When I was a young lad, I had a bicycle, one of those old-fashioned Raleigh bicycles, to which I was greatly attached. I would not say that I loved the bicycle, or even that I liked it. But we were inseparable.

For example, as an altar boy, hail or shine, I would cycle to church to serve at 8 o'clock morning Mass, when my week to do so came around; then home for porridge, then back again towards church to school. After school I would cycle to the football field, then home for dinner, and then, perhaps, set off down the road to check on my father's cattle, or maybe a few miles further to work on the bog of a summer's evening.

I went everywhere on that bike. It wasn't a particularly cool bike: it didn't have brakes, front nor rear, but the sole on my shoe; its front mudguard was missing, which meant I got splashed on rainy days; the chain was exposed, which required that I tuck a trouser leg into a sock. It had another fault, too, and it was this fault which Enda Kenny now reminds me of: it had a slow puncture.

On a given morning I would go to the turf shed, where I had dropped it the night before, and I would find that the rear tyre was as flat as a pancake. It was an irritation to find it like that -- it always seemed to surprise me -- but it was a mild irritation. I would just pump it up again and away I'd go for another week.

It seems to me that, for all his life, somebody has had to pump up Enda Kenny in much the same way that I repeatedly had to pump up my bicycle tyre.

The Fine Gael leader, now 58, is what is called the Father of the Dail; that is, he was first elected, never to lose his seat, in 1975 -- five years before I became an altar boy, which is a long time ago. I am 41.

He still has the appearance of a boy, though, with a nice haircut, scrubbed face and a back-of-a-classroom sense of mischief; a boy with a fierce big job, mind you, and looking for an even bigger one . . .

Enda Kenny was born three years before his father, Henry, was first elected to the Dail. To understand Enda you must understand his relationship with his father, in whose large shadow he has always lived.

Henry Kenny was a big man. He was such a big man that he remains a legend in Mayo. He became a legend because he was a footballer first and a politician second. He was that rare breed of footballer, too, certainly in Mayo, that is: one with an All-Ireland medal.

Enda Kenny doesn't have an All-Ireland medal; he didn't play for Mayo; he wasn't even an especially good clubman, truth be told. This, you may think, is neither here nor there, but you would be wrong.

For Enda it was everything; for Enda, the middle of five children, reared on stories on his father's legend, a father with a name like "Henry", it was, in fact, the beginning and end of everything.

I would wager that, even now, if you asked Enda whether he would swap the leadership of Fine Gael for an All-Ireland medal with Mayo, he would lie to you and say that he would not.

They first began to pump up Enda when he was a young lad on the football fields in Castlebar, that they might make him into a footballer like his father. But, well, that never quite worked out. They say it skips a generation anyway.

The De La Salle brothers in Castlebar tried to pump him up in school too, his father being a powerful man, a TD indeed, revered as such in the rural Ireland of the time; better still, a Parliamentary Secretary, as it was then called, or a Minister of State as he would now be referred to; or "The Minister", for short.

But that never quite worked out either, the pumping up of his academic ability. Enda just about did enough to make it all the way to Dublin, to St Patrick's in Drumcondra to study to be a primary school teacher, which he did, and worked at for a few years, before destiny intervened.

It was inevitable that Enda would be drawn into politics. It suited his personality, for a start; the bonhomie, the camaraderie, the craic. His helping out locally of his father, the Minister, accorded Enda a kind of profile of his own, an esteem; it pumped him up, as it were, all that prestige and authority attached to the father reflecting on the son.

When his father died, after a short battle with cancer, just five years after he became "the Minister", it was also inevitable that local Fine Gaelers would turn to his family to contest the by-election.

In fact, they turned not to Enda, but to Henry's other children, before eventually settling for the one in the middle, a bit of a jack-the-lad at the time, who was most keen on the job. Enda contested the by-election and, of course, he won; he packed in the teaching job and he became a TD at just 24, the youngest member of the 20th Dail.

After that, for many, many years -- again inevitably -- it was all downhill . . .

For a decade Enda Kenny languished on the Fine Gael backbenches and was happy to do so, having the craic, before somebody decided they had better try to pump him up a bit.

They appointed him the party's spokesman on Youth Affairs, which was hardly at the cutting edge, and also --aptly enough, for the son of an All-Ireland medal winner -- its spokesman on Sport. The promotion didn't tax his mind too much. Then somebody decided they might as well try to pump him up another bit, so they made him spokesman on Western Development, he being from the wesht. But, well, Enda didn't let that trouble him too much either.

It is fair to say that the first 10 years of Enda's political career passed without him having registered at all on the national conscience.

When Garret the Good first became Taoiseach in the early Eighties, he did not come knocking on Enda's door either. But they did give him a run-out on the New Ireland Forum and, later, on the British-Irish Parliamentary Association, both talking shops of sorts, around which there was a good social life. He was getting on a bit at this stage and, I suppose, he felt he had better try to make a go of things.

So when Garret returned to power in 1986, Kenny, now 35, was appointed a Minister of State for Education and Labour, a rank similar to the one once held by his father. But that didn't last very long either. Fine Gael lost power the following year, and Enda returned, happily enough, to the Opposition benches for seven years, having the craic.

His profile having been sufficiently raised as a Minister of State, they decided to pump him up again, making him spokesman for Education (he was a teacher, after all), the arts, heritage, the Gaeltacht and the islands -- that type of thing: nothing too arduous for a good-time man pushing 40.

Fine Gael's chance came again in 1995, when the Rainbow Government assumed power, albeit only for a couple of years. By this time Enda was Fine Gael's chief whip, a position he was most suited to, interacting with the lads, listening to them, tipping around, having a few jars, you know yourself . . .

His big moment came when John Bruton was elected Taoiseach. Bruton was loyal to his chief whip, and put him into Cabinet, but to do nothing too serious, nothing important, say, like an economic portfolio, or anything to do with the North. Step forward Enda Kenny, Minister for Tourism.

He enjoyed his time as Minister, having the Merc to nip up and down to Castlebar; doing important jobs like turning the St Patrick's Day Parade into a festival, negotiating to bring the drugfest that is, or was, the Tour de France to Ireland, that kind of thing.

When the Rainbow went belly-up, Enda returned again to the Opposition benches for a few years, where nothing much eventful happened until John Bruton resigned as leader of the party, having been forced out by his colleagues uncomfortable with the findings of national opinion polls.

Michael Noonan, Jim Mitchell and Enda Kenny contested the leadership, they having Cabinet experience. It seems that, on seeking the support of his colleagues, many of whom are still around, Kenny could not command much support: he came in a poor third.

Noonan, with Mitchell, took over for the briefest of flings. But this time Enda didn't even make it as spokesman on the islands or sport or whatever else suited his laidback personality. He idled his time until Fine Gael was wiped out in the 2002 election. Noonan fell on his sword, and most of Enda's potential rivals for leadership were defeated. Enda himself nearly fell too. Indeed, he had prepared an acceptance speech for defeat before, somehow, he managed to squeeze past his colleague, the more substantial Jim Higgins.

It is likely, in fact, that had Higgins got an extra few votes in that election, he would now be preparing to be Taoiseach; or had Ivan Yates contested the election, we would now be considering him as Taoiseach, instead of as a morning radio show presenter; or even, had Michael Lowry not run into his troubles, he might now be months from leading the country. Such is life.

Instead, Fine Gael was left with Enda, the last man standing in 2002, the man who never did much,

if anything, throughout his political career, but who, through a quirk of fate, found himself with a breaking ball in his hands when the dust had settled, wondering just how the hell that had happened.

Even then, many within Fine Gael were uncomfortable with the notion of Enda Kenny as leader. There was much talk of skipping a generation to rebuild a party which had just lost 23 seats.

Perhaps sensing his only opportunity to outdo his father, Enda forced the issue and won the leadership of a demoralised party which just could not sink any lower. He was leader of Fine Gael at 51, his only potential rival, Richard Bruton, showing just half a heart for the job.

It is a curious thing, actually, that the current leadership of Fine Gael -- Bruton leads on economic matters -- are two middle-aged men who have spent a lifetime in the shadow of patriarchal figures; in the case of Bruton, his formidable father Joe, who had groomed, with some success, Richard's older brother John for the top job.

Enda's start was inauspicious. The public got a glimpse of the cheeky-chappy style of a man who had sailed through life when, shortly after his victory, he made a silly joke in recounting a junket abroad with a few party colleagues. The 'N' word was used in reference to a former black African leader.

He also attempted to reclaim Fine Gael's law and order credentials early on by revealing, in graphic fashion, how he had once been mugged. It turned out the mugging had taken place in Kenya, not in Ireland.

Around then, somebody within the party thought it might be prudent to pump up Enda again, using a foot-pump this time, as opposed to a hand-held one. The consequence is that Kenny is, in fact, the ultimate bubble, not yet burst, but it could happen at any time.

It is a moot point whether Kenny has grown into the role of Fine Gael leader, as they hope he will into the role of Taoiseach, or whether the role itself has bigged him up.

In fairness, he has achieved some success. Using skills which made him an ideal chief whip, he set about instilling the party with new, young blood, at local and national level.

The end result was that Fine Gael made something of a comeback at the polls -- it couldn't go any lower --but not enough to prevent Bertie Ahern from taking a third term in 2007.

There were two defining moments in that election: Enda singing 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' in a west of Ireland pub at midday, and Bertie wiping the floor with him in a televised leaders' debate.

The public made up its mind. Enda was a grand man, but he was not Taoiseach material. And it has not changed its mind since, on Enda, if not on Fine Gael, which is enjoying something of a boom now that the boom has ended.

Even Richard Bruton acknowledges that Kenny has a problem connecting with the public. Enda explains this thus: he is a chairman, he has said, not a leader per se.

Which makes all the more curious then his declaration last week that his latest frolic, his desire to abolish the Seanad, was the true mark of a leader. It seems someone has decided to pump up Enda again in the hope that they might finally make a Taoiseach out of him. His proposal to rid us of the Senate came shortly after he felt he had been outflanked by the grey-haired, not very charismatic leader of the Labour Party on the issue of John O'Donoghue's expenses.

Enda's initial instincts were sound. John O'Donoghue should repay some of the costs of his jollies abroad, and the expenses regime should be reformed.

But he rolled over when he wrongly felt he had been outshone by Eamon Gilmore, and by Sinn Fein. It is a worrying volte face, because it is an indication that Kenny is not entirely confident in his own judgement.

Perhaps he has good reason not to be. It seems that every decision he has taken since becoming leader has been weighed up, to within an inch of its life, by Enda, and by those around him; weighed up as to how it will play with the public.

Sometimes he gets it right, more often than not he does not. But when he goes public, as he did on Prime Time last week, you can almost sense his anxious advisers clenching their buttocks.

The country is going down the tubes, the budget deficit will be €25bn this year; we are borrowing €400m a week just to keep afloat. And Enda's big idea? Abolish the Senate.

The notion may, actually, turn out to be his death knell, depending on how things continue to develop for Brian Cowen.

If the slow, methodical Cowen manages to turn things around, if the country is returned to growth this time next year, if a few new jobs are created the year after, Fianna Fail's current fortunes may be reversed, at least somewhat.

In such a scenario, Fine Gael may return again to second place in the polls. Were that to happen, Enda's colleagues, the TDs and senators who last week issued, through gritted teeth, statements in support of his Senate frolic, may decide that Enda Kenny, grand man that he is, really is the problem after all.

And that hissing sound you might then hear will be the quickening of a long, slow puncture.

Sunday Independent