With Artistic mania, and in particular the insidious writing bug, more prevalent than ever in this country, there are very few counties left which have successfully resisted the pressure to appoint what is strangely known as a writer-in-residence. All praise then to exceptions like Longford, and extra congratulations to Westmeath, Kerry, Carlow and Clare, who have not only stood firm against the writer-in-residence, but have even managed to keep the "arts officer" at bay. They deserve the nation's gratitude.
It should be obvious to anyone visiting bookshops and art galleries on a regular basis that the nation is coming down with bad literature and worse art. The phenomenon is like a permanent Asian flu, though with more worrying long-term effects. I have complained about this before, but to no avail. The national policy is to encourage more "writers" and "artists" when it is perfectly clear there are already far too many, most of them quite useless. The appointment of arts officers and writers-in-residence, though they tend to be relatively harmless individuals, only makes the problem worse. Judging by an article in this paper the other day, one of the very worst offenders is Co Laois. We were assured, as if it were a good thing, that Laois "puts its money where its mouth is and offers the writer-in-residence as a service to the community, putting it on the same footing as roads, sanitation or the fire brigade."
If this is true, I will be a lot more careful in future when visiting or passing through the attractive county of Laois. Say for example I have business down south and decide to stop over in Abbeyleix. On the recommendation of a friend I book into the imposing B&B run on the edge of the town by Norah "Three Eggs" Timoney, a legend among the B&B community nationwide. Norah pioneered the full Irish breakfast at time when her competitors were still dithering over the provision of a second pat of butter. But while her homemade food is second to none, and her rooms always spick and span, Norah has taken a strong stand against modern B&B "improvements" such as so-called en-suite arrangements. This sensible approach has increased rather than diminished her business.
Norah also has a good eye for the furtive, supposedly married couples, who are quickly given a "no vacancies" dismissal. And all her guests are expected to turn in at a respectable hour of the night, certainly no later than 12.30 a.m.
Anyway, I arrive, check in, put my name down for Norah's famously bountiful "evening meal" and then slip off for a quiet pint in the serene old-world surroundings of nearby Morrissey's public house. I then return to Sans Souci, try to do justice to Norah's enormous meat supper, converse with my hostess, her rather taciturn husband Michael, and three other guests (the only subject barred at Norah's table is politics), and retire early to bed.
Some hours later I am woken by the terrifying sound of Norah's screams. The house is on fire! (It turns out that a guest has been smoking in his bedroom - strictly forbidden - and has inadvertently set Norah's good-quality net curtains ablaze).
Staying calm, I run downstairs in my pyjamas and phone for the fire brigade. Unbelievably, I am politely informed that this particular emergency service is busy - "but don't worry, our writer-in-residence, who as you know is on an equal footing with the fire brigade, the roads authority and the santitation service, is on her way". I am trying to make sense of this when the redoubtable Norah manages to extinguish the fire by herself: fortunately, only minor damage has been done to the bedroom. The drama gradually subsides, and the entire household gathers in the kitchen, where Norah is now brewing up a comforting pot of tea.
All of a sudden, in comes a breathless young lady with long hair, wearing an ankle-length tiedied calico dress and leather sandals. The writer-in-residence, for it is she, has with her a supply of notebooks and a fistful of freshly-pared pencils: declining a cup of tea, she brightly suggests a two-hour writing workshop. It is 4.35 a.m. That is the sort of thing we are now up against in Laois, all as a result of the county's thoughtless encouragement of literature and the arts. The potential scenario if anything were to go wrong on the county's busy roads, never mind in the sanitation area, hardly bears thinking about.
