The morning after his worst day in politics revealed a relaxed and revitalised Bertie. He bounced back in front of the cameras like a boy scout about to embark on a new adventure
AS AN ebullient Brian Cowen wisecracked his way through the Dáil's Order of Business yesterday morning, Bertie Ahern was in his car and heading for UCD.
The axis of power has already shifted in Leinster House. Biffo is in charge now and Bertie's lap of honour is under way. For the
next few weeks, until the official handover, the Taoiseach will be feted and feasted, at home and further afield.
The morning after his worst day in politics revealed a relaxed and revitalised Bertie. He bounced back in front of the cameras like a boy scout about to embark on a new adventure, waxing philosophical about his future plans and holding forth at length about the situation he now finds himself in.
On Wednesday in the Dáil, in the aftermath of his surprise resignation announcement, he sat, looking devastated, as the proceedings went on around him. He seemed to be in another world.
But Bertie was back to his usual self yesterday. Affable and accessible, like nothing had ever happened.
It was slightly disconcerting, this display of openness and bonhomie so soon after he had suffered such a crushing personal blow.
Yet it was totally in character: a feature of Bertie's leadership style throughout his decade at the top has been his even-tempered ability to shrug off the hardest knocks and soldier on with a smile.
He rarely passed a notebook or a microphone without obliging with a few words. Often, a journalist who had written or broadcast something uncomplimentary about him might be lurking in the pack.
Invariably, the Taoisach would bear down on the perpetrator and deliver a cheery greeting and some friendly banter. Which always had the effect of making the perfidious hack feel like a total heel and left Bertie looking magnanimous.
But yesterday, all bets were off. As Gerry Adams might say, there was a new dispensation in the relationship.
The camera crews that outnumbered the drinkers in Fagan's pub in Drumcondra on Wednesday night were already ensconced in The Brewery Tap in Tullamore and taking soundings from the customers in Brian Cowen's local.
In the corridors of Leinster House, Fianna Fáil deputies could only talk about one issue, and it wasn't Bertie Ahern. It was striking, the speed with which they had moved on. Little groups whispering on the banquettes and holding animated discussions in corners, already adjusting to life with Brian Cowen as their leader and wondering who was in line for preferment under the new regime.
The bookies weren't taking money on Biffo's accession. The heavy betting was on who he would appoint as his Tánaiste. Bertie who? So the Taoiseach didn't really have to be that nice yesterday morning. He didn't have to be that man anymore, the one who thinks pique is a fluffy dog with a flat nose. A tight-lipped flounce to and from his car could have done him.
He was at UCD to address the Institute for British-Irish Studies Conference on the topic of From Conflict to Consensus: the Legacy of the Good Friday Agreement.
Inside the William Jefferson Clinton Auditorium, he got a very warm reception from his audience, which included former president Patrick Hillery, Prof Martin Mansergh and Northern Secretary Shaun Woodward.
He finished his speech with a quote from Thomas Paine: "If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace."
Then he paused, looked out to his audience and declared: "So. Let's keep it that way, folks."
He received a standing ovation, a fitting tribute to the major part he played in the Northern Ireland peace process.
Outside the media waited, as news came through from Leinster House that another Government Minister had come out in support of Brian Cowen. After a brief meeting with Shaun Woodward, Bertie barrelled outside.
"Hi, folks!" He mused about what he might do with his spare time after he leaves office.
"Well, I was talking to my two daughters last night. I ended up playing with Jay and Rocco for an hour or so," he began, before thoughts of chubby baby faces brought Pat Rabbitte to his mind.
He revealed he had been sounding out Mr Rabbitte recently about life after the Labour leadership.
"He found the transformation far harder than he thought. Then I was talking to Tony Blair yesterday, and he told me he was busier than he ever was. So it depends what you do."
Bertie left us with a touching image of him on the phone to Tony, down in the dumps as he pondered his future, and Tony telling him to keep his chin up, that there is life after the prime ministerial whirl.
He talked about the long hours he has worked - putting in 70 and 80-hour weeks. He couldn't imagine putting in a 30-hour week. "I'd go mad."
It was like he was thinking aloud about why he decided to go, trying to work it out in his head.
"My plan was to go to the local elections, but we drifted over the recent months. I'm not criticising, I've no argument with anyone.
"Everyone does their job and you all do your job and I appreciate that. I like you all that do it. So I've never known anyone to . . . I've no bad feelings about anything, either in the Dáil or anything."
Then there are the young people who have known no other Taoiseach, only Bertie. He reassured them. "They shouldn't be in any way wondering, or fearful about that." It's only Biffo. He's a nice man, too.
Would he like the big job in Europe. "I dunno, eh, you know, it's frying pan into the fire, I dunno."
As for Wednesday, the most devastating thing for him was to see his Cabinet colleagues in floods when they heard the news.
"To see the whole place, bar one or two of them, crying. I tell ya, I sez I better get out of this quick before I cause any more problems." Of course, that might have been the relief.
Then he went off on a lengthy tangent about innovation and investment in science.
It was vintage Bertie, and we hung over the barrier, lapping it up in all its disjointed and meandering glory.
Then he lost it. It was the tribunal that did it, naturally. The mood changed.
"I do feel very sorry the way Gráinne Carruth was dealt with. I mean that just was appalling. It was totally unneccesary."
Which is true. His former secretary may still have been called to give evidence, but if Bertie had told the tribunal about his sterling lodgements in the first place, she would never have had to tie herself into knots by first insisting she never handled sterling for him, and then having to accept, in the face of documentary evidence that she did, all the while insisting she didn't remember.
Ms Carruth, however, had remembered enough at one point to be certain she had never lodged sterling.
"The way she was harangued. There was no need to harangue her. She just didn't remember something. I mean there was no . . . . she was concealing nothing. She was a mother of three . . . hauling her back on Holy Thursday. You know. It's just lowlife stuff."
Gráinne Carruth was not harangued. Had Bertie Ahern been there, he would have seen that.
Typical. Just when it had all been going so well. When we had been getting misty-eyed and nostalgic for the Bertie we are so fond of.
Ah, for God's sake. Why did you have to go and mess it all up?