The Taoiseach radiated resentment instead of pre-election bonhomie, writes Miriam Lord
Two days into the campaign, and Bertie is being forced to revisit those dark days of his Drumcondra dig-out.
He should be happy. He should be radiating energy and bonhomie. He should be bouncing around the city, spreading happiness wherever he goes, thumping the lads on the back and smiling at the ladies with that hint of divilment in his eyes.
Instead, he has to talk about a new little batch of money connected to that harrowing dig-out period of his life.
This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.
Deep resentment burned in Bertie's eyes as he answered the media's questions. What about the stg£30,000 in cash given in 1994 to his then partner, Celia Larkin, by Michael Wall? The Manchester businessman was the future taoiseach's landlord at the time, although Bertie subsequently bought the house from him.
"Any money," he replied in clipped tones, "that Ms Larkin received was towards, was a stamp duty issue and it was towards the refurbishment of the house." The Taoiseach was standing outside Croke Park's Cusack Stand. An array of people, included GAA stars, were waiting to meet him. He was due to launch a child literary programme and an awareness campaign for the Asthma Society of Ireland. The sun was shining.
A perfect setting for what should have been a perfect start to the day. Bertie was not amused.
He looked daggers at his questioners, sounding ill at ease as he spoke. You could almost feel the anger radiating from him. He seemed nervous too, placing a steadying hand on the microphone stand in front of him.
Did he think it appropriate for Celia Larkin to have accepted this money from Mr Wall? "Yes, obviously. Obviously. Obviously." He explained again that Celia had "facilitated" Mr Wall, the owner, in refurbishing the house. Then he snapped "so it was entirely appropriate. ENTIRELY APPROPRIATE!"
Just because a guy is on his uppers doesn't mean standards should slip. Celia's curtains were the talk of Drumcondra.
The mood didn't improve when he was asked why he decided to make a run to the President just after dawn on Sunday to ask for a dissolution of the Dáil. "You know the reason," he said sourly, when it was suggested that he didn't want yesterday's Mahon tribunal to go ahead.
Bertie explained his intention was always to call the election this week, but then it was pointed out to him that the President would be abroad, and that it wouldn't be the right thing to go ahead without her.
Just because the dogs in the streets knew weeks ago of the President's trip, and the Cabinet would have had to sanction it, doesn't mean Bertie Ahern or his top-notch advisors would know it.
The Taoiseach fixed the press corps with a killer stare. Nobody said anything. It was a relief all round when the interview was finished. "I thought he was going to give someone a box," said a radio reporter.
The action moved on to Dublin's Smithfield, and the opening of the refurbished Old Jameson Distillery. A marvellous job has been done on the place at a cost of €5 million. Bertie was pencilled in to do the honours.
We decided to keep our distance if anyone handed him a bottle.
The Taoiseach, being a pro, rose to the occasion. But he was still more subdued than usual; not his usual confident self. He toured the distillery with Dublin Central candidate Senator Cyprian Brady welded to his left shoulder.
He marvelled at the huge copper stills and the whiskey vats during a brief tour, before making a speech and unveiling a plaque. Bertie stuck to his script, did what he had to do.
There were pictures taken, the Taoiseach didn't take a drop of the produce. He was given an 18-year-old whiskey as a gift. Given the last few days he's had, we feared he might attack it as soon as he got back to the car.
On so to the major event of the day: a trip to the Paddy Power bookies shop on Baggot Street to bet on himself winning the election.
The company gave him a free €1,000 charity bet, with any winnings to go to the Irish Guide Dogs association. The Taoiseach was priced at 8-11.
Siobhan Kenny was standing along the back wall holding Quando, a black Labrador puppy. The photographers lined up in front of her. Bertie barrelled in.
Pandemonium. The Taoiseach's entourage had to beat them back. Bertie posed with the puppy. The photographers were beside themselves. They couldn't get enough of those lovely brown eyes and soft, trusting face. The puppy was lovely too.
The Taoiseach cuddled the puppy, which began to whimper. Bertie tried to placate him. He tried to bite Bertie's finger.
"I think he's scared," murmured the Taoiseach. "I think he's in shock," said an onlooker.
Mercifully, the photographers abandoned the traumatised pup and directed the even more traumatised Taoiseach to the counter to place his bet.
Photographers jostled in the small space behind the counter. On the shop floor, it was decided to bring another dog to meet the Taoiseach. "Let the dog through! Let the dog through!" cried a man from the guide dog association, and Ewan, a hefty six-month-old, was borne through the crowd and hefted onto the counter.
Understandably, he tried to escape. "Ooooh. Oooooh. Easy. Easy," cooed the Taoiseach, like he was at a particularly fractious cabinet meeting.
A cameraman fell off a stool in the mayhem and nearly killed the dog.
The day ended with a trip to the Smurfit Business College. Bertie was asked why he hadn't been more buoyed up at the start of the election.
"If you say: 'we're going to win', you're an arrogant bunch. If you come out less certain, you're terrorised." Not a happy bunny.