First impressions suggest a zero-tolerance approach to nonsense. A plain white background free of fireworks, fluffy clouds, chortling babies, or massed ranks of smug "Pope's Children". "Take me for what I am", Cllr. Cronin seems to be saying, "and let's all get on with the work of rebuilding this ravaged land – through gumption, rolled-up sleeves, and plain white background-y common sense". Frivolity and manipulative eye-catching design have no place on Cllr. Cronin's posters.

Neither, apparently, does a party name or slogan. From a modest distance (or even up close) it's by no means an easy task to work out who Cllr. Cronin is representing. A fair amount of persistent squinting and staring is required to find the relevant info – buried away in the bottom right corner, in tiny (almost apologetic) letters.¹

If you ever needed evidence of a party battered, humbled and self-conscious then here it assuredly is. Writ small. Very small. Ridiculously small – like print at the end of a contract. A contract you sign without realising the terrible implications your agreement and endorsement implies.

Debaffling this one looks pretty straightforward. Our omnipresent overlords, Fianna Fáil – spat on, shat on & abused – are now so concerned about their brand's lack of potency & appeal that they've all but excised the brand name from their "product". The only tactic left them, it would seem, is to hope that myopic passers-by don't study the details of their promotional material too closely. Let them note the reassuring smiles and the subtle patriotic sweep of tricolour and let them move on – with favourable impressions of FF (sssh!) candidates impressed subliminally in their minds.

As a strategy it's either a stroke of diabolic genius or a tacit admission of inevitable defeat. New party slogan?

Fianna Fáil – Ye'll go mental when ye realise ye've accidentally voted for us!

In closing, I'm reluctant to hop on board the celebratory band-wagon that anticipates a long overdue slaughter (and cough-softening) of our eternal rulers. Great evil has a way of enduring. I mean, look at Sauron. The boys were all high-fiving each other on the plain of Dagorlad after Isildur lopped off his fingers. They thought him vanquished, but back he bounced. Or remember the smug and self-congratulatory handing out of medals at the end of Star Wars. Before they'd time to pat themselves on the backs Luke had lost a hand, Han had been encased in carbonite, and a new (bigger 'n' better) Death Star was under construction.

The Empire strikes back. Evil will out. Don't get your hopes up.

1. Fianna Fáil – The Republican Party. [back]

Fitting somewhere between a cheap-shot and a spot of po-faced analysis lies this blog's "Campaign Poster Debaffler" – a (very) half-baked, critical attempt to expose the layers of meaning buried in the propagandic images that currently surround us.

First up, Fine Gael – and the bould Cllr. Cormac Hurley.

Ok, so what this (and other identical FG posters) seems to be driving at is that the party will lead the country out of its present (penurious) muck, mire and misery and on into a brave prosperous dawn. Just look at that deep blue sky with its dash of white fluffy clouds if you don't believe me. Nothing could be lovelier.

Not only that, but the good people of Ireland stand square behind both Cllr. Hurley and the party he nobly represents. They're young(ish). They're confident. They're smug (albeit with smugness somewhat chastened by global financial collapse). They're ready to put their shoulders to the wheel. They shelter beneath Cllr. Hurley's giant ears waiting for a chance to turn this country around. They look like this (or at least the ones under his left ear do).

So much for the intended effect. An alternative reading was offered by Jess as we strolled past it at the weekend. The heavenly sky of optimism in the background might be just that: heavenly. Cllr. Hurley may, in fact, be dead. He's lived a rich, full life but his time (as it must with all men) has come. There to meet him at the pearly gates are an eclectic bunch of loved ones who've gone before him. Forms are mutable in the afterlife, so Cllr. Hurley may soon (if he so chooses) "look" like that confident successful guy with the blonde hair and blue shirt. Anything's possible. He could even have boobs.

Now there's a campaign slogan for ya. Forget "A Fairer Ireland" (snore, boring). This is the kind of radical alternative the gloomy, cynical public wants:

Fine Gael – You Could have Boobs.

They'd have my vote.