At 07.50 they announced we had missed our slot . . . but there's another in 25 minutes! We finally took off at 08.40. At 09.35 they announced we'd be on hold for 25 minutes. We finally landed at 10.05. That's 2 hours 45 minutes for a 50-minute flight. Furious travellers crammed the aisle to the parting wish that "this short delay did not inconvenience you"!

But the saboteurs weren't finished with me: my onward flight was stated to be leaving from Terminal 1. Helpful security thought that the only Middle Eastern destinations were served by El Al . . .but they deferred to the printed evidence. Quick calls from the security line ascertained that our
flight was leaving from the other end of Heathrow. I gambled by staying in line, remembering that en route to the gates there's a transfer bus to terminal 4. Once through security you must move as fast as possible without alarming staff.

Miraculously, I made it.

25TH APRIL, LONDON'S WEST END
Thank God for mobiles and fast trains. I hook up with our Venezuelan director; we dodge the taxi line by exiting the station and walking against traffic to out-distance other briefcase commandos.

On the way I unlock my PIN at an ATM. I've no recollection of changing my number but the bank insists I did and then snarled the card by inputting the old number. Now I'm back in credit and cash by the narrowest of margins . . . called 'stretching working capital'.

We turn up on time . . . only to cool our heels awaiting the City aristocrat . . . who then hogs the airtime, leaving us wondering should we interrupt.

The BBC investigative business journalist scheduled for my first meeting only half-believes our excuse. It does seem far-fetched. He suspects I have cold feet. Could he share my cab back to Heathrow? Why not? He appears on time with his boss, as I drag myself away from the City guru.

Being frugal public servants, they'd waited till I emerged and didn't have a precious cab waiting.

The cab's interior makes an unusual studio, but they're the professionals. I had prepared frank answers, having been briefed by one super-major executive who couldn't go on to record. When asked a question that could only be answered by outing my source, I blamed "industry gossip"!

How should we handle the media? Think through obvious questions in advance. Don't lie.

They've the final word . . . if you finesse them they'll get you. You're entitled to spin . . . but don't argue for more than your maximum defensible position. It's counter-productive to claim the implausible, even if you're convinced. Better adapt your case to their expectations. As they learn, you can shift the goalposts. Acknowledge mistakes and offer solutions. Some journalists only write as deadlines approach . . . so be brief and focused. Neither journalists nor readers care much for detail.

Journalists want stories. Modest income colours their world view. But they're open to ideas and a witty sound-bite. Journalists will rarely be just . . . at least by your reckoning. The best you can expect is a fair hearing.

1ST MAY, GLENAGEARY
Minister Mary Hanafin was at the DART station.

She cut through red-tape to deliver an all-weather pitch to my old school. Today she seems diffident.

But the media will bore of attacking one side.

Decisive leadership can stem a crisis.

Bertie left it too long . . . he should have called the election after the budget. Now property is down . ..and will drag the economy with it. Vested interests denounce gloomsters. Apparently it's ok to exhibit wild exuberance but not to be sceptical. Is there any clearer bear signal? Polls only tell you what punters say about first preferences. Critical seats are won on the fifth or higher counts. Yet preferences generally continue down the ballot.

Many who prospered under the Celtic Tiger think the government has gone stale. They've forgotten bad times and suspect that uninterrupted power corrupts. They may evict Fianna Fail for a single term. If so, they'll hand the alternative coalition a poisoned chalice: property tycoons live high on the hog because that's key to attracting deals and funding. But they already suffer rising interest rates. The talk is of residential property but there's a lot of vacant of"ce space.

Values are falling.

Irish banks are rigorous lenders. They will move quickly, knowing that first out will get best price.

Property speculators are so geared that a 10% fall in capital values may wipe out their equity. Delay kills deals . . . there's now no reason to buy. Builders go bust because they literally pour cash into a black hole, which has little value till it's finished.

Blaming Michael McDowell's stamp duty gaffe misses the point: this correction has little to do with stamp duty. Irish tax rates are low. Stamp duty should be reformed . . . and replaced with a property tax. But it's just a trigger . . . an exogenous variable like 9/11. If not McDowell's mouth it would have been something else.

Irish property values are excessive. That's why they'll keep falling. One South African friend has half-heartedly tried to buy since 1999 . . . now she's hounded by agents. Naturally, wooing makes her fussier.

6TH MAY, PROVENCE
Spending Election Day in Provence is thoughtprovoking. Life is civilised if you're rich. Social rules are generous, health care excellent. Some of the world's finest companies are French.

But many dynamic youths emigrate. True unemployment is about 10% . . . maybe twice that among under 25s and four times that in immigrant neighbourhoods. France has steadily lost competitiveness since its super-power dominance in the 18th century.

Post-war European social democracy was a noble model, but it no longer works. We can legislate against longer hours in Poland, but not against longer hours in India. Asians get up earlier, and work harder for longer. They're becoming more productive while quality improves.

France should join the Foreign Legion!