Press gathers in anticipation of Baldy's hair-raising descent into chaos

DÁIL SKETCH:AN ASHEN-FACED Michael Noonan stands on the steps of the Department of Finance. He has the look of a man who's been to hell and back.

“I am leaving the country and Limerick,” trembles Baldy. “I have been through the doc-a-ments and seen the figures. It’s bill-uns and bill-uns. My advice is: get out quick before the rush. Taxi!”

That’s what might have happened yesterday afternoon. But it didn’t, despite three camera crews and a scrum of journalists turning up to hear the details of Noonan’s terrifying descent to the nation’s bottom line.

It was quite thrilling, the thought of Michael being loaded into a capsule on Merrion Street and then slowly lowered into the gaping maw of our catastrophic accounts. Enda waving him off. “Safe journey, amigo! Bring us back a general election!”

Richard Bruton grinding his teeth. “It shudda been me!”

Lucinda Creighton querying the operation. “Put Enda in that capsule and don’t tighten the nuts.”

But it isn’t just Noonan who is about to enter the unknown. He is to be joined by Brian Hayes and Damien English (both of whom can comfortably fit in the one capsule).

A small tented village has sprung up around the Department of Finance. The international media has christened it Camp Broke. Baldy leads his brave boys into the abyss. They are gone some time.

Finally – it’s been hours – they emerge, blinking, into the autumn gloom. What news? What horrors did they encounter as they sank deeper and deeper through the nation’s ledger? But Noonan couldn’t say, because he only took a virtual trip in preparation for the real launch tomorrow.

“We got no information this morning more than we had already,” he told his disappointed media audience.

But at least the anticipation of the Fine Gael finance spokesman’s fantastic voyage through our fiscal fiasco kept us awake during Leaders’ Questions, which were particularly dull.

The Order of Business was enlivened with a short discussion on Halloween, when Labour’s Tommy Broughan asked: “Can the Taoiseach confirm that he will ensure, with Minister Gormley, that local authorities will have the resources to run a Halloween festival that does not end up in mayhem for communities?”

He was particularly concerned with the Sale of Alcohol Bill.

The Taoiseach said the Bill would be published early next year at the earliest.

“Halloween will be over then,” said Joan Burton. Nothing gets by Joan.

“I’m aware of that too,” sniffed Cowen.

Tommy wondered if the Taoiseach might come out with him to witness the “festivities” in his area of north Dublin.

He didn’t decline. “I might get a chance to duck your head in the water. You might catch an apple for yourself.”

Kathleen Lynch got into the spirit: “Your game is blind man’s bluff.”

Not to be outdone in this Labour All Saints’ onslaught, Joe Costello invited Biffo to Dublin Central for Halloween. “It will be an experience for you.”

Joan Burton warmed to the theme. "The Bonfire of the Vanities. That's your problem."

Cowen snapped back: “Deputy Burton is such a literate spokesperson. She’ll tell us the author’s name next.”

But Joan, as is her wont, didn’t confine herself to supplying the name of the author. Instead she gave a broad outline of the plot.

“You’d be very scared if you strayed in [to Dublin Central] like the hero of that book. If you strayed into certain parts of the country you’d be pretty scared.”

Cowen looked a bit baffled.

But the story has a happy ending. It finished with an invitation from Government Buildings to the Fine Gael and Labour Party leaders and their financial wings.

“Yis are cordially invited to a cross-party evening of mind games and Paul Brady songs at Casa Biffo. Date to be arranged. Bring your own drink. Yours, reluctantly, Brian.”

Was this not a change of heart from the Taoiseach who seemed less than enthusiastic about meeting his Opposition counterparts to achieve some sort of consensus on the forthcoming budget? It was no such thing. He always intended having the neighbours over for a chat but pushy John Gormley jumped the gun. Biffo went into a sulk. But he’s over it now.

They will all meet up. Nothing will happen.

And we’ll still be up the creek.