How much? Five big ones. In an envelope, please. Of course it's at your own discretion, but it would be rude not pay tribute to the occasion; there is no such thing as a free dinner.

Sometimes, we are provided with an insight into little occasions that speak loudly of how we are governed.

These glimpses are rare and should therefore be valued. Last week, we had a look-see into how Fianna Fail and its buddies broke bread in 1994.

There is every reason to believe life carries on in the same manner today.

The event also demonstrates the Chinese walls that are constructed at the interface of business and politics, and gives new meaning to the Bertieism, "whipround".

The event was a "private" dinner on Friday 11 March 1994. It took place at the home of Cork accountant, Niall Welch, who lives in Glanmire, outside the city. His friend, then Taoiseach Albert Reynolds, was in attendance, and the occasion was to serve as a fundraiser for the party.

Another local man, developer Owen O'Callaghan, was also there. O'Callaghan had his own guest list for the occasion, according to the host.

It might strike some people as rude that a guest brings his own list to dinner, but Owen wasn't just any guest. The planning tribunal has already heard evidence that at this time he was liaising with Fianna Fail head office over funding, as well as contributing hundreds of thousands of pounds to the party. And that's not counting the �1m he paid Frank Dunlop, some of which Dunlop passed on as bribes to various councillors. If a man is spreading around that kind of money, he may well have been entitled to invite whomever the hell he wanted to dinner in somebody else's house.

O'Callaghan was present at the dinner in his role as demented champion of democracy, as expressed through his altruistic funding of Fianna Fail. At the same time, he was hell bent on persuading Fianna Fail councillors in Dublin that his interests should hold sway over those of the people and businesses in the west of the city, who were opposed to his development at Quarryvale. But he left that hat at home, as he always did when pursuing the ideals of democracy.

Fittingly for the occasion, the party's chief fundraiser, Des Richardson, was present. It would be understandable if Des was confused on that night. For example, he might have wondered for whom he was raising funds on this occasion.

A few months previously, his fundraising talents went towards organising a whipround for his mate, Bertie Ahern. That was personal as opposed to professional fundraising. And already there was confusion over the two. Stockbroker Padraic O'Connor maintains he contributed five big ones to the party operation, as opposed to Bertie personally, despite what Bertie says. O'Connor's cheque transmogrified in the whipround proceeds into a bank draft made out to none other than Des. So you could understand if the fundraiser was confused about his various roles at that point in time.

Another person was at the dinner in spirit. Richardson gave the guests a little speech about the party and its finances, the text for which was written by Frank Dunlop. Now there's a man who could multi-task before the term was even invented.

Last Thursday, Richardson told the tribunal that after he took over as the party's chief fundraiser in 1993, Dunlop "kindly offered his services in terms of communications."

Thereafter, Dunlop wrote speeches for Richardson, mainly aimed at party donors, telling them why it is a good thing to contribute money in pursuit of democratic ideals. No better boy for that task.

As of now, there hasn't been any evidence to suggest Dunlop wrote a speech directed at Bertie's donors, setting out why they should give a dig-out to the party leader.

Meanwhile, the party speechwriter was bribing party councillors, to buy their votes, which were wanted by his other employer, the dinner guest Owen O'Callaghan, for his Quarryvale project.

Niall Welch is a successful businessman with a nice house, but it must have been some job to accommodate all those Chinese walls on the night in question.

Things went swimmingly at the dinner. There were a few speeches.

Reynolds spoke on the economy, but nobody suggested a personal digout for him, not that he would have accepted it anyway.

Des spoke Frank's words. "It was about the state of the party, from a financial point of view, where it had come from, where we would like to go, " Richardson remembered.

The grub was supplied by caterers from the Imperial Hotel. The atmosphere was extremely convivial, the type of environment in which men of the world discuss their mutual interests, and how those interests converge with the interests of the country as a whole, going forward. Great access to the prime minister for those who can get it, but it's unlikely Fr Sean Healy and his interests would be afforded the same relaxing ambience in which to make a pitch.

Then, there was the little matter of the bobs. The host said last week that he was "shocked" at a suggestion by one of the guests that he had advised a contribution of �5,000 a skull. "I'd be very surprised if I said to somebody, 'Please come to my house, the price is �5,000, '" Welsh told the tribunal.

Of course he said no such thing.

But the guest, Colm O Conaill, clarified on Thursday that he would have asked Welsh what might be an appropriate contribution and was told that five big ones should do the job. Hopefully, that misunderstanding will assist Welch in getting over his shock.

There were up to 20 guests at the dinner, including Reynolds, Richardson and two party officials. Only nine contributed, which is a poor show really from the good burghers of Cork.

Fifty grand was collected, five a skull from six of them, six from one and four in cash from a person unknown. O'Callaghan lobbed in 10 himself, which is what you would expect from such a fevered democrat.

Pat Farrell, then general secretary of the party, saw envelopes lying around on the table at the end of the night. Welsh couldn't recall any such envelopes and he couldn't remember being handed any envelopes. You'd swear the money was unclean.

In any event, Richardson lodged the money to a party account in Dublin the following Monday. There is no record of receipts being issued to the individual donors.

Tribunal lawyer Patricia Dillon pointed out the dangers of this oversight. What, she asked Richardson, if somebody said they had contributed �14,000 rather than �4,000?

Who could say that wasn't the case?

Richardson said he presumed there would have been a compliment slip with the cash, but none has survived in the records.

All round, the evening was a success, even if some of the tighter guests refused to cough up. Everybody ate the dinner. Bertie's pal, Mick Wall, would have enjoyed it. He wouldn't have been left outside in the cold bus, half starved, as he was in Manchester. They do things differently in Cork. Mick would have got fed . . . and he may even have thrown a few bob into the kitty had he been there. After all, what's another whipround between friends.