They will not go gently into that good night. Not if there's one more party to wring out of it. On Friday, Cairde Fhianna Fáil, the Friends of Fianna Fáil, gathered in the Citywest Hotel in Dublin, "celebrating the election of our new leader," according to the invitation.

Like comedy, politics is all about timing. The country is going down the tubes and Destiny's Soldiers are celebrating the man at the helm.

To be fair, Brian Cowen was entitled to an evening of respite among his own. Fate has been cruel to him since his ascension, and who knows, after this year, Christmas may be cancelled for the foreseeable future. Give the man a break.

This being Fianna Fáil, the evening was about both fun and money. Over 1,800 soldiers, good and true, assembled with heavy pockets to add weight to the party coffers. The times they are a-changin' alright as the guest list was light on developers. Only two names popped out: Durkan New Homes and Maplewood Developments. The rest appear to have abandoned the party, no doubt at the insistence of bank managers who have first call on their loot.

The remainder of the alphabetical guest list from Accelerated Drain Cleaning (no relation of the Mahon Tribunal) to Dr Michael Woods TD (the tomato doctor) threw up little of interest. The IFA took a table just in case, while the VFI had one in remembrance of power past.

There were no celebrities present. Bertie's stewardship, replete with boyband singers and TV celebs, is gone, gone, gone. We're back to an honest meat-and-two-veg party, where one of the special guests was Michaela Mor­kan, the first Offaly All Star in camogie.

Cowen arrived on time and was led to The Great Hall. He was introduced to his guests by young gun Thomas Byrne, who ended his verbals with a flourish of his left hand as if the taoiseach could just appear by magic.

While the welcome was restrained by Clara standards, it's easy to see why Cowen was a shoo-in for the leadership. Among his own he exudes an authority and confidence sadly missing when he addresses the wider public. The man was looking well and talking great. He didn't once say "going forward." He didn't once consult journalist John Murray's scary tome, Now That's What I Call Jargon. He spoke in English, Offaly English.

And he revealed that he has a plan. "Over the coming days and weeks I will be addressing all these issues [banjaxed finances] with the social partners," he said. "The purpose of this engagement will be to draw up a plan for economic renewal."

A ripple went around the room, which soon trembled beyond the environs of Citywest out into Dublin, and across the state, into homes and pubs everywhere. He has a plan. He has a plan. Thank God, the man has a plan.

Naturally, he didn't tell us the details of the plan. If he had told us he would have had to kill us, but the fact that he knows what he's about will give some cheer.

Afterwards, they rose to pay tribute to the leader. Confidence had been re-injected into FF's psyche.

The celebrating continued. Although the main course – a fillet of beef with red onion confit – came with two tiny spuds, a few mangy carrots and two and a half Brussels sprouts. The Soldiers are back to meat and two veg, but this time round the portions must take account of the economic conditions prevailing. Who cares, as long as the man has a plan.