THE HICKEY WEEKLY
	Sticks and Stones The tribulations of Willie O'Dea have given all politicians pause for thought. It appears that the time honoured tradition of casting scurrilous dispersions on your political opponent is illegal and could get you into real bother.     I, and many a politician like me, didn't know too much about the Prevention of Electoral Abuses Act, 1923 until Corporal Willie went on his political kamikaze run. The act is as clear as a bell; you can’t fire mud at a political rival unless you know the seed, breed and generation of the particular mud you're throwin' and you’re sure it will stick; otherwise you could be in deep trouble. Let me quote the act; "Every person who, before or during any election and for the purpose of affecting the return of any candidate at that election, makes or publishes any false statement of fact in relation to the personal character or conduct of such candidate ......... shall be guilty of an illegal practice." I got a fair fright when I read this and an even bigger one when I went on to discover that a fella could be barred from voting for five years if found guilty of such carry-on. I began to think back on all the things I said about other candidates and councillors in the course of election campaigns and I'll tell you, I sailed fairly close to the wind on a number of occasions. In general, when you think of the things politicians say about one another it's amazin' they haven't been wavin' copies of this act around to protect themselves. I remember a certain local TD who was promoted to junior minister in the days when a state car went with the job. The man in question was a sheep farmer and it was said that he had the ministerial merc fitted with a tow-bar. While the minister himself travelled to the Dáil by train his state car and its chauffeur could be seen at every mart and market goin' and comin' trailer-loads of sheep and lambs. The junior minister in question was posted to the Department of Defence so the practice of havin' the state car transportin' his sheep was known locally as 'Operation Bo-Peep.' Now, that man is still in public office and might even run in the next election; he's a bit like Mary O'Rourke and Mae West, too much of a good thing is wonderful. Anyway I regularly tell stories about his junior ministry days and the uses he found for his ministerial merc but I have to admit I never saw the car or the tow-bar or the sheep. So I have two choices; either stop talkin' about it or find out the truth. I'm afraid to do so for fear the truth might ruin a great story. I was havin' a quiet cup of tay in a cafe near County Hall durin the week when who sat down to pester me but that hoor of a Willie de Wig Ryan of De Sticks FM. "Begod," says I, "tis a bad week for Willies, how are you survivin'?" "Oh," says De Wig, "I'm fine, but I'm not too sure about ye fellas; this auld Electoral Act of 1923 could quieten a lot of ye. I've been goin' back through my tapes listenin' to what the politicos around here said about one another over the years and I'm wonderin' what a judge will make of it if anyone takes a case?" With that, the hoor left me with my tay in my hand and my mouth open. I immediately began to think back on the things I said about Percy Pipplemoth and Moll Gleeson in the heat of many an election campaign. I was havin' panic attacks until I ran into Moll outside County Hall. "Moll," says I, "have I ever said anything about you that was totally out of order?" She looked at me as if I had two heads. "Maurice," says she, "are you sick or something? You sound like a fella who's tryin' to make peace with the world before he departs this life?" "No Moll," I replied, "There's no fear of that; I won’t be vacatin' my seat yet. I’m just concerned that in the light of the Willie O’ Dea controversy we can’t be careful enough.” “Well, Maurice,” says she, “most of what you say to me and about me is out of order. However it runs off me like water off a duck’s back.” I was relieved, but as she walked away she turned, “There is one thing that hurt me,” says she, “durin’ the 2004 election you told people I had nothin’ to offer except high heels and Brown Thomas hats. Maurice, my shoes are Gucci and my hats are Philip Treacy. Don’t forget that. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but stay away from my shoes and hats.” She has nothin’ to worry about.