An omnishambles of Joycean proportions
As a damp and chilly wind whipped through the portico of Leinster House, a wan-looking Pearse Doherty admitted: "I don't think there is a Plan B."
Oh dear. One's heart would have to be composed of pure granite not to be a bit moved by the plight of that unfortunate cohort known as The Kildare 11.
For months they were cloistered in a windowless room, taking evidence from an endless procession of bankers, politicians, economists and pointy-heads (but precious few penitents) all offering opinions on who and what was responsible for the unmerciful meltdown of our banking system.