Knocking on the window. I go outside.
“We came to the wrong door.”
“You came to the wrong house. I don’t give a flying fuck about you guys. You’re welcome to leave.”
I guess I should have been better prepared. The problem is, any time I rehearsed it mentally it ended with shouting and a tirade of filthy abuse. So I guess “I don’t give a flying fuck about you guys” showed remarkable self-restraint, even if it was virtually nonsense.
What I want to say is “How can you show your faces? How can you actually stand here and campaign for that party?” But that would have only started them making excuses, and I wouldn’t have been able to hold it in then. They’re gone ten minutes now, but I’m still aching to shout or break something.
And that’s just one Fianna Fáil candidate. There’s another two of the bastards still to come.