For once the cliché is appropriate.

We are in uncharted territory.

The leaking has stopped.

Well, not entirely, but enough to cause a massive crisis in Leinster House. If it hadn't been for one negotiator stooping down to tie his shoelace, thus giving his suspicious colleagues the slip, not a word would have escaped the meeting room in Government Buildings.

Except, of course, for one: “Cordial.”

And that went out the window last night in a welter of bad blood and recrimination.

The stooper said there was “nothing to report”, which leads us to believe that his pretend shoelace malfunction was premeditated.

No leaks.

It’s outrageous.

The place was like a morgue yesterday.

Nothing happening.

Nothing likely to happen.

Then, as night fell, the talks between Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil collapsed.

It was approaching 8pm and, if truth be told, after another day of idle speculation about talks about talks and whether or not we might get a government, did anyone really care?

FF did the flouncing, it seems, over FG’s obstinate refusal to indicate support for the party should it win enough Independent votes to form a minority government.

There was talk of Fianna Fáil refusing to “exchange papers”. The floodgates opened ever so slightly, but it was enough to show that one or other or both of the parties is indulging in gamesmanship on a dangerous scale, or that the distrust between them runs so deep that it cannot be overcome.

There would have been huge excitement in Leinster House, had most people not headed for the hills long before the news broke.

The Dáil canteen closed before six. This was to allow the Oireachtas authorities to power-hose distraught political correspondents from the area where they have been camped since negotiations to form a new government began.

Fine Gael's Simon Coveney, along with fellow Minister Paschal Donohoe, arrived through the doors late in the afternoon with a posse of salivating journalists stalking them. Simon bought a pre-packaged ham sandwich.

Was this significant? Had they not been fed during the discussions with Fianna Fáil? Was it intentional?

Did the Fine Gael side not know that diet-conscious Micheál Martin has been known to exist for days on a banana?

Simon looked a bit worried. Or maybe not.

Did he? Did he not?

Gibbering hacks

The two Ministers abandoned the gibbering hacks and went off to their parliamentary party meeting. Whatever it was like for the politicians – incarcerated in their party rooms, praising their leader while bullishly vowing to stick to their guns over Irish Water and other red-line issues, the meeting was like an oasis in the desert for the media.

Word, as usual, seeped out from the deliberations. Probably from those deputies not involved in the high-powered disagreements about setting up a minority government, with or without Independents.

But the actual formation teams (they sound like ballroom dancing aficionados) didn’t put a foot out of line. They were saying nothing.

The Labour Party, meanwhile, began creeping back into the equation. The party's executive held its routine meeting in Leinster House last evening and TDs and members accosted by frazzled media types sounded very cagey about throwing in their lot again with Fine Gael.

The Independents were all over the place yesterday. Are they wanted anymore? If they are, what will the parties pay for their loyalty? Could it cost them their seats? Nobody’s going to be the boss of them anyway.

It’s all getting a bit too much for some, it seems.

They’re like a pack of fussy dogs.

Friendly, but fussy.

A good home would be nice. They can’t resist an open door.

Fine Gael or Fianna Fáil?

They could easily settle. A warm fire, dinner up to the snout, an occasional bone for the constituency.

And yet, they’ve been kicked around before. They don’t want it to happen again. They need to be sure.

If all else fails, the lure of the open road, the independent life, is always there.

Principles

Some have already decided to parcel up their principles in a spotted handkerchief and head back to the open road.

But it’s sure been nice having their tummies tickled for a few weeks.

During the day, there were reports that the majority of the 15 Independent TDs contemplating adoption by one of the two main parties were leaning in the direction of Fianna Fáil. (Actually, people were saying lots of things, with very little evidence to back it up. Silence abhors a vacuum. A bit like this column.)

Others were mischievously putting this rumour about in the hope of spooking Fianna Fáil. Again, the view in Kildare Street is that the party, despite its strong public utterances, has no wish to be landed into a minority government with Fine Gael in charge of their life-support machine and Sinn Féin as the main opposition, gleefully tinkering with their oxygen tank.

Into this situation lollop the Independents – sniffing around Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil for weeks now. They begin to amble over towards one particular side, because they like the signals.

Suddenly, and mortifyingly for Micheál Martin and his team, the Independents decide to attach themselves to Fianna Fáil’s leg, holding it in a vice-like grip.

What now?

Fianna Fáil wouldn’t want that to happen. A puzzling, if credible, theory in the light of their stated reason for the collapse of talks last night.

And do Fine Gael need the Independents that much?

In the afternoon, Shane Ross and members of the Independent Alliance materialised in the building following another meeting with themselves. "Let's keep calm," we heard him say to his colleagues.

Time is running out.

Will they cling to Micheál’s leg after the latest twist in the talks? Or stick with Enda? Or do a runner?

Anything might happen.

Stand by for some leaks.