A marriage of convenience few could have envisaged...

Punchestown.
We've been here before.
From the time we walked out to the two-day Festival.
Short trousers, pennies in the pockets.
Where the hurdy-gurdies took precedence over the action on the course.
To today's multi-million euro six day Festival.
And many more times besides.
Headquarters of the Sport of Kings.
Massive Covid vaccination centre during the pandemic.
Home to many refugees.
And last weekend Headquarters for the General Election Kildare Count.
Not for the first time.
We have seen the best fall in Punchestown.
And not always on the testing course.
It was back in 2003 but for the intervention of one Charlie McCreevy the doors, or in this case, the gates, of Punchestown, were mere hours away from being locked.
Permanently.
It survived.
Dick O'Sullivan arrived.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
It was only a week or so ago we were here for the racing.
Now, depending on your point of view, last weekend was more serious.
Five seats up for grabs in the northern part of the county.
Four seats (three in reality) for distribution south of Naas.
But so much has changed over the years.
And not just at the count.
The entire election process.
From a single constituency.
To a split north and south constituency.
From a three seater.
To a four seater.
To a five seater.
In pre-Twitter, Instagram (and all that lark) time things were so different.
The canvassing was different.
The seeking of one's vote was different.
The approach was different.
Basically there were just three parties.
Labour, the oldest of them all,
And the two civil war parties,
The Soldiers of Destiny (Fianna Fáil),
The Blue Shirts (Fine Gael),
There was no dividing line,
Especially between the latter two.
Back in the day it was more than just a vote.
It was a statement.
A statement where one stood since the foundation of the State.
And that statement remained up until relatively recent times.
But lo and behold what has now happened?
The civil war parties fall in love with one another.
It could be described as a sort of marriage of convenience.
Of course it wouldn't be the first marriage of convenience that lasted.
But a marriage of convenience nevertheless.
A marriage of convenience few would have, or could have predicted.
Few would have seen it coming down the line.
No opinion poll would have suggested.
The phrase 'wants must' springs to mind.
Of course these days we have more parties than you would find on a New Year's Eve.
Left.
Right.
Centre.
Far Left.
Far Right.
Middle grounders.
Greens.
Independents.
Aontú.
Soc Dems.
Independent Ireland.
PBP.
And a myriad of others.
It is all a far cry from the days of the after-mass gatherings.
Definitely no signs of any 'love' back then.
Far from it.
Standing on a butter box, candidates would give it their all as the crowds gathered around.
No shortage of heckling.
No shortage of interaction as the mass-goers exited from their Sunday prayers.
But it was mighty craic.
Then we had the slogans.
Let's Back Jack.
Garret The Good.
We had the songs.
'Arise and Follow Charlie' springs instantly to mind.
And for those too young to recall that 'Charlie' was not of the McCreevy clan.
A pair of Charlies nevertheless.
Once buddies, only to fall out.
Publicly.
Very publicly.
And dramatically.
One Charlie trying, on more than one occasion, to get rid of the other
Those were the days.
Loveless days and that's for sure.
The scenes outside the Dáil were memorable, some might even suggest frightening.
Pushing, shoving and much more besides.
The Soldiers of Destiny washing their dirty linen in public.
As for the actual count itself, well that was somewhat far removed from the count of today.
Now don't get me wrong, they still counted all the votes.
And probably a lot quicker.
Not not that would be hard.
But there was a 'social' side to the count back in the day.
Especially when it was held in Naas, or Newbridge.
Some folk would often take a break.
Staff, candidates, supporters, and God forbid, even journalists.
A break for, shall we say, some 'refreshments.'
By the end of the count some of the well-groomed, suitably suited gents, with collar and tie (not as many ladies present back then) when we saw the auld knot on the tie and the collar going their separate ways.
I'm sure you get me drift!
None of that sort of carry-on these of course. Well ....
As you read this hopefully Punchestown has been vacated.
The candidates, the Returning Officer, the counters, the party workers, the journalists, the cameras have all returned from whence they came.
The big question however, remains.
Could we all be back here again?
Sooner rather than later?
For a re-run.
Wouldn't rule it out.
Then again.
Certainly though back for the core business of Punchestown.
Racing.
New Year's Eve.
Always a good meeting.
See you there.