"When I met with President, eh, Sarkozy at the Elysee yesterday, we both agreed the importance of further developing the excellent relations between our two countries . . .notwithstanding the result of last night's game." Ba-boom! Most laughed a little too loudly at his rugby 'joke', while a few suppressed giggles at the unscripted stumble.

Brian Lenihan sat motionless behind the Taoiseach, the palms of his hands flat on his knees as if he was about to break into an impromptu game of Pattie Cakes, while the Irish ambassador to France Anne Anderson, the dynamic director of the Irish College Sheila Pratschke and 200 guests enlivened by Ahern's presence smiled and listened attentively.

As the Taoiseach spoke, Cyril Brennan from the Irish embassy in Paris appeared behind me and handed me a hard copy of Ahern's speech. "The Taoiseach will do a doorstep after Marian, " he said. "You know? For questions about the match." A choreographed doorstepping? That's an oxymoron! How terribly polite we have all become.

But these gentlemen's agreements at official functions serve a purpose.

When there are no hard facts, or memories of hard facts, to grasp onto the void is filled by "colour" . . . and the effect of someone as famously ordinary as Ahern is intoxicating. To be so powerful, embattled and affable enough to stammer over his words is a potent political cocktail.

He dodged questions about the Mahon tribunal and when asked about Sarkozy he avoided gushing compliments, or ostentation unfit for the Drumcondra Don, except to say it was his job to get to know these people.

He was happy to talk rugby, which allows him to showcase his down-toearth personality. But he let something slip about Sarkozy.

Of the French president's support of his rugby team, Ahern said, "He's a more volatile man." Ahern is not volatile. He is anything but. To take him on is like wrestling a Burlington Bertie teddy bear. Grill him all you like, but he bounces back to shape with the same ineffectual beady-eyes and, yes, slightly adorable expression on his face.

In the solace of the reopened Old Library at the Irish College in Paris, which underwent a 1m restoration, Ahern perused some of the 9,000 items dating from 1500. This collection of books and manuscripts from Ireland, Scotland and England was presented to the college by Napoleon in 1805 for safekeeping after the French Revolution.

Ahern nosed one manuscript from 1616 with three crude illustrations: the wild Irishman, the civil Irishman and the Irish gentleman. He laughed. They were funny because they all looked the same, just like Ahern . . . the last of the socialists, friend of the developer and mild-mannered leader. But it left me wondering: is it really possible to be all three?