A stare, a smile, and a gentle reminder that we’re all human

It was early on in the press conference when I noticed the minister scowling in my direction. At first I couldn’t be sure if they were actually scowling at me – were they deliberately locking lines with me? Or were they just lost in thought, distracted by some passing issue, not realising where they were facing at all? – but after a few minutes, the eye contact remained unbroken.

The minister was definitely eyeballing me, with a face contorted in a mixture of what looked like fury and complete bewilderment.

This was unsettling to say the very least. The minister and I were both attending a press event in which the minister was not the main speaker, and I was only there to keep an eye on proceedings on behalf of a colleague who was compiling a report on the topic back at base. Therefore I wasn’t really planning to ask any questions - meaning I couldn’t possibly be accused of robbing this minister up the wrong way. But even now, as I considered raising my hand to ask a question on behalf of my absentee colleague, I had no idea whether I would be able to even ask the question without unleashing some inexplicable invective from the politician concerned.

And so on we went: the press conference continuing, the minister furrowing their brow in my direction, me sitting there feeling either belittled, baffled, or utterly bewildered.

In the end I didn’t even ask that question: the unexpected stare from the minister had thrown me and I didn’t trust myself to be able to concentrate for long enough to word any inquiry properly.

Finally, when proceedings had ended, the minister wandered over towards me.

“Gavan,” he said to me. “Look down.”

What is this? Is this minister trying to scold me like a school principal? “Excuse me?”

“Look down,“ he said. “Your feet.“

I looked down. A small sliver of my sock was visible between my shoe and trouser leg.

“What is… is…” he spluttered.

By now I’m no longer anxious – I’m just just completely baffled.

“…Is that a Pringles logo?”

Reader, it might surprise you to learn that yes: it was a Pringles logo. Peeping out from above my shoe was the oval-shaped face of the world’s second-best crisp mascot. (I don’t need to tell a Meath audience which is the better mascot.)

I tug on my trouser leg to reveal the rest of the sock, a blood red with the face of Mr Pringle and the word ‘original’ – as in, the flavour of the red tube of Pringles – written across it.

“They’re great. Where did you get them?”

(In case you’re wondering: it wasn’t famed sock fan Leo Varadkar.)

I literally have to reply, mortified but truthfully: “Thanks. Penneys.” I add: “They come in sets of five. Green for sour cream and onion, blue for salt and vinegar…”

“They’re excellent. I must pop in.”

I can only imagine the image of a well-known household name politician, wandering into Penneys in the weeks before Christmas trying to single out a novelty set of socks.

It’s been a hectic and topsy-turvy year. We started with the promise of vaccines and normality; we end with… the promise of more vaccines, and then normality. Everyone around Leinster House - journalists, politicians, advisors, civilian support staff - is simply exhausted, burnt out from constant extreme circumstances and the rollercoaster of good

news turning into bad news, and threatening (but never quite managing) to turn good again. Almost Summer 2020 was lost to the virus and Golfgate; summer 2021 wasn’t nearly long enough to make up for lost time. Everyone is staggering to a Christmas break and hoping it won’t be so punctuated by NPHET news as last year’s holiday.

It’s these little moments - the unlikely eyeballing by a minister who enjoys your socks - that remind you everyone is going through the same exhausting experience and that the fleeting moments of unexpected smiles are something to be welcomed.

They remind you that everyone is human; that everyone in public life is ultimately there because they have genuine aspirations for how the country could be better run; that everyone has their good days and bad; that everyone is carrying their own relative burdens, and their own personal crutches to get them through their harder times.

And, of course, those points are not just true in politics. As we turn our backs on another tough year and hope for better ahead, it’s a time to be mindful of all of our own vulnerabilities and make #BeKind a design for life and not just a hashtag.

Hope you’re enjoying your Christmas and I wish you a Happy New Year.

Gavan Reilly is Political Correspondent with Virgin Media News and Political Correspondent with the Meath Chronicle