Frank Dunlop has been saying for the last seven years that at a fundraising lunch in 1993 he told Bruton that Fine Gael councillor Tom Hand was demanding a huge sum for his vote. Dunlop isn't sure whether he specified this sum as �250,000, the amount he alleges Hand was looking for.

The bribe was to be paid for a vote in favour of a shopping development at Quarryvale, in Clondalkin, west Dublin.

In 2000, Bruton continued "to deny vehemently any suggestion that he was ever informed of an attempt at bribery." In 2003, his memory began its long road to recovery. "I believe I did have a conversation at the end of the lunch with him. I have no recollection of the content of the conversation."

On Thursday, he arrived at total recall. Almost. "It gradually came back to me that Mr Dunlop said something to me that was not inconsequential." He said reading over Dunlop's recent evidence prompted the recall. Dunlop, in turn, had said Bruton's reply to the allegation was, "There are no angels in the world." This brought it all back to Johnny baby.

The scenario painted by the former Taoiseach is that his memory is something of a machine, that failed to function until a key phrase was inserted and then it spluttered into action. A more plausible explanation might be that he was having sleepless nights over the terror that awaited him at the end of Patricia Dillon's quickfire questions, which helped him remember what had seemed so elusive.

Bruton accepts he did nothing about the allegation. He didn't talk to Hand. He didn't talk to the cops. He didn't attempt to investigate it. He didn't start an inquiry to determine whether, at the least, Hand should be investigated. He appears to have turned a blind eye, a deaf ear, a redundant tongue, to allegations that Fine Gael councillors were on the take in a big way.

He could have consulted with the dogs in the street, who would have confirmed his suspicions. But even if he was so minded, what would have been the consequences of a thorough party investigation to determine whether the planning process was being corrupted?

He would have been threatened with legal action by his own councillors. He would have been threatened with the withdrawal of funding by developer interests. He would have found precious little back-up, legally, in an area where successive generations of politicians declined to legislate for. Would it be worth all that hassle to do the right thing?

Obviously, Bruton thought not. He let the sleeping dogs lie. He turned a blind eye as Quarryvale became a reality, scuppering plans for a town centre in Neilstown. A shopping centre for commuters was given precedence over a town centre designed to regenerate an area, and minimise the crime and antisocial behaviour that routinely blight sink estates.

The betrayal of the people of Neilstown . . . and Clondalkin, as Quarryvale had little for them . . . was obvious to many at the time. Some politicians earned a few thousand quid on the back of the betrayal. Others made a lot more.

Then there were many like John Bruton, who turned a blind eye to what was going on because to do otherwise might be more hassle than it was worth.