An Irishman's Diary

It's a timely move by the Government to request that name-plates at future EU meetings should refer to this country as "Éire Ireland". Apart from anything else, the dual identity could be useful as a negotiating tactic. With the EU expanding to include states that know little or nothing about us, the new name-plates will help sow confusion. "We can probably sell this new directive in Ireland," our Ministers will be able to say at crisis meetings. "But the people of Éire will never accept it, without more funding."

News of the move came on the same day that a report from the Central Statistics Office confirmed Éire-Ireland to be, as this paper summarised, "a nation of contradictions". This is a normal enough condition for a nation. A Google search for "nation of contradictions" shows that the phrase has been attributed to countries as disparate as Britain, Australia, the US, Hungary, Brazil, China and Turkmenistan. Type in "land of contradictions" and the haul is even larger, embracing as it does the travel industry. In an increasingly homogeneous world, no self-respecting country can market itself as a tourist destination without claiming to be a land of contradictions.

But it's fair to say that, contradiction-wise, we in Éire-Ireland can compete favourably with anyone, and certainly with the only other EU nations to have dual name-plates: Belgium and Finland. Our reputation for contradiction dates from before the fall of Gaelic Ireland. As Chesterton wrote: "The Great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad/ For all their wars are merry, and all their songs are sad." That reputation remains secure today, the CSO report shows. But we didn't need the CSO to tell us this: you can see contradictions everywhere you look in Ireland. Compare, for example, the resounding success of the smoking ban with our fierce and continuing resistance to the drink laws.

Reports from the west of drinkers interrupting their illegal late-night pub sessions to go outside and smoke may be exaggerated. Yet we know that when an opposition spokesman lights up in the Dáil bar the result is outrage and demotion; whereas when a Government Minister enjoys a 3am "lock-in" in a pub, he attracts mainly admiration, and a tabloid newspaper's report of the incident is considered to be in bad taste. There is no explanation for this, except that one of these events took place in Ireland, while the other was in Éire.

Contradiction is our middle name. We are a fiery, rebellious nation, except in shops and restaurants, where meekness suddenly overwhelms us and we would sooner have a limb amputated than complain about bad service. We are a people at two with nature: the only thing we like more than our country's unspoilt greenness is the opportunity to build bungalows on it, with big tarmac drives. Contradiction is even enshrined in our political geography. Starting at Malin Head, you can only reach the North by driving south, and of course you were in the South to start with. Try explaining that to tourists.

Public transport is another area where contradiction runs amok. The Irish have a genius for sky travel: thanks to Michael O'Leary and Willie Walsh, Hibernia rules the air. Soon we will have cable cars on the Liffey too. If only because of the word's onomatopoeic qualities, the territory above this island is definitely Éire.

It's back on the ground, in Ireland, that we have transport problems. Here too there are contradictions. The Luas runs with almost Swiss efficiency and is crammed with passengers day and night. By contrast, everywhere you turn in Dublin there are empty buses heading for somewhere called "As Seirbhís", which must be one of those big new suburbs to the west of the city. It's just odd that you never see a bus coming back from it.

Ireland must be the country that gets swept up in the World Cup, revelling in its internationalism and affecting easy familiarity with the talents of the Togolese or the failings of Ecuador. Éire must be the country to which we return after the World Cup ends, withdrawing ourselves from the outside world and surrendering to the tribal drum

of the GAA championships. In this country, men do not hug and kiss after scoring goals, and they definitely do not lie on top of each other on the ground.*

Ireland must have been where Bertie Ahern was when he assured us last week that Barry Andrews had told him a month ago about plans for a backbench policy committee. Éire must be where he was this week when he berated TDs for not approaching him about the initiative before it went public. Or maybe it was the other way around. Whichever, Bertie is the embodiment of the national talent for contradiction, bestriding the Éire-Ireland divide like a colossus. If he ever crossed a Rubicon, he would meet himself coming back.

In fact, it's arguable that two identities are not enough for us. When the EU approves the dual name-plate, maybe in due course we could push for the country's third language - Hiberno-English - to be represented. Our Ministers would in future sit behind signs reading "Éire Ireland The Old Sod". Then we could wreak havoc, altogether.

(*Except Dubs.)