2 April 1998 Edition
Feeding time in the Stormont zoo
By Laurence McKeown
``Eat, sleep, negotiate'' ``Eat, sleep, ne-go-ti-ate''. That could easily be a mantra for practising yogis. Or a chant at a protest rally. Or, if repeated at an increasing tempo, a means to encourage your side on to even greater endeavours.
It's the directive given to the delegates to the talks at Castle Buildings by George Mitchell, who, after two years of filibustering by the Brits and Unionists must rue the day he ever agreed to take up the post of chairing the talks.
George, no doubt, would lay emphasis on the last word, negotiate, but it's to the first that I thing some careful consideration should be given. Eat. After all, it is said that we are what we eat, though admittedly I have yet to see a giant burger and fries walk up the Falls Road of a Friday night.
My concern with feeding the delegates arose out of an incident I witnessed one evening last week when a friend and I were returning from Dublin on the train. We were in the buffet car propping up the counter (sipping coffee, I hasten to add) when three members of a political party currently engaged in the talks at Stormont approached. The party shall remain nameless but they weren't Shinners.
``Have you any hamburgers?'' one of them inquired of the waitress. ``No'', was the reply. This came as a bit of a shock and disappointment. ``Oh. What about sausage rolls then?'' ``No''. ``You've nothing like that? No burgers, no sausage rolls?'' The girl behind the counter remained silent for a few moments. It had obviously been a long day. ``No,'' she replied for the third time, then turning aside she pointed to the shelves behind her. ``We do have sandwiches''.
My friend and I who had been following this exchange looked in the direction of the sandwiches. The party member looked in the direction of the sandwiches. Five packets of them sat on one shelf. It was late in the evening. The corners of the bread were curled up. That much was evident even from a few feet away. ``No thanks,'' said the party member. The words came out slowly. To speak them meant accepting that all hope of getting a meal, even a quick snack, had gone.
In desperation another member of the group approached a senior conductor and inquired if something hot to eat could be obtained from the first-class carriage. They had had a long and busy day in Dublin with meeting after meeting and no time in between to eat. ``Certainly,'' came the reply. Smiles lit up the faces of the party members, until that is, price was mentioned.
Now, for those who have never travelled first-class on the train from Belfast to Dublin then you are unaware of the exorbitant cost incurred. You only avail of such facilites if you are on expansive company expenses. The party members weren't. In the end they had to settle for cups of tea and coffee, crisps and chocolate bars.
As they moved away from the counter my friend and I pondered as to whether or not they would raise the issue in the talks. After all, there's nothing like an empty stomach to make you think more deeply upon the need for closer cross-border co-operation to, at the very least, provide hot vitals for weary travellers. If that was all that was achieved at the Stormont talks it would be something. And something that would clearly have cross-community support given the number of people from the unionist persuasion who flock southwards to take advantage of the lucrative sterling/punt exchange rate.
So, to return to my opening point, if work is to be done at these talks then the delegates need to be well-fed. To hell with the difficulties that may arise as to whether or not the beef is Irish, or if fish is served up on a Friday or not. Get the vitals down the neck. Hungry babies can be ill-tempered ones.
And while we're on the subject, George, what about a gymnasium at Castle Buildings? Progress in the talks could maybe be gauged by the amount of heat generated at the workouts and surely that would be heat removed from around the conference table? Sure, don't we all feel better after a good stint in the gym. A healthy body is a healthy mind.
So for the coming week, George, let our chorus be ``Eat, sleep, hup-one-two, ne-go-ti-ate. Eat, sleep, hup-one-two, ne-go-ti-ate.'' Because George, if the talks move beyond the 9th we're into Friday. Good Friday. And who wants another crucifixion? We're still talking about the last one 2,000 years later.
``Eat, sleep, negotiate'' ``Eat, sleep, ne-go-ti-ate''. That could easily be a mantra for practising yogis. Or a chant at a protest rally. Or, if repeated at an increasing tempo, a means to encourage your side on to even greater endeavours.
It's the directive given to the delegates to the talks at Castle Buildings by George Mitchell, who, after two years of filibustering by the Brits and Unionists must rue the day he ever agreed to take up the post of chairing the talks.
George, no doubt, would lay emphasis on the last word, negotiate, but it's to the first that I thing some careful consideration should be given. Eat. After all, it is said that we are what we eat, though admittedly I have yet to see a giant burger and fries walk up the Falls Road of a Friday night.
My concern with feeding the delegates arose out of an incident I witnessed one evening last week when a friend and I were returning from Dublin on the train. We were in the buffet car propping up the counter (sipping coffee, I hasten to add) when three members of a political party currently engaged in the talks at Stormont approached. The party shall remain nameless but they weren't Shinners.
``Have you any hamburgers?'' one of them inquired of the waitress. ``No'', was the reply. This came as a bit of a shock and disappointment. ``Oh. What about sausage rolls then?'' ``No''. ``You've nothing like that? No burgers, no sausage rolls?'' The girl behind the counter remained silent for a few moments. It had obviously been a long day. ``No,'' she replied for the third time, then turning aside she pointed to the shelves behind her. ``We do have sandwiches''.
My friend and I who had been following this exchange looked in the direction of the sandwiches. The party member looked in the direction of the sandwiches. Five packets of them sat on one shelf. It was late in the evening. The corners of the bread were curled up. That much was evident even from a few feet away. ``No thanks,'' said the party member. The words came out slowly. To speak them meant accepting that all hope of getting a meal, even a quick snack, had gone.
In desperation another member of the group approached a senior conductor and inquired if something hot to eat could be obtained from the first-class carriage. They had had a long and busy day in Dublin with meeting after meeting and no time in between to eat. ``Certainly,'' came the reply. Smiles lit up the faces of the party members, until that is, price was mentioned.
Now, for those who have never travelled first-class on the train from Belfast to Dublin then you are unaware of the exorbitant cost incurred. You only avail of such facilites if you are on expansive company expenses. The party members weren't. In the end they had to settle for cups of tea and coffee, crisps and chocolate bars.
As they moved away from the counter my friend and I pondered as to whether or not they would raise the issue in the talks. After all, there's nothing like an empty stomach to make you think more deeply upon the need for closer cross-border co-operation to, at the very least, provide hot vitals for weary travellers. If that was all that was achieved at the Stormont talks it would be something. And something that would clearly have cross-community support given the number of people from the unionist persuasion who flock southwards to take advantage of the lucrative sterling/punt exchange rate.
So, to return to my opening point, if work is to be done at these talks then the delegates need to be well-fed. To hell with the difficulties that may arise as to whether or not the beef is Irish, or if fish is served up on a Friday or not. Get the vitals down the neck. Hungry babies can be ill-tempered ones.
And while we're on the subject, George, what about a gymnasium at Castle Buildings? Progress in the talks could maybe be gauged by the amount of heat generated at the workouts and surely that would be heat removed from around the conference table? Sure, don't we all feel better after a good stint in the gym. A healthy body is a healthy mind.
So for the coming week, George, let our chorus be ``Eat, sleep, hup-one-two, ne-go-ti-ate. Eat, sleep, hup-one-two, ne-go-ti-ate.'' Because George, if the talks move beyond the 9th we're into Friday. Good Friday. And who wants another crucifixion? We're still talking about the last one 2,000 years later.