Ever since James Gogarty rocked out of the dock, sorry box, to the sound of sustained applause, the Flood tribunal audience has emerged as the star of the show. And homo tribunulus, to be found in large numbers at their natural habitat of Dublin Castle in recent weeks, were yesterday still enjoying their 15 minutes of fame. Not everyone is happy. "This is being treated like entertainment but it is deadly serious business," says one man who has been at the proceedings from day one. Beside him a woman waits for the action to begin. Like most people here she listens to Vincent Browne's tribunal actors each night on RTE Radio 1 and has come to put faces to the voices and names.
Everybody, in the public gallery quotes James Gogarty. Or Garrett Cooney. Or Mr Justice Flood. When they are not devouring the printed analysis in the newspaper they discuss every nuance of the proceedings and interpret the body language of the main players.
A retired school teacher says this is "the first time in my entire life I have had nothing do during the daytime and I am taking full advantage of it". The average age of the audience is about 60.
There are exceptions. Five Leaving Cert students sit in the front row with the express purpose of "laughing" and "hootering" (sic) at proceedings. "It's a joke," said one of them. "Nothing will happen, nobody will be prosecuted, so we may as well have a laugh."
The demarcation between the seasoned attendant and the tribunal virgin is clear. Novices look uneasy when they enter the room and tend to ask questions about protocol. "Are we able to get up and walk out whenever we want?" they ask. Distracted veterans answer "oh yes, you just nod to the judge as you go" before continuing their discussion on the significance of the moment so-and-so fixed his tie. Serious tribunal addicts use the regular breaks to make a dash to the nearby Moriarty tribunal.
Yesterday the chat centred on whether Mr Justice Flood was acting properly when he barred Garrett Cooney from the tribunal proceedings.
"Do you think he was right?"
"I do."
"And why's that?"
"He couldn't put up with that behaviour [from Cooney]."
"Perhaps, but it's very demeaning for a man of his years to be thrown out."
"Indeed."
A retired doctor from Greystones, Co Wicklow, sitting in the front row with his wife, is asked why he is here and he says: "It's the best free show in town".
The couple have plenty of time to waste, and "what better way to while away the winter?"
"I wouldn't do it in the summer," interjects his wife. "That's when we play golf."
As 10 a.m. approaches, and Mr Justice Flood strolls in and the rustling of newspapers gives way to an expectant silence. About 15 minutes later, it is all over but at least the public was granted a chance to chuckle if not, this time, to cheer. In the same way audiences at Brendan O'Carroll plays are primed to laugh at the rude bits, when Mr Justice Flood says to Garrett Cooney that "of course" he would be allowed back to represent his client on Tuesday they all crack up on cue.
"Home early again," someone else whispers as Mr Justice Flood utters the three words despised by the faithful: "adjourned until Tuesday". This is greeted by a very pronounced "tut, tut, tut" from the back of the room and several over-the-top sighs.
