Last Saturday, I met them both by chance in the Cork English Market, after I’d bought olives and humous.
One of them looked bemused at me, showed no sign of recognition - even when I shook his hand. That’s what I call confidentiality.
Five minutes later, the other greeted me smiling broadly, told me he’d been on the march against Batt O’Keefe’s education cuts and introduced me to his wife who also smiled. That’s what I call service.
I bet you all know who was who. (I know that’s a bit nasty.)
I’m off in to the English Market now (0908). I wonder whom I’ll meet on this frosty day.