LOOK, I don't want to be a killjoy in these early days of Brian Cowen's reign, but not since the day when my Leaving Cert class were enrolled as 'Children of Mary' have I seen such theatricals as I did last week when the Taoiseach finally introduced his new Cabinet.

With the eager support of the media, he whipped up a thriller that might have qualified for an Oscar were it not for the anti-climax at the end. I mean, what's new? And why wasn't Willie O'Dea appointed Minister for Justice? The plot was weak, to be honest.

Enda Kenny didn't help matters either with a procedural row that only prolonged the suspense while we hung from our respective ceilings looking for a hint from the smiling or sombre faces of would-be contenders for high office - who were all pan faced.

Sorry Cicero, aka Eoghan Harris, but the Roman Forum wasn't a patch on this. But those Dail players would want to be careful. Our hearts aren't up to such tension, and neither is the health service for that matter.

At the Children of Mary ceremony long ago, we also waited on tenterhooks for our names to be called. We didn't know until the last minute who was in and who was out, because even the slightest misdemeanour during the year made one unworthy of the honour and the Reverend Mother was a past mistress of suspense.

It was touch and go whether I'd qualify or not seeing that I had been caught copying an Irish test a couple of weeks previously. But I brought in a veil, just in case.

No-one was more surprised than I was when my name was called, but unfortunately I got disqualified at the last minute for giving the 'thumbs up' sign as I walked up to get the medal with the distinctive blue ribbon.

Willie smiled and gave a 'thumbs up' the other day too and got away with it? I would have thought he would have been the one who was scowling, seeing that he is more talented than any of them and has more than served his time in the army.

The bottom line is this. The new Taoiseach believes in playing his cards close to his chest, keeping the rest of us in the dark, and then orchestrating the denouement. I really don't think that this is a wise strategy, not only because it smacks of uber control, but because we're the suckers paying their enormous salaries and without us, none of them would be there in the first place. If they want to put on a play, then it had better be good.

Anyway, we were in the dark for long enough and have only recently discovered the joys of transparency, and if the Taoiseach doesn't cosy up to the Press soon and let us know what is going on, they're liable to make it up and then he won't be long getting it off his chest.

But, really, the Ministerial announcements procedure was over the top. Apart altogether from the fact that only a couple of them were 'new', there was no need for the tight lipped secrecy and the risible choreography.

Pity the poor journalists who had to crane their necks for hours to see who was marching in behind the leader and who was smiling and who wasn't. Actually, I got the fright of my life driving home in the car when Mary Wilson asked excitedly of her reporters at the scene: "Has anyone seen Willie O'Dea?".

Pity the poor Ministers too, because they weren't even supposed to know where to stand in the queue and let's face it, they all looked over drilled and terribly subdued. Pity the country which was threatening to grind to a halt while Nero performed.

The whole cringe inducing spectacle left me hoping fervently that no aliens were looking in, especially afterwards when I saw journalists yapping despairingly after being locked outside the gates at Aras an Uactharain and threatening to throw themselves in front of Ministerial Mercs as they emerged.

Not a good idea.

I tried it once myself when former Tanaiste Ray McSharry visited an East Clare county councillor in secrecy to try and persuade him not to run against Sile DeValera in a by-election. His chauffeur put his foot on the pedal coming up the lane in Bodyke, and I have no idea how I survived. But my days of intrepid reporting came to an abrupt end right there in a cloud of dust as the car sped off in the direction of Dublin.

Having said that, it's time the Irish media stopped trying to be the stars of the pageant themselves. They should stop accepting places on State agencies too, because Brian Cowen doesn't look as if he wants any lap dogs. Finally forget about Mary Coughlan's cerise suit and weight loss and give her credit for being the formidable woman she is.