Good evening and welcome to One Man and his Sheep. You join us at a crucial stage, as the Taoiseach and his ovine supporters face their most difficult obstacle to date in this absorbing competition.
So far, they have hardly put a hoof wrong, but testing times lie ahead. Can they hang together long enough to win yet another BAAFTA? That coveted statuette - a brass representation of three monkeys - is within their grasp again. But can they swallow their pride, hide their embarrassment and ignore the obvious long enough to capture yet another Bertie Ahern All Flock Together Award? Of course they can.
The scene was set in the Dáil chamber yesterday for this latest trial. The Taoiseach stood at the head of his woolly charges - a gormless assortment of ministerial mutton, half-car hoggets and backbench lambs.
As soon as the news broke about him accepting large payments from private sources when he was minister for finance, his Fianna Fáil flock fell into line and obediently trotted out on to the plinth and into radio studios to back up his story.
When he appeared before the tribunal and gave contradictory and unconvincing testimony, they came out and bleated in support. Even the new organic additions to the Taoiseach's flock proved amenable. The Greens may purport to be a classier breed who enjoy a better diet, but at the end of the day, they are dumb animals like the rest.
Everywhere that Bertie went, his lambs were sure to go. It helped to have Baaffo Cowen leading the way. The Tánaiste has proved a sheep in sheep's clothing where the question of his boss's adherence to basic standards in office is concerned.
Baaffo wasn't around for this latest round of One Man and his Sheep. He was on business in Europe.
The atmosphere in the Dáil chamber was tense. Bertie Ahern looked anxious as he waited for the trial to commence. Around him, a severely depleted flock. Only one Minister, Séamus Brennan, sat beside him and that because he just finished taking questions. The Greens had taken themselves off to quieter pastures. There was just one item on the agenda: the Taoiseach's decision to go to the High Court to attempt to stop the Mahon tribunal from asking him certain questions about his tangled finances.
Enda Kenny went into attack dog mode. Which, in the case of the Fine Gael leader, is not a particularly fearsome prospect. However, an indication of the unease in the Government flock was the way in which they sat meekly while Enda demanded answers.
What was the Taoiseach at? Why, after all his statements about fully co-operating with the Mahon tribunal, was he now taking the inquiry to court? How could he have instructed his flock to vote confidence in Mahon, when he was "cooking up" a legal challenge that would frustrate and delay it for God knows how long? Bertie leaned forward, jaw jutting at an aggressive tilt, lips drawn in a grim grey line.
As for the sheep, they eyed Enda nervously, fearing he might have discovered his inner Rottweiler. It was time for the shepherd to reassure his flock. Ministers Noel Dempsey and Micheál Martin lumbered in to add some backbone. Noel looked very uncomfortable.
Bertie began his fightback. He had a script, and he didn't stray from it. He quoted from the Constitution. He had initiated his court action on the advice of "eminent legal people". The sheep still looked uneasy. Bertie asserted his rights. Just because he's Taoiseach doesn't mean he's not entitled to them. Anyway, the lawyers made him do it.
The sheep seemed restless.
Enda tried hard to discover his fangs. "You're not obliged to take anyone's legal advice. You're only the client," he pointed out. "You could have said 'I want to take a different course'."
Martin Cullen began muttering behind his finger. "Constitution . . . legal principle . . . Constitution." Noel Dempsey, who is a principled man, looked like he was going to cry. It's not easy, being a sheep.
If Dáil privilege was so important to the Taoiseach, why did he only discover it all of a sudden, demanded Enda. "What are you afraid of?" But Bertie was determined to stand by the Constitution. He wasn't worried about anything. But the lawyers had spoken.
He was advised by "eminent legal people" and there was nothing he could do about it. It's not like the Taoiseach is a lawyer and could make up his own mind. (He's an accountant, although he can't help himself in that department either.) The sheep seemed relieved. At least they had guidance and could troop out on to the plinth and into the radio studios and stand by the Constitution.
It wasn't long before they were spooked again. Eamon Gilmore, who knows how to sink a fang, was on his feet. Don't try to elevate an act of "personal political self preservation" to "the status of a constitutional principle" was his withering response. Don't come in and say you are acting on behalf of the Dáil when you are acting on your own behalf.
"This is not about constitutional privilege. This is about pleading the fifth." He was ruthless. The sheep huddled close, not a bleat out of any of them.
Bertie responded again. "I'm well able to look after myself. I'm well able to look after the learned members of the tribunal," he insisted. Which is true, because the chamber was watching him doing just that.
He quoted legal precedents.
The lawyers made him do it.
It's an argument which might just keep the sheep happy and win them another BAAFTA. But even they are beginning to look a little ragged.