to put their heads up in the first place.

With all this talk about the dawn of the age of the independents, I’m half afraid that as my resident councillor son sits here at home, nursing his wounds from his Christmas party shenanigans, he’ll get notions. Before I know it, he’ll be on the Sticks FM telling them that he has decided to run for the Dáil because “the people of Tipperary need him”. What gets to me in all this is the lack of straight talking. In this country no one talks straight any more, in fact, I suppose we never did, we always danced around the truth. We have all kinds of little ways of getting away from the hard edge.

For instance, at this time of the year we meet people who obviously fed themselves far too well over the last month, but what do we say? “You got strong,” or “You’re looking well, the bit of weight suits you.” What we really want to say is: “You got huge, you’d want to do something about it.”

I regard myself as a straight talker and so, for instance, when people approach me to ask about what happened to Maurice and enquire as to the state of his broken limbs, I tell them exactly what happened. I tell them he was dancing on a table at his Christmas party and fell off, as one would expect.

At that, people are liable to say: “Well poor auld Maurice, isn’t he a gas man.”

I know they’re only trying to make me feel alright about my son who has made a total toolbox out of himself. At the beginning I was nodding and smiling and accepting the mixture of good humour and sympathy, but I decided that baldly facing the facts of the situation was the only way to do it. Now I say: “No, he is not a gas man, he’s a feckin’ eejit. At 56 years of age he attempted to dance on a table, him that has two left legs even when he’s on solid ground.”

Madge McNamara was in to see him the other day with her graw-mo-chree head leaning to the one side and her funeral face dragged down to her chest.

“Let’s hope he has a speedy recovery and that the good Lord will bring him back to full health,” says she. “I suppose he’ll have to go for physiotherapy.”

“Physiotherapy? Are you jokin’ Madge? ’Tis a kick up in the arse he should get and go back to work. That’s the only physiotherapy for him. As for the good Lord bringing him back to good health, the man above has far more important things to be doing than helping my clown of a son recover from a bout of drunken stupidity.”

Poor Madge blessed herself and left the house.

If we had more straight talking in this country things would be far better. If we could get some direct answers to questions, rather than a pile of waffle designed to conceal the truth, we might begin to see better times.

All this is very deep seated, especially in rural Ireland. You ask any dairy farmer if he’s expanding and how many cows he now has and he’ll more than likely tell you: “I suppose I have a few more than I had last year.”

Some people will give you the most roundabout answers to the most innocent of questions.

“Were all the family home for Christmas?”

“Ah, coming and going, sure you know yourself.”

From the top down we seem to prefer to wander around in the fog rather than face the light of day. We seem to love the “God only knows” approach to everything.

“Are you forming a new political party?”

“Sure God only knows.”

“What is the name of this new political party?”

“Sure God only knows.”

“What are the policies of this new political party?”

“Sure God only knows.”

Let me tell you that if and when any of that crowd darken my door to ask me if I’ll be voting for them I know the answer they’ll get.

“Sure God only knows.”