DÁIL SKETCH:An aural assault takes its toll before the mandarin mystery gets ears twitching again

EVER EXPERIENCED a recession in stereo? Twice as bad. Not to be recommended.

In the Dáil chamber yesterday afternoon: Minister for Finance, Brian Lenihan and his opposite numbers. In a committee room: Patrick Honohan, governor of the Central Bank, booming from the monitor about economic stability.

Dear God, is there no way to stem this aural onslaught? All together now: Bonds, bunds, promissory notes, IMF, markets and Rehn . . .

Remember the night Kathleen Ní Houlihan lost her sovereignty? Stimulus package, anyone? We’re all paying the price now.

It’s torture in Leinster House.

On the plus side, the Taoiseach was in great spirits. This only added to the sense of bewilderment.

“What’s wrong with Brian Cowen, he’s in very good form today?” a puzzled young journalist inquired of us.

Damned if we could supply an answer. We’ve long given up trying to fathom the enigma that is Biffo. Perhaps he’s given up trying to fathom himself. That might explain the lightness of mood.

Or maybe he was cheered by the presence of Brendan Smith, making his first appearance on the front bench since Cheesegate. Cowen’s Minister for Agriculture took the heat off him last week, and for that, Cowen must have been grateful.

Brendan attempted to soften the news of a €6 billion budget cut by announcing free Christmas cheddar for the needy.

Brian would never do anything so ridiculous.

The Taoiseach kept looking up at the press gallery as he delivered a steady stream of barbs and bon mots during Leaders’ Questions and the Order of Business – happy out, for once. Things may be bad, but at least he never made a show of himself over a dairy product.

His confident glances seemed to say: “Are yis writing all this down lads? Because I’m good when I get going, unlike yer man to my left. Cheesyo, Brendan, and don’t let the Durrus hit you on the way out!”

But the Fine Gael leader knocked him off his stride by bringing up the issue of what the Taoiseach knew about the state of Anglo Irish Bank’s financial situation pre-bailout. An unnamed former director of the bank has reportedly alleged that Cowen knew a lot more about the precarious state of the institution than he previously let on.

Biffo bridled. “Who is he?” he demanded, not unreasonably.

“I am not here to answer anonymous claims by anybody. If someone does not have the guts to put up what they are saying so that we can see what is the motivation behind their words, it is very hard for me to answer them.”

He then accused a heckling Joan Burton of being a conspiracy theorist. “I have nuttin’ to hide in relation to that matter at all. NUTTIN’!” bellowed the Biff.

And that was the end of that.

The Opposition returned to its demand for an immediate general election.

“It’s like the last days of the Roman Empire around here at the moment, Taoiseach . . .” said Pat Rabbitte. The excitement must have done for them.

“Would it not be a good idea for you to get in your car and go up to the Áras and dissolve the Government?” Rabbite asked.

The Taoiseach said he would not be ordering his State chariot to the Phoenix Park.

“You’re doing awful damage to the morale of the people by hanging on,” persisted Pat.

Biffo sniffed, before donning the green toga. “Those who are dropping the morale of the people are those who exaggerate the weaknesses in our economy and make no effort whatever to favour the national interest.”

How right he was to round on those individuals whom Bertie Ahern called cribbers and moaners. There is no need to “exaggerate the weaknesses in our economy”. The economy is well able to do that for itself.

And anyway, as governor Patrick Honohan soothed in another part of the House, even if the IMF was to come in, it would only do what our Government is doing at the moment. Which came as a comfort to the nation.

The day ended with a mystery.

It has emerged that Olli Rehn has a mole in Merrion Street, a chap who reports daily to him on the state of play in Ireland.

Brian Lenihan was anxious to play down the idea that the EU has put a supervisor into his department, poo-poohing the notion of Olli’s Eyes and Ears.

Joan Burton didn’t.

“He’s a tall gentleman from Hungary with glasses,” she revealed.

Whatever, shrugged Brian. He doesn’t have a “permanent facility” and is not in situ “on a permanent basis”.

But he didn’t deny that this “EU national who advises the commissioner” is a fixture for the foreseeable future. We can see him now – wearing a trilby, a drab mackintosh and little round spectacles. He carries a briefcase and a rolled-up umbrella.

His name is probably Laszlo. Zither music plays when he approaches.

The inevitable novel will be called Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Mandarin. We don't know the ending.