THE HICKEY WEEKLY
	THE WALLS HAVE EARS The mobile phone is an amazing invention. In the most unlikely places your own device or that belongin’ to a third party can deliver invaluable nuggets of information. I was out for a stroll on Thursday evenin’ and stopped at the ditch outside Treacy’s meadow to sample some blackberries. I love blackberries and they are in bountiful supply at the moment. My council colleague Ffer Peter Treacy was inside the ditch on his tractor topping the meadow and while I was enjoyin mouthfuls of juicy wild fruit the tractor, its owner and engine came to a full stop. “Hello, hello!” shouted Treacy, I thought he was shoutin’ at me and was about to stick my head through the hedge but didn’t bother when I saw he was on the mobile. I went back to my clump of blackberries and continued to stuff my face while keepin’ an ear cocked in the direction of the conversation. I was only half listenin’ till I heard my own name mentioned. Few things attract a fellas full attention like overhearin’ people talkin’ about him. “Nothin’ surer but we’ll have to take Hickey out,” shouts Treacy into the phone, thinkin’ only the crows could hear him. “Moll is safe but that gobdaw is vulnerable,” he continued, “even his spell as Mayor did him more harm than good. If only we could find a keen young lassie to run in Killdicken who’d pull the ground from under him and leave the rest to us.” Now I was fierce interested. You see, our electoral area had seven councillors until we lost a seat in the recent redrawin’ of the boundaries. This leaves four of us in Killdicken, Glengooley and Honetyne fightin’ for three seats. The remainin’ seats will be fought over in foreign places like Teerawadra, Bally, Shronefodda and Rathgubbin. The political punters around here agree that one of us; Moll Gleeson, Percy Pipplemoth Davis, Peter Treacy or myself will lose out in the elections in June. Now Moll Gleeson pulls most of her support from Honetyne while Treacy is big in Glengooley and Pipplemoth picks up votes from the sprinklin’ of crackpots you find every place. Killdicken is the centre of my political universe. Back to Treacy on the phone; I was intrigued as to who was at the other end of his mobile as they plotted my demise. I hadn’t long to wait. “I have it,” says Treacy, “that young Sandra Heneghan would do the job. Do you know her? She’s a Killdicken girl but she works in Thompson’s chemist in Clonmel; everyone in the three parishes goes there to get the cure for what ails them. She’d split Hickey’s vote and we’d all slip in past the pair of them. Her people were Blueshirts so I’ll get Moll to have a word with her, although Moll mightn’t fancy the prospect of a young wan like that anywhere near her patch.” As he finished he let the cat out of the bag, “Ok, ok, Percy,” he said, “I’ll give you a shout tomorrow.” I nearly choked on the blackberries. Could you believe it; all three of them are in cahoots to slice my seat out from under me. That evenin’ I called an emergency meetin’ of my kitchen cabinet; Messrs Cantwell, Cantillon, Quirke and Walshe. Cantwell suggested I should, “sow dishonour among thieves” and between us we hatched a plot that would even impress the Bert. The following morning I made it my business to contact Moll, Percy and Treacy. I got to Moll and told her that Percy and Treacy wanted to run Sandra Heneghan to split the Blueshirt vote. I told Percy that Treacy had suggested I should approach Cecil Buttonshot to run on a green ticket which would dig a hole in Percy’s vote. I phoned Treacy to tell him that Percy and Moll wanted to ask Tim Ryan, who trains the Glengooley seniors, to run as an independent in Glengooley and they’d pass him enough transfers to oust Treacy. At an area meetin’ of councillors on Tuesday there was enough frost in the air to freeze the Sahara. I’m safe for the moment, thanks to the mobile phone and a bunch of juicy blackberries.