Ahern campaign:If in doubt, stick to your own. Taoiseach Bertie Ahern yesterday went on his first public canvass in the glare of television cameras in his Dublin Central heartland.
And the ladies of Moore Street did not let him down, offering hugs and kisses with abandon, along with a slice of cod if such was Mr Ahern's preference.
Four days into the campaign, Mr Ahern is noticeably defensive, physically hunched and unsure following the latest disclosures about his personal life and finances.
For now, he refuses to explain the circumstances surrounding the purchase of the house that is now his home on Beresford Avenue.
Indeed, he refuses to the point of silence. Facing stiff questioning from a Scottish reporter yesterday about whether he was a friend of NCB Stockbroking chief Padraic O'Connor, Mr Ahern went mute.
And he stayed mute, for several seconds, while television cameras whirred and recorded and observers pondered the logic of his action. Clearly, he has decided for now to stonewall, believing that the media will get bored or find that it is unable to keep a story moving without new detail.
Equally, too, he must feel unable to answer the questions.
The Ahern canvass is not as fast as it was in 1997 or in 2002. While it is not met with hostility, fewer charge forward to greet him than before. Heckling was evident, though in the case of one individual it had an orchestrated air about it as one barbed jibe at Mr Ahern followed another.
The language of the canvass has not changed: "Howya, lads. You're working hard. Fair dues to you," he said to workers in one shop and to many more.
He had arrived to loud cheers from supporters, particularly Senator Cyprian Brady, outside the GPO on O'Connell Street shortly before noon.
His new grandchildren are popular with middle-aged women.
"Ah, God bless the young ones, Taoiseach. Fair dues, I hope they're all well," said one silver-haired woman, who was quick to accept his embrace.
The health issue is everywhere. A small group gathered tightly around Mr Ahern as he discussed one case with a woman on Henry Street.
Unable to hear, some reporters shouted at each other. "It's a bone scan," said one. "No, no. It's a hip replacement," replied another. Within seconds, the canvass moved on.
Canvassing though always carries the risk of meeting disgruntled citizens. For Mr Ahern, that citizen was the Ballyfermot-born but now homeless 33-year-old Pat Golding.
"What are ye doing for the homeless? I'm on the street for four years. You get thrown out at nine o'clock in the morning, and you can't get back until nine o'clock in the evening."
Mr Ahern did not panic, quietly teasing out Mr Golding's circumstances. Why had he left one place? Why had he not used another? Mr Golding's complaints eased a little, though they resumed quickly when Mr Ahern had moved on and he was faced with journalists' questions: "He's doing nothing for the homeless," he declared.
On Henry Street, a woman using a Zimmerframe complained about water supplies to nearby houses. Details were taken.
The canvass surged on.
Half an hour later, the same woman reappeared at the Ilac shopping centre. Even Mr Ahern appeared taken aback. Promises of action were renewed.
