For your sake, Iris, I sincerely hope so. Last I heard, he wasn't too keen on adulterers.
Despite my predilection for Bailey's, Sinéad O'Connor, Irish accents and generally all things to come out of the Emerald Isle, I've never been a huge fan of this particular Mrs Robinson. Indeed, part of me is, ahem, dancing a jig now that the DUP has finally given her the boot. I'm sure Sinéad herself would agree with me, it's about bloody time.
That's the thing though. In my humble opinion, anyone Stonewall nominates as bigot of the year has no place in British politics. I'm the last person to step on civil liberties, and of course Iris is welcome to exercise her free speech but let's be honest, if she expects people to miss her now she's gone, Mrs Robinson has another thing coming. As wife of the DUP leader, and an MP in her own right, she was what might be politely called a complete electoral liability (ie pain in the backside) long before Irisgate reared it's ugly head. And I think I speak for the vast majority of young men when I say that, yes, it is an intensely unattractive head she's got too. Despite the fact that he's good looking, Mister McCambley clearly has either mummy-issues, a prune fetish, or both.
So. All good. I'm more than happy that such a raging homophobe has been ousted, and exposed as a hypocrite into the bargain, but the question remains, why was she allowed to run riot in the first place? It's been years since she began making a spectacle of herself and her husband's party, and I fail to see why the plug wasn't pulled a long time ago. Oh wait. Her husband's party. That explains it.
Can we imagine what would happen if another relatively significant politician remarked that homosexuality made her feel nauseous? My bet is that even a junior government minister would be drummed out within a fortnight, but Mrs Robinson managed to hang on to the whip for years. If I was a gambler, I'd say that despite the scandal, the DUP top men are quietly relieved to have an excuse to get well shot of her, and they might have even gotten rid of her poor cuckolded husband into the bargain. It's almost enough to make you feel sorry for poor Peter. Almost.
Still. Good riddance to bad rubbish as they say. And after all, I'm not really complaining. Between the Graduate style affair, and the vitriolic Christianity, it's just too perfect, and I'm really very surprised that I haven't heard the song mentioned all day.
So here's to you, Mrs Robinson...
