It's easy to get lost in the detail -- and after ploughing through the transcripts of Mr Bertie Ahern's latest "explanations" of his dodgy lodgements I don't think the detail helps right now.

I mean, just listen to it: "I don't want to get into a top of a needle about that," explained the Taoiseach. You probably don't know what that means. Neither do I. Folks, I doubt if anyone on the planet, including Mr Ahern, knows what that means.

It's possible to untangle and interpret the detail, and that will be done in time, but it takes acres of space and it makes for tedious reading. To best understand Mr Ahern's position, and what caused it -- and the involvement of Celia Larkin -- we need to look at the politics of it -- in 1994, and in 2008.

The Americans have a rather brutal way of describing the condition Mr Ahern now finds himself in: "Stick a fork in him, he's done."

He has been relentlessly roasted over the hot coals of his dodgy lodgements. Tedious, yes -- but damning. With each further revelation his explanations grow ever more farcical.

So, the politics of 2008 are cruel. Note the ominous silence from the Fianna Fail heavyweights. Only poor Martin Mansergh TD, decent as ever, mans the ramparts -- gallantly, if somewhat hysterically, defending Mr Ahern, out of sheer personal loyalty.

The smart guys, the go-by-the-wall opportunists who once loudly proclaimed their belief in Mr Ahern, are silently weighing their options.

Stick with Bertie for too long and you risk becoming entangled in the scandal. Fail to defend him and he might yet recover and punish you for your cowardice. Oh, the dilemmas of the principled politician.

Politics were simpler back in 1994. Mr Ahern was at last about to come into his destiny. He was Minister for Finance, soon to be party leader, eventually Taoiseach. He had dutifully held Charlie Haughey's coat while the crook was stealing everything that wasn't nailed down. He was sitting out the brief ascendancy of Albert Reynolds and the Country and Western wing of the party. Destiny awaited.

Anyone recall what happened in 1979, when Haughey was on the brink of becoming leader? He, eh, put his financial affairs in order. The AIB kissed his ass and relieved him of the burden of the massive debts he had recklessly and arrogantly run up. The wealthy rushed to shower him with goodies.

And similarly, we've seen that from December 1993 to December 1995, money was flying in all directions around Mr Ahern. Tens of thousands of pounds made their way into his possession.

The ease with which money could materialise in order to solve humdrum problems was shown prior to this, in March 1993.

Mr Ahern's partner, Celia Larkin, had a difficulty. Her elderly aunts had lived in a house for 60 years -- now, because the owner died and the new owner wanted to rent out part of the house, they would be confined to the top floor. It was upsetting. Larkin was dutiful and kind -- she wanted to help, but she didn't have the cash.

Now, it's unfair when property rights trample people's lives. But that's market forces for you. Celia Larkin was a veteran apparatchik of a party that triumphantly espouses market principles. Property rights trump human rights. That's the world in which the rest of us live.

Every day of the week, the pre-eminence of market forces damages people's lives.

No one has been longer in a position to ameliorate this than Mr Ahern. He'd rather not.

However, at that stage, no doubt to her relief, Ms Larkin discovered that the exalted ones of our society live charmed lives. Suddenly, from an account that just happened to be there, and just happened to be controlled by close associates of her then partner, there came forth a magical £30,000, with which Ms Larkin bought the house.

Mr Ahern says he knew nothing about that.

And later, with Mr Ahern's destiny even closer, we begin to see the dodgy lodgements arriving in his accounts. (It's clearer now why Ms Larkin didn't think it strange, in that period, to see suitcases full of cash being lugged around.)

We see the creation of what Mr Ahern ingeniously calls the "personal political donation".

We know about the political donation -- you pass that onto the party. And there's the personal donation -- which is when a rich guy tucks a few grand into your breast pocket, winks and tells you to buy yourself an ice cream. We're supposed to disapprove of that kind of carry-on.

Now, there's the "personal political donation". This is money Mr Ahern believes he should be allowed to pocket so he can spend it impressing voters. "In most weekends, I mean, I could spend four or five hundred euros in any weekend around the country in draws for cars, for clubs, for organisations. I have to use my own personal money to do that, every politician does."

Every politician spends about €20,000 a year on raffle tickets? Really?

Problem is, this "personal political donation" of five grand didn't go on raffle tickets, it went into an account to buy Mr Ahern a house. We're back in "buy yourself an ice cream" territory.

Zip forward 15 years.

Due to various allegations, Mr Ahern unexpectedly has to explain where all this money came from. He comes up with a range of explanations, involving dig-outs and anonymous Manchester philanthropists. He brings his estranged wife and his children into the mix and then denounces those who probe his personal life.

Ms Larkin realises her magical thirty grand is about to become public knowledge -- she rushes to pay it back, describes it as a "loan", though she hasn't paid back a cent in 15 years. By then, Mr Ahern, too, has been paying back "loans" he allegedly got in 1994, "loans" on which he never made a payment.

So much money Mr Ahern got was in cash. An amazing amount of money was, we're told, shifted about without leaving a paper trail.

Some of the explanations -- like the thirty grand sterling that Mr Ahern claims to have bought -- simply dissolve under scrutiny. Mysterious dollar and sterling coincidences occur.

Mr Ahern's few defenders are left with puny weapons. They denounce, with decreasing fervour, the tribunal's "prurient probing". They condemn the cost and length of the tribunal -- and we all agree, but we all know that if this was an inquiry into an opposition politician's finances they'd insist it had to continue.

"It's supposed to be about Tom Gilmartin's allegations," they whine. "The tribunal is exceeding its remit, going beyond its terms of reference."

Imagine the police are told a man was murdered in an office on the fifth floor. On the way up, they find the body of a woman on a lower landing.

"No, no, no," sings the Fianna Fail chorus of party hacks and media cheerleaders. "You came here to investigate a spurious allegation that a man was murdered on the fifth floor.

"Here you are, investigating the real death of a woman on the third floor! You're exceeding your remit! You're out to get Bertie Ahern! You're --"

And the whining chorus goes on like this for some time.

As a last resort, they demand that it be proved that Mr Ahern performed some corrupt act. Not necessary, folks. If dodgy lodgements turn up in the accounts of a cop or a judge we don't need to prove they did something crooked. Taking the money is enough. Same for a Taoiseach.

Listen to the silence from the Fianna Fail heavyweights. It says: "Turn him over, stick a fork in him -- he's done."