That would have been specific to him or the threat received Iâd imagine
Oliver Callanâs take on Leoâs book:
A few weeks ago, a notification flashed up on my phone. It was from Leo Varadkar. The first message from him in years. He was inviting me to the launch of his ghostwritten memoirs, Speaking My Mind. I didnât open it, and started thinking about how to politely decline. I didnât have to; he soon realised his mistake and deleted the message. Phew.
He had invited the husband, Mr Lannin, and me to a few events before he was Taoiseach and afterwards, but we didnât click. Weâd no falling out, since weâd no falling in, but he was often angry at Callanâs Kicks bits about him and the odd column, and would text his objections, even while Taoiseach.
I was told his office complained to RTĂ a few times, too. Iâm satisfied I mostly conveyed him correctly in comedy; a partying âTeeshâ with a very high view of himself, who wasnât quite the workaholic his spin team portrayed, to put it mildly. His legacy, Iâve always felt, was his cold, dismissive attitude towards the housing disaster his party created and still maintains.
Like his political career, this book seems like a fresh idea that slowly becomes disappointing. Leo Varadkar was the youngest ever Taoiseach for a brief period, until Simon Harris. It appears like he was around for an age but managed just over four years as Taoiseach, which puts him low down the table for longevity in high office.
The Castleknock doctor presented huge promise. He had travelled from conservative to liberal on several issues and seemed to match a period of modern optimism that Ireland held for a while. He initially seemed like his mere presence would set a vibe. A diligent minister in transport and sport, he stood by garda whistleblowers when others wouldnât and appeared like he would be an unusually straight-talker. In the book, a 2012 trip to Poland to witness John Delaneyâs excesses gives him an insight into âthe capacity for corruptionâ in football, though he does nothing about it, despite being the minister over the FAI.
His next job in health produces perhaps the most insightful part of the book, as he describes meeting patients and feeling shame as he walks âpast a distressed old woman on a trolley, calling out in confusion, asking where she was and why nobody was helping herâ. He skips over glimpses of his stress, overeating and regret around this time. The writer shouldâve asked him to expand on this.
However, there are flashes of true passion here and it leaves you wondering if Varadkar wouldâve achieved something significant had he continued as minister for health. It really appears like his twin loves of politics and medicine might have eventually produced results in this impossible department. Weâll never know, as he quickly hits the big time instead.
His rise from first-time TD to Taoiseach in 10 years is truly remarkable. Surely heâs finally happy? Instead, he comes across as annoyed that the responsibility feels too much for him to enjoy this dream fulfilled, and he has âno time to register his emotionsâ. Well, he has nothing but time now, but he still doesnât manage to register them here.
The chapter on finally arriving in high office starts well, as heâs in such demand he canât even go to the loo in government buildings without being approached, but descends into a list of appointments and becomes a grim textbook on the turgid bureaucracy of starting out. Power has never felt so dull.
Thereâs little lifting the lid on the feeling of sudden top-tier influence and authority, or any effort made to put the reader in his shoes. He teases details about intriguing Article 23 chats with President Higgins every few weeks, like the Queenâs meetings with Prime Ministers on The Crown, but we get nothing more than the surface.
The chapter fizzles out, with a bland aside about spending 16 hours a week in his car, and how handy it is to have a driver âto take me home after a late night out.â Incidentally, only a few close watchers ever noticed how the Taoiseachâs diary was frequently blacked out till 11am or noon.
When things turned sour
Varadkar had good moments as leader. His handling of the Popeâs visit was superb (âone of my proudest momentsâ), he certainly was one of many who worked hard on Brexit (he really liked Boris as a person, it turns out), and he was dignified when faced with abuse, which was sometimes racist and very personal, even from colleagues. His speeches in the early days of lockdown calmed the national panic for about a month, before he started milking them, while outsourcing the hard decisions to Nphet.
Often, the footnotes are far more interesting than the main text, such as a fresh explanation that his Brexit game was helped by European contacts he made over the years in the EPP, but the British politicians were not members, so he had no connections with the Brits. Thereâs another casual footnote about regular threats to kidnap or kill him, which are left bizarrely unexplained. Also, why would his protection officers stand outside a nightclub heâs in, while these threats abound?
Good moments aside, things regularly went sour. There was a palpable ego in the way of all his grand promise. He was a Taoiseach with a big staff of public relations, branding people who portrayed an able, modern and positive figure at odds with his habit of condescension and lofty surliness.
He would regularly overreact to light criticisms in the press and showed a stunning lack of empathy in housing debates, where he once suggested young Irish workers hoping for a home should either emigrate, move home or borrow from their parents.
The notorious spin team and its guff-filled Project 2040 nonsense gets no mention. So much wasted opportunity in the cause of trying to prove himself right about everything; itâs practically the theme of this book.
The problem with Speaking My Mind is that weâve never had any other version of Varadkar than the one who spoke his mind, and the people did not like what they heard. We needed a new energy in this story; an explanation why his public persona was so often dismissive of peopleâs concerns and why he never reached his full potential as a leader.
Instead, we get a book with too few memorable insights into his time in office. Small warm revelations only serve to puzzle us more about his chilly demeanour in office. His Waterford grandad was a haulier who died in a road crash and he has fond memories of riding high in his lorries as a child.
He wanted finance in 2020 but appointed himself to a lesser job so as not to take opportunity away from Paschal Donohoe, whom he liked. He forces himself to develop an interest in sport due to his portfolio and the fandom in GAA and rugby sticks, a conversion which probably proves he was better suited as a minister than a Taoiseach.
Still, no new revelations about his persona. It nearly takes an effort to have hardly any quotable stories from being inside gatherings of world powerful people at historic moments. The story is often written in a staccato voice that glosses over any detailed emotion or air of excitement for the job, even during genuinely gripping times. Itâs all very⌠him.
However, itâs the first memoir from a Taoiseach semi-freshly slumped out of office. So the book is a lovely curiosity for political dorks, even if the Covid-era stuff is unreadable. Thatâs not Varadkarâs fault. As a nation, we just donât want to go there. It wouldâve been valuable to get his insights into why, but he doesnât give them because this often resentful memoir is exclusively about the self.
Political books usually grab headlines on what a retired voice says about current figures, but this doesnât deliver. Michael D is âsmiling and kindâ. MicheĂĄl Martin is âdecent and cautiousâ. Simon Harris is âimpetuous and ambitiousâ and âlooked like a ghostâ the minute Varadkar resigned, knowing he was about to become the Tiktok Taoiseach. A mild swipe at Harris but tame enough for speaking your mind.
By contrast, forgotten players like Kate OâConnell get severe digs, which seems especially petty coming from a man who reached extraordinary career heights while hers faded. He is also surprisingly harsh on Eoghan Murphy, dismissing his ideas such as a constitutional right to housing as âvirtue signallingâ or others that âdidnât stack upâ.
Carrying grudges
The book is also full of grievances about any number of tiny slights in the media (heâs wonderfully furious over coverage of his Love Actually clanger in Downing Street). Many others are things even the biggest dorks wouldnât remember, but he carries grudges over micro-rebuffs ever still.
He even whines that Peter McVerry never properly explained to him about a minor issue the tireless homeless campaigner got technically wrong, even though McVerry corrected it in public at the time. Itâs an odd thing to get bitter over, considering Varadkarâs central role in housing and his outrageous claim that the high levels of homelessness in Ireland were ânormalâ, something he repeats in the book. The housing disaster was a thing going back decades that has nothing to do with him, he claims. He really canât help himself.
Tellingly, he likes to believe the opinion polls when they reflect well on him. He even fantasises that had the Greens not agreed to enter coalition in June 2020, it wouldâve caused another election that he believes he wouldâve won âbigâ like the overall majority Jacinda Ardern grabbed in New Zealand. He was, in the words of Gen Z, âdeluluâ about the warmth voters ever had for him, based on polls that were conducted online during lockdowns. In the end, the hard record shows his popularity was more in theory than in practice.
Remarkably, when he delivers the worst Fine Gael election result in over 80 years, heâs jubilant itâs not worse, topping up his wine glass at home while watching the exit poll. âIâd pulled it out of the bagâ. You can almost taste the hubris. He does at least admit his campaign was terrible and that he sounded callous about the homeless. Or rather, he says âweâ had a terrible campaign. Self-reflection is for others.
Thereâs a torrid account of being investigated by the gardaĂ over his âLeo the Leakâ scandal, which sounds sincerely horrendous, yet his robotic telling of it doesnât reveal any emotional state. He even oddly hints the gardaĂ were out to get him because of his support for whistleblowers. Similarly, the part on the online furore over a private moment in a nightclub fails to explain the mental toll this takes.
There is a wider point here, that Varadkar doesnât connect his governmentsâ failures to regulate social media companies with how these firms make a fortune out of viral intrusions like the humiliation he suffers. He doesnât go deep into it, and the quoted dialogue exchange with his bemused partner is laugh-out-loud, writing how poor Matt doesnât understand why the TikTok went so viral. Like, duh.
He speaks very lovingly of his partner, and the strength of the relationship feels real in the pages, even while Matt appears utterly hapless in the position of being a leaderâs plus one. The unfortunate fellow messes up badly by posting sneering gags online during the British kingâs coronation, prompting a wide reaction which Varadkar recognises as fresh humiliation. He says Mattâs recklessness irritates him, and reveals his partner was indignant about having to issue an apology. This seems to hurt Varadkar, but itâs hard to tell from the text.
There are hilarious comparisons of himself to Barack Obama when he feels angry about becoming a laughing stock over his âDear Kylieâ letter. He compares himself to Jacinda Ardern several times, even though he never wins an election as leader. Jack Chambersâs decision to come out as gay is something Leo also credits himself with, for having broken the glass ceiling. Really, dear?
Many would expect the key to the book would be an explanation for suddenly resigning the office of An Taoiseach while still under 50. Spoiler alert: Heâs just a bit bored. His very short and frankly incredible description of deciding to resign, three months before he does so publicly, sounds like an influencer wrestling with a trivial bump, rather than a Taoiseach frustrated with his failure to fix any of the issues that once seemed important to him, like health or housing.
Woe is Leo
Woe is Leo. Rotating back into the Taoiseachâs job after MicheĂĄl âwasnât working out as Iâd hopedâ, he whines. âI didnât love the job any moreâ â thatâs as close as he comes to describing why he was giving up the one honour heâs dreamed of all his life, and one only a handful have had in the history of the State. You donât love the hard work anymore? Thatâs it?
Sadly, neither the novelty socks with Trudeau, nor his shirtless round of cans in the Phoenix Park get a mention and thereâs minimal effort at humour. There is one gas anecdote about meeting Donald Trump at Shannon in 2019 on a day when his primary focus was an insult he received on Twitter from actress Bette Midler. Varadkar struggles to get the leader of the free world off the subject of the Hocus Pocus star, but in his head is dying to tell the US President how much he in fact adores Bette Midler and her 1988 musical comedy Beaches. Itâs a very funny passage and a real shame he didnât do more of this in the book.
Especially as sections of interest are teased, like hanging out one-on-one with Angela Merkel over cheese and wine, or meeting Sting and Sam Altman at Davos, or getting a private tour of the White House from President Joe Biden; sincerely wonderful moments that surely merit expanding or at least one snack of dialogue. At one stage, he opens up a bottle of wine with Mick Wallace in the Taoiseachâs office, like an episode of Dining with the Enemy. Infuriatingly, he cuts the story dead each time, indicating a thoroughly incurious man with a resting âmehâ face, whoâs impossible to excite or impress.
The story ends. After two broken terms of four short years, Leo Varadkar simply gave up office out of ennui. âAs with Tolkienâs ring of power, the burden was getting heavier. It was starting to consume me.â And like Frodo Baggins, after accidentally flinging the ring of power into the fires, he shrugs, yawns and heads off home to drink and eat his fill until the pension kicks in.
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Threat to him he said.
Thatâs a good article, thanks.
I would have zero intention of reading that book so it doesnât sound like Iâll be missing much.
Callan for President
(I have on occasion caught his radio show and he has sincerity and intelligence in buckets)
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Tou do realise heâs gay?
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@chocolate had marked that cunt Varadkarâs card a long time before it was fashionable. Often to boos and hissing from fellow posters on here.
Is that unusually scathing for an RTE employee??
He doesnât hold back
Yeah heâs very good.
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He knows Leo is done I suppose so heâs happy to break the fourth wall now. RTE seem to be in a bit of bother. I see Virgin have effectively signed Ryan Tubridy and will have access to Claire Byrne. things could be shaking up.
He doesnât hold back on his radio show either.
He was pals with Leo for a time. Good pals.
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Ooooooooft.
Callan is class.
Just shows how unpopular Leo is on here when there is an Oliver Callan fan club after being formed all of a sudden
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I donât think anyone would begrudge Leo his wee buke.
I find it hard to believe the unfunniest sketch show ever on RTE rattled a Taoiseach so much. Iâd go as far as to say That Never Happened.
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Iâd say it did - Iâd say Leo is incredibly thin skinned.
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I suspect Leo has a lot of ex-pals.
Leo is in the ra