Peace and goodwill beneath tree during seasonal ceasefire

DÁIL SKETCH:The only toxic hams, it seems, are in Leinster House. So pig processors can slaughter away to their hearts content again, writes Miriam Lord

But it's been a most peculiar crisis. Was it ever a crisis at all? Perhaps it was, but of a different kind - a crisis of confidence in a jittery Government, so beaten down by events that it slammed down the shutters at the first hint of trouble. At least there could be no accusations of indecisiveness and lack of leadership.

That's what some deputies were whispering around Leinster House. They're never happy. Never mind. Now the piggies are off to market again, it's time to move on to the old folk.

"The Government is guillotining the pensioners at half-one tomorrow," roared Opposition deputies, pledging to throw themselves in front of the tumbrils in an effort to delay the carnage. They will make a lot of noise, but it won't get them anywhere.

The controversial legislation to remove the universal medical card entitlement for OAPs will be forced through the Dáil and passed by lunchtime today. But the Opposition won't allow it an easy passage and intends to extract as much mileage as possible from the exercise.

The campaign began yesterday on Leinster Lawn as peace and goodwill broke out for the annual switching on of the Christmas Tree lights.

As ever, a group from the nearby St Andrew's Resource Centre on Pearse Street were invited to the ceremony. This resulted in quite a few Opposition deputies sidling over to members of the media and pointing out the irony of the Government bringing in pensioners to witness this happy event while planning to kick their walking sticks out from under them the very next day.

Nothing like a bit of hyperbole to get a good row going.

Last year, the authorities decided to light up the tree in November in an effort to dissipate the sulphurous atmosphere around Leinster House. It didn't work, so this time, they moved the event nearer Christmas.

Coillte has given the politicians an enormous tree this year. It went up earlier in the week, and until yesterday's ceremony, was listing alarmingly in the direction of the Natural History Museum. However, with the aid of ropes and an army of strapping men, it was tilted upright in time for the big event. As ever, Oireachtas usher Peter Daly (and his knees) braved the arctic chill and piped the dignitaries to the foot of the tree. A series of votes in the Dáil detained the Ceann Comhairle and party leaders, so Peter, resplendent in his kilt, entertained the crowd. There was a sharp intake of breath and some anxious glances were cast towards the door when he launched into a spirited rendition of Hard Times. Happily, Peter was on to the Christmas carols by the time the Taoiseach arrived.

A delighted Senator Terry Leyden showed off his 17-month-old granddaughter, who was up from Roscommon with her mammy, Cllr Orla, and granny Mary. "This is her first time to come to Dublin to see Santy," Terry told us. We hoped she wouldn't burst into tears of disappointment at the sight of The Bull O'Donoghue and Biffo Cowen. To borrow a phrase from Groucho Marx, there is no Sanity Clause in Leinster House.

Because this is Leinster House, the tree has been decorated with a load of balls. Very large ones, not to everyone's taste. The lights, in contrast, are very small. There is a star at the top of the tree. Brian Cowen looked up wistfully at it.

He was joined by Enda Kenny and Eamon Gilmore and a choir drawn from Oireachtas staff. Ceann Comhairle O'Donoghue did the honours, delivering a lovely optimistic speech, which was all nostalgic and tinselly with talk of happy childhoods, Charles Dickens, frosty nights, family firesides and Santa coming down the chimney.

"The season of goodwill has officially commenced," he announced, finger hovering over the light switch, Oliver Hardy style. He pressed a button. Nothing happened. The onlooking media swooned with delight, praying for a minor explosion.

An electrician hurtled towards The Bull, but he wasn't needed. He quickly flicked the right switch and the lights blazed. Slightly.

"They must be Green Party lights. They look miserable," sniffed Labour's Emmet Stagg, who was feeling a bit grumpy because he had only come out for a cigarette and didn't feel he could smoke in front of the dignitaries. "Miserable aul lights. Is that it? Are there any more? Miserable." The party leaders and The Bull enjoyed a joke for the benefit of the cameras. Then Biffo beetled off to meet the choir, which burst into a frantic round of O Holy Night with the fright.

He charmed the pensioners. There was a rumour they had been frisked on the way in for weapons, given the recent unpleasantness over the medical cards. But the Pearse Street ladies gave Cowen a terrific welcome, even though he isn't Bertie.

The choir sang on. Any chance of a bar, Brian? No better man. He plunged into the middle of the singers and a chorus of "White Christmas." He drew the line at wearing a Santa hat.

It all went off very well. Nobody died. The tree didn't fall down. The Ceann Comhairle wasn't electrocuted.

How does that song go again? Brian's dreaming of a quiet Christmas . . . He might get it yet. Just don't hold your breath.