DÁIL SKETCH:HALLELUJAH! FINALLY, an Irish political leader has found a backbone, climbed off the fence and said it like it is.

Yesterday in the Dáil, Eamon Gilmore stood up and told John O’Donoghue to resign or be removed from office.

At that moment, the look of shock on the faces of his fellow TDs showed just how disconnected some have become from the real world.

The Labour leader was just doing his job. But when he got to his feet and began, “On Sunday, when I read the report of the expenses claimed by the Ceann Comhairle over the last two years . . .” a chilly hush descended on the chamber, like he was informing them of a sudden death among one of their number.

“I felt that the pattern of extravagance was unacceptable,” said Eamon in regretful tones, as the temperature plunged further.

What he was doing was unprecedented. Where the general public is concerned – and in terms of thinking the public is miles ahead of the people who represent them in Leinster House – Eamon Gilmore was simply stating the obvious, and not before time.

But they were stunned in the Dáil.

Since the details of the Ceann Comhairle’s five-star skites around the racecourses of the world came to light, politicians from all sides have been drowning in a sea of fudge.

The saga of his lavish jaunts, conducted under the cover of important State business, has enraged the public. It’s made a laughing stock of John O’Donoghue and added to an overwhelming sense of cynicism and distrust in the political process. But his colleagues have been turning cartwheels – in the interest of due process, of course, and maybe it’s best not to cast stones if you’re not free of sin yourself.

Who in the last few days hadn’t wanted to fling a shoe at the radio, or put a boot through the TV as yet another senior TD was wheeled out to pussy-foot around the question of the Ceann Comhairle – and his wife – living the high life at the taxpayers’ expense?

The question of whether O’Donoghue should or should not resign was met with hemming and hawing, dithering and double-speak and enough hedging to keep them beating around the bush until the public interest waned.

In Leinster House, they can dish it out but they can’t take it. When one of their own dirties his bib, the instinctive reaction is to whip it off, put it through the washing machine and then commission a report to see what measures can be put in place to curb dribbling in the future.

All eyes were on John O’Donoghue when he ascended the chair to preside over Leaders’ Questions. He has had a torrid few weeks, mostly trying to avoid explaining away the growing evidence concerning his penchant for first-class air travel, limousines, wildly expensive hotels and classic horse races.

The Opposition had expressed itself most concerned. The Government hadn’t expressed itself one way or the other. The nation vigorously expressed itself on Liveline yesterday afternoon, leaving Leinster House in no doubt as to their view of the matter.

Anywhere else, and the Bull would have been taken by the horns a long time ago and put out of his misery. (He’s not very happy about the way he is being treated in the media and has made his views known in this regard.) Anywhere else – across the water, for example – and he would have become an ex-ceann comhairle a long time ago.

But this is Leinster House, and these are Irish politicians, and they’re too nice to say what has to be said, when it has to be said, to whom it has to be said.

For them, there is always an easier way. This time, where O’Donoghue was concerned, it was decided his case would be put to the Houses of the Oireachtas Commission. John O’Donoghue is chairman of the commission. It meets in private.

Just the job for Brian Cowen. “I want to see full transparency, in respect of what we do here. We have nothing to hide.” Shut the Bull into a meeting of the commission so, because “it’s important that the confidence of the House in the Ceann Comhairle can be confirmed on the basis of a discussion and a decision be be taken at that committee meeting...” And so on.

As he said yesterday, you won’t find Biffo impugning any man’s integrity.

He gave another poor performance in the Dáil, totally misreading the public mood. A mood bolstered by a slew of damning receipts from the Ceann Comhairle’s office.

When the time came, it didn’t come as a surprise to John O’Donoghue. He wasn’t ambushed. Eamon Gilmore told him he had run out of road, and if the Taoiseach did not accede to a meeting on his future, he would be taking a certain course during Leaders’ Questions.

Those Fianna Fáil backbenchers who were later muttering about “nasty politics” didn’t know that Deputy Gilmore has signalled his intentions.

In the chair, the Ceann Comhairle waited for what he must have known was going to happen. He twiddled a paper clip in his fingers, his foot tapped nervously on the floor.

Then it was time. He put both elbows on the arm rests and clasped his hands together, fingers entwined, staring straight ahead.

Eamon Gilmore seemed a little nervous, but he ploughed ahead, convention be damned.

“A Ceann Comhairle” he said, addressing him directly. “I regret to say this, but I consider that your position is no longer tenable.” In the chamber, the low hum of conversation stopped.

John O’Donoghue nodded his head slightly. That was all.

“I think you will either have to resign, or I think you will have to be removed from office.”

Deputy Gilmore said his party would be tabling a motion of no confidence in him.

“Thank you, Deputy Gilmore,” said O’Donoghue in a very soft voice. He paused, then looked to his left. “Em . . . Taoiseach.”

Brian Cowen rose in reply. He sounded shaken and repeated his view that the commission was the proper place to air the matter.

The place was so quiet. It was that hush you hear when a deputy is in grave trouble. Ministers looked thoughtful. It was almost as if TDs were embarrassed – for the Ceann Comhairle, whom they like, and perhaps, for themselves, and the things they have to do sometimes.

“This was something that I found very difficult to do. It’s a sad day,” said Eamon Gilmore afterwards.

But somebody had to do it.

As Enda Kenny realised when he took to the plinth an hour later, calling on O’Donoghue to resign. Stable doors and horses came to mind.

Gilmore acted decisively and it will stand to him. As for John O’Donoghue – the Bull, the Bill, Johnny Junkets, Johnny Cash – there’ll be no stewards’ inquiry to throw him a lifeline.

He’s finished.

Why did it take so long?