What's going on? Having dug up the patriot dead for the party, are they now plundering Andy's grave for some avant garde street cred?

The t-shirts were actually a mock-up of Warhol's famous negative print in colour, which featured Marilyn Monroe.

In place of the sex icon from the '60s, the bould soldiers imposed a sex icon from the noughties, Mr Bertie Ahern. Truly, these people know no depths.

It's a long way from avant garde to a Fianna Fail shindig.

Nearly 5,000 of them gathered at the Citywest complex on Friday evening, arriving by bus, rail, sea and air, and even a few by cars as big as houses.

The polls may be a bit wobbly at the moment, but the faithful are confident of their place in the grand scheme of things.

Like the footballers of Kerry or the New Zealand All Blacks, they know that while fate can throw up the odd bad day, destiny has always been a friend.

The man with the magic in his smile opened proceedings with a green-tinged address. In the old days, this meant sticking it to the Brits, but today it involves saving the planet.

Bertie and his kindred spirit, Kermit the Frog, might find that it's not easy being green, but he'll give it a lash just in case the numbers stack up after polling day.

The rumour that he delivered the speech wearing sandals was unfounded.

As with all these affairs, the real action took place at the bar thereafter. Meanwhile, the main hall was occupied by a smattering of the faithfully faithful, those who persist, against all prevailing winds, to eat their dinner in the middle of the day.

They hailed their hero, that son of the old sod Eamon O Cuiv, whom you'd swear was raised by coyotes in the Burren, but is actually a product of Ballsbridge. Pure Fianna Fail.

While the speeches were long and windy yesterday, promises were thin on the ground. This principled outfit will not stoop to auction politics.

It's far too soon for that.

Delegates, however, kept their ears pricked just in case.

Most even stayed awake right through Dick Roche's address.

As for the fifty grand question (oops, touchy figure), Bertie was never going to give away the election date at this gathering.

Instead, Bertie used the opportunity to buoy the troops. All else was just dross and droll, but they loved every bit of it.

The whole shindig was geared towards his address last night, when the nation would tune in and feel the magic.

Through the day, they kept queuing up to be registered in time for the apparition.

A sign advertising it outside the conference hall carried a warning more redolent of a pilgrimage to Mecca.

It read: "Entry will be on a first-come first-served basis.

In the interests of your own health and safety, please cooperate with stewards and security."

And so they gathered to hear the word from Bertie, a champion of the plain people of Ireland, a man who can elicit tribute from friend and stranger alike, a man who is whatever you want him to be. A man of his time.

Say what you like about Fianna Fail but you can highlight their lyin', cheatin', thievin' hearts and they won't hold it against you. They don't do self-righteous or faux offence.

They do power.