The Scintillating, Supercharged, Stunning, Vociferous, Best-Ever, Green White & Gold Ard Fheis

It took Albert to make them pay attention.Albert with the permanent tan, Albert with the smile, Albert who can with one wave of his arm make the grassroots stand rigid with excitement. Albert said he was honoured to be back on the team. Apart from Albert the speakers on Saturday night were just filling in until TV time. The buzz of conversation in the hall drowning their words, the We love Charlie signs being gripped tighter as the hour came nearer, the atmosphere thickening - it was like a bull pawing the ground, ready to charge.

And here he was. Face thick and matted with makeup. The man with the non-reflective face strode forth among his shiny-faced colleagues and when the crowd roared his thumb went up and out and his face bore a message for every doubter and begrudger: gotcha!

Of course the crowd screamed, of course the reporters carefully noted every move of Dessie O'Malley's, every grin, every grimace, the horsepower behind his handclap. And O'Malley, watching them watching him, grinned. Have yez nothing better to be doing? It was boring if you weren't in love with or in fear of Charlie. It was predictable. Nothing happened that wasn't in the script. Motions were put on the Clar and pulled off again just as easily - they weren't democratic expressions of the will of the party, they were as decorative as the giant picture behind the platform, as functional as the chairs. They passed a motion in support of Garret FitzGerald's Amendment and there wasn't a speaker against. That wasn't because there were no Fianna Failers against. There were. They just, somehow, didn't get to speak. Speakers, like the chairs, the pictures and the motions, are decorative and functional. Just like the makeup on Charlie's face.

Charlie spoke. His speech was a classic. It had substance of a sort - the support for the SDLP proposal on a Council for a new Ireland. It had expressions of love of the mass of people and disgust at the few who would threaten their welfare. Promises to do much better than the present shower - the usual stuff that gets the cheers. It also had the requisite urges to hysteria. "Our great Fianna Fail organisation". Just saying it draws applause. In the concluding paragraphs the words "Fianna Fail", "Eamon de Valera", "republican principles", "our history", and the like were studding the script like currants in a cake. Same at the beginning: little emotional triggers. "What happens in Northern Ireland happens to all of us", said Charlie. It's an unremarkable phrase, yet it drew a burst of applause. It could be said by Garret FitzGerald in similar circumstances and it would draw similar applause. It means nothing, commits no one to anything, yet in the context of an Ard Fheis it is exactly what should be said.

You choose your words carefully. You might be going to say that Fianna Fail represents a wide, sweeping cross-section of our community - but you don't say that. You drop the word "community" and put in the word "nation". Why? Perhaps someone has a theory about this, because Charlie changed it. Perhaps the word "nation" should be said as often as possible. Just as he meticulously went through the 17 -page script and every time the phrase "the coalition" was mentioned he changed it to "this coalition". It sounds trivial, but someone in there doesn't think so.

There is nothing unusual about this. FitzGerald also carefully crafts his speeches, as he carefully crafts his Ard Fheisanna. They are hand-tooled weapons in the fight for support. And the following Monday the national papers reprinted Charlie's speech in full as though it was an important expression of belief. And the RTE technicians work hand-in-glove with the parties to stage-manage what are supposedly spontaneous and democratic expressions. The voters pay for the technology which is brazenly employed to win their votes.

Charlie finished. They cheered, roared, strained at the arms of the security men in their efforts to rush the platform. Pledged that they would rise and follow Charlie. It was, they say, the best Saturday night Ard Fheis ever. On Saturday night they got drunk on Charlie Haughey; on Sunday morning it was a hair of the dog that bit them on the Saturday night.

"There is good in all of us and I greatness in some of us," Ned Brennan told the crowd. "For every short-coming Charlie has, he has a dozen strong points."

At this Charlie Haughey stood up and strutted off the platform, grinning merrily to himself. Ned Brennan pointed towards the crowd, "the soul of Fianna Fail is out there." "Get out McCreevy ," roared a member of the soul. And then: "Judas is up there!" McCreevy seemed calm and sat at the back of the platform as though motions for his expulsion were withdrawn by their sponsors every Sunday morning.

The message was loud. The message this Sunday morning was clear. Charlie Haughey was good, the rank and file were good. The parliamentary party was bad, the press was bad. And Fine Gael, like the big bad wolf was creeping up slowly but surely; it would eat Little Red Riding Hood as soon as it would look at her. One of the speakers attacked the Irish Press, another George Colley. One wanted to exclude the press from the Ard Fheis for one day, another deplored rumours and speculation.

But what most of them wanted was Motion Number Eleven to be restored to the Clar. They wanted to discuss Motion Number Eleven. The first man was disappointed that Motion Number Eleven was withdrawn and it wasn't long before a voice like thunder spoke: "We want Blaney!" The disappointed man continued "The cancer comes from within our own party. The cancer stretched to the front bench. We must curse those who put themselves before the party."

Jackie Healy Rae thought that Saturday night was the "greatest night ever in the history of the party". He emphasised that Charlie Haughey was the leader. But he too wanted Blaney back. Which caused more cries from pockets of the hall, as though from valleys in Donegal: "We want Blaney!" The cry rose and spread slightly. There were more pockets than there first appeared to be.

"We want Blaney!

"We want Blaney!"

Brian Lenihan was sitting beside Padraig Flynn for all of this; both men were having a great time. They were looking at Lenihan's speech and they were pointing to the bits where he should rouse the crowd. Their fists went in unison as they sat there. They looked at one another and agreed that, yes, this was the spot where Brian should really show them how it was done. Then they looked at one another and laughed. Brian, however, got sudden inspiration when he stood up to speak. He decided to make the classroom stand for a prayer. "In case there's any doubt over who we support for leader," he said, "let's record it by standing up." Everyone stood up and cheered. "I take it that's an end to all that nonsense," said Lenihan. All that nonsense, presumably, refers to several lengthy recent meetings of the Fianna Fail parliamentary party.

One of these was caused by Charlie McCreevy, who stood up during Lenihan's speech to give an interview to RTE. Brian Lenihan, who was later to call Garret FitzGerald the high priest of confusion, told the Fianna Fail Ard Fheis that the reason why Fianna Fail was such a great party was "that it was bound together in unity and loyalty." The crowd cheered. Had he wanted a standing ovation for this remark, he would need only to have given a nod to the hall. They were on for anything.