The minister stared out the window, writes Jim Carroll. Democracy, he thought, was a great thing. Yesterday, he was just a nobody on the backbenches, another jumped-up county councillor in a shiny suit who did what he was told unless he wanted a clip around the ear from the chief whip.

Today, after the most radical reshuffle in history, he was the Minister for Fun.

The old titles had gone by the board and his colleagues around the cabinet table now included the Minister for Not Smoking, the Minister for Horses, the Minister for Arguing with Pat Rabbitte and the Minister for Traffic Cones. The Taoiseach had spent the weeks after the Galway Races doing power yoga with Tony Blair in west Kerry and it had obviously gone to his head.

"Your job is to add to the gaiety of the nation and ensure nothing interferes with the pursuit of fun," the boss had told him the previous morning. "Now go off and buy a few decent suits for yourself."

There was a quiet cough to attract his attention. The minister turned around to find the head of the Department of Fun on the other side of the desk.

"Good morning Minister."

"Good morning Padraig."

"I trust your new office is to your satisfaction."

"Tip-top, Padraig."

The minister looked at the civil servant and could have sworn he saw a fleeting smirk on his face. They walked back over to the desk and the head of the department picked up a large manila folder from the desk.

"There are a number of pressing issues, Minister." "Really? But the department was just set up yesterday."

"We have been planning this for quite some time and there's a fairly full agenda for the next few months. First, there are various music industry issues to address."

"OK, what do they want?"

"The music board which your predecessor set up a few years ago are looking for more money to go away and do a couple more reports about how they badly need more money."

"They sound like the fecking farmers. What do you think, Padraig?"

"The advice from the consultants we hired is that we should give them all wedgies and appoint a new trouble-free board comprising a few of The Thrills, Chris de Burgh, Kerry McFadden, a guy who works down the chipshop who swears he's Elvis and a retired gynaecologist."

"Champion, Padraig, champion. Next!"

"The major record labels are concerned that the growth in Internet copyright piracy is not a good thing and want us to do something about it."

"That frigging interweb, it should be banned."

"Our consultants say we should tell the majors that if they go away and sign some decent acts, their problems will vanish overnight."

"Excellent. This is easy. They're great lads altogether, those consultants."

"The Central Statistics Office report that we have far too many singer-songwriters in the Dublin area and that something has to be done immediately."

"What do our consultants have to say?"

"Their advice is that we should just cull them and be done with it. Start with those who are still rhyming "moon" with "June", move onto anyone who looks like Paddy Casey and finally just level Whelan's to the ground. That, they say, will put a stop to their gallop."

The minister leaned back in his chair. He could get to like this new job. He wondered when the tea and chocolate biscuits would arrive.