My own projects are coming along nicely, a few developments here, the odd housing estate there. You know yourself. It's not easy being a nation builder.

Now, I've included a little something to keep the wolves from the door, or . . . as you might put it if ever asked . . . to throw up the odd poster.

It's just a teeny weeny cheque for 499.99, a gesture we can keep between ourselves. No need to declare it to the Public Offices Commission or any of those busybodies.

For the record, this is a political donation. There, I said it. There are no strings attached to this political donation. I, who am of sound mind, have forwarded this offering in pursuit of the democratic ideals which you, deputy, embody.

How've you been since we met at the Galway Races last summer? That tent is just the job, a genuine monument to democracy. It's where you politicians get the chance to find out what is really bothering the ordinary developer in the street. Or, as our former friend Frank Dunlop might put it, the tent facilitates a confluence of interests through imbibing and convivial chat about the ways of the world. All it's really missing is a good class of hooker, although the begrudgers might say enough political prostitution goes on in there.

Speaking of poor old Frank, what do you think of the craic up at the Castle?

The amnesia tribunal. Hasn't Tom Kitt some memory? I mean, the mere fact he could remember that he was on Dublin county council in the early 1990s must go down as a feat of superlative recall.

Most of us wouldn't know what country we were in back then, or at least what country our bank accounts were in.

But fair play to Tom, his recollections were crystal clear. Apart from the odd two grand he received, but who could have kept track of all that back then? God be with those days when we could donate to you fellas without any hullabaloo.

And that lovely man Don Lydon. I always say that if I ever really need a psychologist, Don is your only man.

How could a man of such class keep track of incidental donations of a few grand here and there? His explanation about why that developer Jones might have given him one tranche of money sounds spot on. Perhaps, the head doctor told the tribunal, because he was a "beautiful man". And sure, isn't that what cuddly Don is himself.

As for GV Wright. I met him the other day and the way he looked at me I could see he wanted to forget that I, or any like me, ever existed in his world. I mentioned our mutual former friend Frank. Poor old GV went into spasms.

No, it's not like it used to be. These days compulsive democrats like me have to jump through hoops to ensure we can continue supporting the process. But jump we will, for nations won't get built if we don't do the right thing and fork out.

The way I'm going, I sound like Mary Harney. Did you hear her in the Dail last week?

"People engage in honest fundraising to support political activity, " says she. And right you are Mary, well she knows. Favours just don't come into it.

Now, deputy, on a point of information. That parcel of land I mentioned to you in last week's letter (and remember, the envelope was thick), it's up for rezoning next month. I'm just letting you know, in case the occasion passed without you notifying one of your lackeys on the council. Enough said.

I realise you won't remember the rest of this letter, and there isn't a hope in hell you'll remember the little offering I've included, but I trust you won't forget my commitment to democracy when the rezoning matter raises its head.

Until the next cheque, sorry, letter,