IT’S BEEN an awful political week.

Infuriating, unsettling and – probably worst of all – disappointingly inevitable.

But in a happier turn of events, most of the Cabinet was able to escape to Brussels on Wednesday, thus avoiding the embarrassment of having to sit beside James Reilly while he struggled unsuccessfully to convince the Dáil that he hadn’t been caught pulling a major political stroke.

Neither did they have to endure the discomfort of knowing that practically everyone in the chamber was of the view that Reilly wasn’t the only Coalition Minister in on the wheeze.

The Minister for Health may be relatively new to national politics, but even he must have realised he was spinning his convoluted yarn to an audience of experts who weren’t going to buy his story for a minute.

You don’t climb the greasy pole to a seat in Leinster House without knowing how pork barrel politics operates, even if you don’t partake yourself.

His fellow Fine Gaelers and Labour colleagues will have known the score, along with the inky-fingered Sinn Féiners across the floor. But, in a lovely irony, the loudest protests about the mysterious appearance of two towns in Reilly’s constituency on a coveted list of places to get primary healthcare centres came from Fianna Fáil.

Pulling strokes? Fianna Fáil wrote the manual.

Micheál Martin and his health spokesman, Billy Kelleher, were all over Reilly as he tried to talk his way out of trouble.

Their killer line hung in the air, unspoken: Minister, you don’t teach your granny to suck eggs . . .

So why was it such a terrible week? It was terrible because, away from the scandalised shouting and indignant waffle, Minister Reilly’s little divvy-up of prized places on this national list wasn’t such a big deal around Leinster House. The big deal was the fact he was rumbled.

To paraphrase Bertie: he only went and upset the apple tart.

In fairness to some of the new intake, they are horrified by the events of the last two weeks. Their Government promised to be different from all the rest. Their Government swept to power with a promise of reform – operating by the rules and ending the pernicious reign of nod-and-wink politics.

And now it turns out their crowd is just as bad.

Overall, though, we found the general reaction very dispiriting. It was a shrugging acceptance that this is the way things work. Much of the Opposition included.

“What’s wrong with a bit of patronage? Isn’t that what we’re elected to do?” argued one Government TD.

Across the airwaves, hapless backbenchers polished their brass necks and blustered for Ireland, seemingly unaware that Joe Public isn’t entirely made up of gullible half-wits. The big guns went missing.

But talking to people around Leinster House, we didn’t find anyone rushing to convince us that the shuffling of the care centre locations was anything other than a classic example of stroke politics.

Not one.

So, we had the Minister for Health, unable to produce a shred of documentary evidence to explain how certain locations were fast-tracked up this important list of health centres.

But Enda is happy with James. And Eamon is happy with James. And that’s all that matters. In the interests of stimulus and stability.

Then we had the original list of places earmarked for these facilities, ranked in order of need and fully backed up by a substantial document outlining the methodology used to select them.

Róisín Shortall’s list, all done above board, fully transparent and in accordance with the programme for government.

When Dicey Reilly added to and tinkered with that list, but couldn’t adequately explain why, the junior minister resigned. “Stroke politics,” she declared.

But in Kildare Street, we detected a strange air of sympathy for the embattled Reilly.

Fine Gael’s deputy leader may not be the most popular person in his parliamentary party – no track record with Fine Gael, headhunted by Enda and made opposition health spokesman on his first day as a TD in 2007 – but if there was to be a villain in this piece, it wasn’t him.

It was Róisín.

We were struck by the underlying message that James Reilly was very unlucky to have ended up with Róisín Shortall as one of his junior ministers.

You see, politics is about the art of compromise – and Róisín can’t. And sure, what harm was Reilly doing only pulling a few strokes? This scandal was all that bloody woman’s fault.

Well, maybe not all her fault, because we mustn’t forget the media, trying to “drive a wedge” between Labour and Fine Gael. That’s what one Labour deputy said was the real reason for the furore.

“A man wouldn’t have resigned like that,” said another, in all seriousness. We forgot to mention Willie Penrose. But then, Willie resigned on a matter of principle.

Whereas Róisín . . . well, she’s difficult to work with, apparently.

One Minister privately expressed his disgust. He was apoplectic over the cheek of Fianna Fáil trying to give his party lectures on probity and good government.

As the week went by, Fine Gael and Labour sat shoulder to shoulder with Dicey Reilly and brazened things out. Who could point the finger anyway? Not when there were whispers that an aspiring Labour TD, who just missed out on a Dáil seat in the last election, had been gifted one of the primary care centre plums.

In a lucky twist for Calamity James, there was fleeting talk of possible corruption when it emerged that his friend and political associate owned one of the sites in Balbriggan. It was just coincidence, but it gave the Government the chance to fume about baseless allegations of corruption, while conveniently ignoring the fact that their man still couldn’t explain the rejigging of the list.

On Thursday the Tánaiste, out of the blue, came over all decisive. He summoned the head of the Department of Health, along with the head of the HSE, to his office. They assured Gilmore that Calamity James had nothing to do with choosing the sites.

But there was no mention of why certain locations were bumped up the list. And no documents.

You want to see some? Put in a Freedom of Information request, he told a gobsmacked Opposition.

But Eamon was satisfied. Because he has to be. For the sake of keeping the show on the road. Which is understandable.

Our Minister isn’t corrupt. He was only pulling a stroke.

Time to move on. Nothing more to see.

It’s only those disappointed and disillusioned eejits who thought this Government was supposed to be different, who won’t let go.

Now. Have a look at the lovely photograph of Enda Kenny looking chiselled and handsome on the cover of Time magazine.

What an honour. Aren’t we great, all the same?

Truly, it’s been an awful political week.