Drapier: Bertie and Bev both in the dock! Fireworks in the Dáil! All through Monday and into Tuesday the press promised us a major dose of argy bargy when the Dáil got round to considering the output of the weekend newspapers.
Of course, it didn't work out that way. It rarely does. A good Dáil row is like good sex or a good session of pints. It's always much better if it's spontaneous rather than planned. And Tuesday's session was very much the latter.
In truth, most of us suspected that the Bertie allegations weren't up to much and had all the look of a damp squib. Most of us, except for the guy who penned Enda Kenny's script, which was so overblown in its rhetoric that it was difficult not to cringe. Pat Rabbitte, on the other hand, deftly avoided the cul-de-sac opened up by the Sunday Indo allegations and gave us a preview of the speech he will doubtless make if and when Tom Gilmartin stands up his story.
Bertie wriggled and dived and generally sounded a bit more convincing than he usually does. He also used the occasion to put some distance between himself and P. Flynn.
So too did Bev. Having resigned the Fianna Fáil whip a few years ago rather than vote for a Dáil motion condemning her daddy, on Tuesday she sounded as if she had hardly met him at all. She briefly acknowledged their consanguinity at the top of her speech, but then went on to refer to him by his full name for the reminder of her apologia. Flynn, the father, was much given in his time to referring to himself in the third person, so maybe the Flynns just have a funny way of addressing themselves. In any event, it sounded mighty peculiar to the untrained ear.
In fact, it sounded as if Bev was hanging daddy out to dry. She, Bev, had done nothing wrong. She didn't know where the money came from and sure why should she? If the money was hot, it was nothing to do with her. If mammy opened a bogus non-resident account, it was mammy's business. She didn't know whether mammy and daddy paid tax, but then again why should she? She sent them a standard letter from NIB, as any dutiful daughter would, and thereafter it was none of her business whether P. and Dorothy took her advice or not.
All very strange, but enough to take the heat off for a few months yet. You can't help wondering if daddy isn't just a little put out by Bev's survival strategy. For some reason, Drapier suspects not.
It's not yet 20 years since Sinn Féin decided to recognise the Dáil. In doing so it ditched decades of republican theology and provoked a split. It was, by any standards, an important decision.
Last week Arthur Morgan, Sinn Féin TD for Louth, put down a parliamentary question to Martin Cullen, Minister for the Environment, asking the Minister to explain his use of female models in publicity campaigns. Morgan, it seems, was less than happy with the reply since he then went on to issue a press statement condemning the unfortunate Minister for "his grá to be in photos with models who are wearing brightly coloured or unusual attire".
Is this what it was all about? Is this why the Provos fought their 30 years of "war"? Did the volunteers who were sent out to kill and die really do it so that one of their reps could slag off a small Fianna Fáil Minister with a taste for totty?
The statement and others like it point up in colourful clarity the extent to which the 'Shinners' have embraced the banality of everyday politics. Where once they sought to bring about an all-Ireland Socialist Republic by force of arms, now they chase votes by looking for cheap headlines in the tabloid press.
Like many others in Leinster House, Drapier regards this transformation with instinctive ambivalence. The normalisation of the 'Shinners' is, in principle, a good thing since at least it means that they've stopped killing people. On the other hand, it clearly enhances their appeal to the section of the electorate, which likes a whiff of sulphur but is squeamish about the sight of blood. And, as last week's poll clearly shows, there are more of these people about than many of us thought.
It was an interesting week in the courts. Mandy Johnston's case went down in flames, setting off a bout of schadenfreude amongst hacks and pols alike. We all know that Government needs its apparatchiks, but we don't have to like the fact that unelected advisers wield an awful lot more power than we do.
It seems that Mandy will get clobbered for costs. Some estimates suggest €200,000. Likewise, Ian Bailey was done for huge costs arising out his ill-advised case against much of the national press.
There has been a low-level debate for some time now about our defamation laws and these decisions will surely add to it. There has to be something wrong when the judgment and the damages awarded by the court are of far less importance than the issue of costs. It can hardly be right that only the rich can afford to vindicate their good name. It can hardly be right that it takes six years in order to decide if a newspaper story was libellous.
The argument for reform seems clear-cut and Michael McDowell has been promising change for some time now. But so too did most of his predecessors and, when push came to shove, nothing was done.
The truth is that politicians are reluctant to make it easier for newspapers to print what they want about us. David Norris spoke for most of us when he said that we already feel that we get a raw deal and we're damned if we're going to make it any easier for journalists to have a go.