Bertie Ahern is a very proud man. He won't accept cheques. But cash, he can live more easily with cash.
In a remarkable coincidence, two different groups of his friends, on occasions nine months apart, totally independent of each other, realised that if they were to help him out with a charitable donation it would need to be in hard cash.
Luckily for Bertie, those pals were all in a position to lay their hands on significant amounts of the folding stuff without having to bother with banks or anything like that.
And so it was that money came flying across the bar in the Beaumont House like it was 10 minutes to midnight on New Year's Eve.
Some £16,500 in cash back in September 1994, from just four pals alone. But it was all in a good cause. Call it care in the community.
Seven years before dig-out number two, Bertie Ahern's marriage broke up. Happily, by 1994, he was in a solid relationship of many years with a new "life-partner". He was minister for finance, with a big salary and perks that included a car and driver.
His future prospects looked very good. He went gargling with his friends a few nights a week in one of his three locals, when his busy schedule allowed.
He had £70,000 in combined savings and dig-outs - a nice financial cushion in today's money. But all was not as it seemed. At least that's what Bertie's close friends thought.
They didn't see a successful finance minister and future taoiseach. To them, he was poor Bert, homeless wanderer. He didn't even have enough money for a deposit on a house.
The 1994 dig-out had its genesis on a Saturday night in the Beaumont House on Dublin's northside. As usual, Bertie's friends were standing at their spot at the far end of the bar. It was nearly closing time, and Ahern had just left the company of tavern owner Dermot Carew, Paddy the Plasterer, Joe Burke and Joe's new friend, Barry English.
Pub owner, Dermot Carew, turned to Joe and said: "Where is Bert staying tonight?"
Heartbreaking stuff. The lads knew poor Bert could be in his mammy's, or in Joe Burke's house, or in the self-contained, recently refurbished little flat above the Dublin Central constituency office, St Luke's.
The only blessing is that he wasn't reduced to living in the State car.
The lads fell to talking about Bertie's situation. Wouldn't it be a great idea if they chipped in a few pounds to help him get a deposit?
Which is exactly what they did, and three of them told the Mahon tribunal all about it yesterday.
What Dermot and the others didn't know was that their friend's liquid assets at the time would have enabled him to buy a decent house outright, or secure a fine residence with a relatively modest loan.
And proud Bertie never disabused them of this notion that he was on his uppers.
"I thought an extra few pound would help him get on with it," said Dermot, unaware that another group of Bertie's pals had the exact same idea the previous December. They gave him over £22,000.
Proud Bertie never said he was short of a few bob, and Dermot never thought to ask him if he actually needed a dig-out.
The three came into the pub at separate times over the next week and handed their cash over the bar to Dermot, who then put the lot in a folder. Bertie comes in as usual for his pint and publican Carew has the money ready.
"I said 'Bert, the boys and myself want you to have that'." He said he didn't want it. He agreed to take it as a loan. He remembers Bert was "absolutely amazed". He took the folder and put it on the bar stool beside him, covering it with his coat.
In the years to come, Bertie would occasionally meet the publican and say: "Dermot, I'll fix up that few quid with you." He didn't, until after the dig-out story became public.
Seven years out of his marriage. A new partner in his life. Two years on from that dangerous "smear" about not having a house to lay down his head. A dig-out towards a house nine months earlier. Loads of money saved. Minister for finance. Well got with the banks.
Bertie appeared to be in pole position, compared to most ordinary Joes. His friends painted a picture yesterday of a helpless young fella who was a step away from the homeless shelter.
When, in reality, he didn't need a dig-out as much as a good kick in the behind to get himself moving.
But they gave the money. It sounded a bit daft to some of us in the castle yesterday. It's a pity Bertie's Ministers can't be frogmarched down to Dublin Castle one of these days and forced to sit and listen.
