Miriam Lord with Bertie Ahern:There is a time and place for "carefully orchestrated campaigns". Similarly, causing "mayhem and confusion in the course of the general election" is not always a bad thing.
Fianna Fáil's gripe, as outlined by a spokeswoman on Thursday night, is with such tactics being used against the party. They're very sore about this, having claimed sole copyright in that department in the last two elections.
Yesterday, the recovery operation began.
Bertie Ahern, once again, is at the centre of the party's carefully orchestrated election campaign.
He's taken quite a battering over the last few weeks, so the trademark mayhem and confusion that accompanies his rock-star-style appearances on the streets of Ireland was somewhat more restrained to start off with.
Newcomers to the "Cult of Bertie" roadshow were very impressed by his energy and zest for the fray. In the flesh, the Taoiseach's charisma is impressive. He makes people smile.
The newcomers marvelled at how quickly people succumb to his easygoing charm. Even the ones who look guarded and suspicious as the Bert bears down on them find themselves twinkling back at him despite their reservations.
He sure sets a blistering pace, noted the novices, a little short of puff.
Little did they know that yesterday's tour through parts of Meath, Westmeath and Longford was an Ahern equivalent of the nursery slopes. His schedule wasn't half as packed as it could have been, the walkabouts were a little shorter than usual, and impromptu incursions indoors were more tentative than before.
The unease within Fianna Fáil won't lessen until the weekend's polls and newspapers are out of the way. Until those hurdles are cleared, the unbridled confidence and exuberance of an electioneering Bertie at full throttle will not be given full rein.
Already, party strategists will have taken heart from the public's response to the Taoiseach on his first full day on the nationwide canvass. While the controversy over his personal finances rumbles on in media and political circles, it wasn't impacting in Maynooth, Trim, Longford and Mullingar.
As the day wore on, Bertie seemed to grow in confidence. He relishes his days out on the hustings, and while his handlers spent the day nervously scanning the crowds and the horizon for incoming trouble, he got on with doing what he does best: just being Bertie, man of the people and all-round decent skin.
There was a quiet, mid-morning start in Maynooth. An easy tour of a small shopping centre, where the little crowd cheering him was drawn from party supporters. Some minor mayhem and confusion from the attendant journalists and photographers crashing into supermarket trollies and falling over potted plants.
The only significant non-party presence was provided by a class of seven-year-olds from the local Gaelscoil, who had been brought down to the shops by their teacher for a treat. "We were going down for ice-cream and then we were told to stay," explained an excited little boy through mouthfuls of his 99.
So why were they waiting? Dunno. Then a voice piped up from the ranks: "It's Bertie O'Hern. I know him from off the television." So that was it. The campaign was on. The entourage of Mercs and press cars moved down to the main street.
Bertie was warming up. He belted into a beauty salon. "Howaya girls!" One was getting her make-up done. "The toes and the nails," he remarked knowledgeably, what with him having experience of the beauty business. But we weren't going to mention Celia, oh no.
The therapists giggled. "I'll wax your back for ya," offered one. A brief look of horror passed across the Taoiseach's face and he moved on.
In the shopping centre, he made the traditional bee-line for the supermarket check-outs before accosting customers in the cafe trying to enjoy their morning coffee.
Older women pushed through the crowd to meet him. All of them sympathised with him for his troubles. One loud dissenting comment from an elderly man precipitated a rush from local activists to assure journalists that "he's not right in the head".
Interestingly, a television news reporter went around interviewing those people he met, asking them if they were unhappy with the Taoiseach following the revelations about his house in Drumcondra.
On to Meath's county town of Trim. The pace quickened. "Are you going to keep the builders going?" a young man asked. "We sure are," declared the Taoiseach. "We made another announcement yesterday."
"Fair play to ya!"
An elderly man on two crutches barred his way into a chemist shop. "I've two artificial hips. Would you ever do something? I'm knackered."
As he spoke, Bertie gently kept a hand on his wrist. "How's the hips. Are they paining you?" And with that, as the man started to move, the Taoiseach and Minister Noel Dempsey placed solicitous hands on each arm and helped him down the step."
You do what you have to do at election time. With the politicians inside, the man waved a crutch in air and wheezed: "I'm in the limelight for the first time in my life. Now f*** off, the lot of yis."
Bertie hared across the road and found himself outside the Bank of Ireland. He went in the main entrance, stopped at the inner doors, thought to himself and turned on his heels.
"Ah, we'll let them alone in the bank," he announced breezily, as a passer-by muttered something about opening another account.
In Longford, there was a man playing the fiddle on the street. Like lightning, Bertie's tour manager ran ahead, and stood between him and the Taoiseach and the photographers.
No chance of a photograph appearing with the words "Bertie" and "fiddle" in the caption.
Local deputy Peter Kelly had mustered the troops well, and there was a good buzz about. Bertie zoomed through the shopping centre.
A woman at the deli counter was minding her own business, buying a cooked chicken. The assistant put it on the counter, and just as she went to pick it up, the passing Taoiseach swooped in like a hawk, grabbed the chicken and triumphantly deposited it in her basket.
He spoke to the press outside. Questions about his finances were asked again. "Aw, wrap it up," snorted a supporter.
The Taoiseach, in martyred fashion, gave his answers. But in the sunlight, with his people around him, and having had a good hour in the town with lots of good wishes from passers-by, he seemed at ease.
As he was leaving, a little girl gave him a handmade card, all done in coloured markers with little hearts and kisses. "I have been your number one fan for a while," it said inside. Before he got into his car, a pensive Bertie looked at it, folded it carefully and put it in his inside pocket.
The day ended in Mullingar with Donie Cassidy and Mary O'Rourke. Controversy there too, but of a different sort. Donie and Mary, fighting a vicious internal battle for a Dáil seat, set off yesterday to hand in their nomination papers.
But the registrar refused to accept them, because they didn't comply with the legislation. Their photographs were the wrong size.