"You have to hand it to Albert," said the man in the bar corner. "Out of bed before the rest are even waking up and he will be home and dry before the others even know there is a race on."
"Nothing new about that," he added. "Albert was always first out of the trap. Ask Charlie Haughey, Mary O'Rourke or Bertie Ahern and they will bear me out." Drapier had no doubt they would, but given this particular friend's propensity to wander, Drapier tried to rein him in.
"I presume," said Drapier, "you are talking about the forthcoming presidential contest."
The friend looked at him as if he were some sort of political innocent - a Green or a PD or a Dana-ite.
"Haven't I been telling you since last year that Albert wants the Presidency and what Albert wants, Albert gets. When Charlie called Bertie the most devious and most cunning and all that, he got it wrong. Albert would put them all in the ha'penny place."
"I'll tell you," said the friend. "Albert has what it takes and more than that he has the neck and the . . ." (This being a family paper Drapier will leave the reader to complete the anatomical details.)
When Drapier got his friend back to the point he was on to Albert the poker player: "He's wrong-footed John Hume, putting him in a position where, whether he likes it or not, he will be seen to be interfering in the internal choice of a southern political party. And don't think the Fine Gael lassies aren't saying the same thing to their people.
"In spite of David Andrews and P.J. Mara, it's going to be very hard for Bertie Ahern to go over the head of his former leader and Albert will have half the country covered before Maire Geoghegan-Quinn even starts motoring. And remember. Albert is still inside the parliamentary party, Maire and Ray MacSharry are outside. Don't underestimate that."
"So you're saying then," said Drapier, when he finally got a word in, "you're saying it has to be Albert."
To Drapier's surprise the answer took its time in coming.
"No. I'm not saying that. What I'm saying is that he is ahead and well ahead but there are a few very high jumps yet and any one could bring him down."
"Such as?"
"For a start I wouldn't guarantee the parliamentary party. In 1990 when Albert challenged Charlie he had the promise of plenty of jobs for back-benchers. He promised the jobs, he got the votes and he delivered the jobs.
"There are no jobs in the Aras. The only jobs at the moment are with Bertie Ahern and fellows will think twice before they go out on a limb against him. You can be certain that the committee chairs will not be allocated before the presidential nomination. And there will be more of the same.
"Put it this way, if the fellows have to choose between yesterday's man and the fellow in possession then it's no choice."
Drapier pondered this. He still held to his view that Albert would be hard to stop, at least within Fianna Fail. And he said so.
"There's another thing," said the man. "And Fianna Fail knows this better than most. Albert was the biggest electoral disaster in the history of Fianna Fail. Remember 1992? Yes, I know Albert did the Houdini bit afterwards, but he lost 10 seats, the lowest vote since 1927, the votes melting away in Dublin and who is to say this won't happen again? And if he can't do well in Dublin then the game is up."
"Yes," said Drapier. "But what about the peace process? Surely the voters will reward him for that. He certainly hasn't let them forget it."
"Bugger the peace process," was the sharp reply. "There is little enough thanks for making things happen in the North. So long as the North is quiet most people don't care. And having Gerry Adams's endorsement is more trouble than it is worth. Just mark my words."
"So are you for or against Albert?" asked Drapier with some impatience.
"For him, of course. If he runs he gets my number one, but I have to tell you he makes Bertie and the lads very uncomfortable. He is always ahead of them and they never know what he will say next, or what Jack will jump out of the box. That's the problem. And if he is the candidate he won't be handled. He'll do it his way, first, middle and last as he'd say himself."
Drapier was becoming exasperated. "Are you saying John Hume is out then?"
"No. The only thing running out for John Hume is time. He has to get his own act together. Use the pot or get off it. If John Hume says he is willing to run, the opposition will melt away. Even Albert will be steam-rolled and people can whinge all they like about being denied a choice. Sure doesn't everyone know John Hume is the people's choice? He'll fit the bill as well as Douglas Hyde did in 1938."
Drapier's friend was indeed old enough to remember Douglas Hyde.
"But he can't afford to hang around. If he wants it, this is not the time for shrinking violets. Not with Albert up and ready to go. It's up to John Hume. It's his for the asking. But he has to ask. Nobody else can do it for him."
And with these words Drapier's friend was off. Not away, but off on another gallop, this time pondering whether or not Ray Burke could survive his present difficulties.
The friend made it clear he was a friend of Ray Burke. Knew the father before him and all that.
"So," asked Drapier. "What's the score? Can he survive?"
"Four years ago he would have had no bother. Today I'm not so sure. John Bruton may have been right, or he may have been wrong, but he set standards that are going to be hard to follow in this regard."
"What do you mean?'
"Well, Hugh Coveney had to go over a bottle of smoke. Then Phil Hogan's wet-behind-the-ears assistant faxed out information to the Evening Herald that the world knew already. Between the media and the opposition they didn't stand a chance. Crazy it was. I said so at the time and I say it again but it's putting it up to Bertie and that other crowd." (Drapier's friend still refuses to recognise the PDs).
He continued.
"Ray Burke says he didn't do anything wrong and I believe him. To tell the truth I have always found him straight, even if a bit gruff. But that's not the point. Not any more. Today it's perception that counts and it doesn't look that good, not good at all. Right or wrong doesn't matter, it's all about how it looks. And do you know something else? An awful lot of it is your own bloody fault."
And with that Drapier's friend was off. Pint finished. No more to be said. At least for the moment.