Celebrity Big Brother takes some beating. As a recovering BBaddict, I had a slip last week, and took a peek. (My addiction stretched to a single series, the one with George Galloway and my hero, crossdressing basketball player, Denis Rodman. ) The fare on view was awful. Celebrity is a devalued currency, but how is Teddy Sheringham's girlfriend a celebrity when Teddy isn't one himself? Stay tuned to next year's programme to witness Paudi �? Sé's debut.

Anyway, this hysterical woman was shouting demented abuse at a good looking Indian woman and a few others were loving it. That's entertainment.

There was nothing for it but to plumb lower depths and tune into what passed for political fare in this country through the week.

It started out with Albert reprising a sulk over Bertie shafting him for the presidency 10 years ago. As taoiseach, Reynolds would not have allowed Bertie take the money in the early 1990s from friends or strangers. Albert didn't mention Bertie's 50-G under the bed in Drumcondra, which was very polite of him.

The great leader wasn't having any of it. That controversy is in the past, and all the questions it left unanswered will remain so, as the Irish people don't give a fiddler's. He took off for Saudi Arabia, the two Marys, Hanafin and Coughlan, following the requisite five steps behind him in the kingdom.

Therein, he reiterated his mission to bring peace to the Middle East. His hosts nodded sagely, and according to some reports, a few princes enquired whether there was any chance these days of snaffling a Haw Hee passport.

Bertie met his fellow leaderfor-life, the dictator Abdullah, in the latter's home, a tent in the desert. What is it with these tyrants and the desert?

Gadhafi is the same. They oversee kingdoms, command vast properties, own lots of women, yet choose to live in a tent in the desert. If this catches on, Brian Cowen will eventually be leading the country from a lean-to in a bog in deepest Offaly.

Back home, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Ahern will rule and rule, in the absence of a real alternative, barring any more 50-grand landmines. Enda Kenny reacted to the crisis around his leadership by getting his hair cut. This man has had more rug rethinks than Bertie has generous friends.

On Tuesday, Enda posed with a new poster outside Leinster House, his right hand held over his chest, exactly where the advisors told him to place it. He had the cut of a Roman senator, missing only a toga, and the line:

"Et tu, Rabbitte?"

Pat, for his part, was busy issuing statements on where he stood with Fianna Fáil.

Each statement clarified the one that went before. He won't go into government with them, come what may, bar a national emergency, and that's a definite maybe.

Liz McManus was talkin' world war three blues. Only in the event of a third world war would she agree to serve with the Soldiers of Destiny. (Iraq might get you out of a hole there, Liz. Hold it up to the light and it could pass for a global conflict. ) Over on the right, Michael McDowell was lashing out at Labour's con job on the electorate in 1992. Michael has recall issues. After the last general election, he was privy to a far greater con by the PDs, when, after signing up to government with Fianna Fáil, senior members began talks with Fine Gael about a merger. The con ultimately didn't bear swag, but Mickser should stay out of glasshouses.

Meanwhile, Trevor Sargent and his band of merry men and women steered clear of the pantomime. These days, the Greens are in danger of giving Irish politics some substance.

It seems like only yesterday that the Greens passed for a bunch of muesli-munching space cadets. Now they appear to be the sanest people in town, concentrating on their own game, pursuing coherent policies that interest great swathes of the electorate. Everybody else, meanwhile, would have been at home in the Big Brother house last week.