Natasha Fennell, Fianna Fβil's chief fund-raiser, has heard all the jokes about brown envelopes and politicians - usually from taxi drivers late at night on the way home from work.
"There is constant slagging, but I don't mind that," said Fennell, who started working with Fianna Fβil just days after lobbyist Frank Dunlop finally buckled before the Flood tribunal in April 2000.
"It was awful. The story was huge. Everyone was talking about it. I did not read the papers in any detail for weeks. Of course, I asked myself, 'What in the name God am I doing?', " she says now.
Inside the party's headquarters, the atmosphere was 'very tough'. "The extraordinary thing, though, is that you just have to get on with your job regardless of what is happening elsewhere."
Eighteen months later, times are better, she argues: "In the beginning, there was a reluctance about giving money to Fianna Fβil. That has changed. Confidence has come back. People understand that democracies are made up of political parties, and that they need money to operate."
Despite ever more generous State contributions to all parties, Fennell and her colleagues must still organise national draws, golf classics, and fundraising dinners to fill the gaps.
Bertie Ahern is, of course, the main attraction, but Charlie McCreevy is "a huge draw". "He is very entertaining. His position would come into it too, of course. People are attracted by power." During October's ardfheis weekend, the Finance Minister hosted a £2,000-a-table lunch in the K Club in Straffan, followed by golf and tickets for the Taoiseach's presidential address.
Despite the sight of a raised eyebrow, she insists that people do not take tables at party functions in the hope of getting the ear of a minister over the beef Wellington.
"If they want to do that, they will go off and meet them on their own. People aren't shy. They are well able to hold their own. And they are not all as cynical as you," she says bluntly.
Her annual fundraising target is confidential, she says, but it will be met even though foot-and-mouth forced the cancellation of the party's 75th anniversary dinner and a Leopardstown race meeting.
Fine Gael leader Michael Noonan's corporate donations ban is worthy, if daft, she believes: "I can see what he is doing, but people need ownership of politics. Many have become so busy that they don't have time to be involved, so they give money instead."
Fund-raising has two golden rules, said Fennell, who has worked for RT╔ and Carr Communications. Firstly, people need to be asked. Secondly, you must offer people 'a good day out'.
"I have brought my own friends. They are the best judges, because they are more honest. And they will have had to write a cheque to Fianna Fβil. It is difficult to understand how big a deal that is for some people's psyches."
Prof Anthony Clare's recent appearance at a Sunday brunch, ironically to speak about the social impacts of a booming economy, drew 250 people - 200 of them first-time attenders.
"I always ask people what they thought on the way out. Often from first-timers, it is 'I had a great time, even though it was for Fianna Fβil'. Our regulars know that they will enjoy themselves." For her, the ghostly residue left by past fundraising practices is a foreign land, never to be visited. Questions about the legacy left by Ray Burke and others are touched, but never really answered.
"Things are different now. I don't know what it was like then. The legislation changed in 1997. It is a clichΘ now, but fundraising is so transparent," she says firmly.
Raised in Connemara and Galway city, Fennell, the daughter of writer Desmond Fennell, is not of Fianna Fβil stock: "But I could not stay unless I had sympathy with them." She knew few politicians before taking the job: "The expectations on them are extraordinary.
"They have to be super-human. And it's getting harder. I have enormous respect for an awful lot of them, particularly because of the life that they have to lead. But there is an onus on everybody to take responsibility. It isn't just up to politicians."
Troubled by economic worries for the first time in years, the public is turning once more to politics: "They are more reliant on the Government to take decisions on their behalf. When a country is not in crisis, people get apathetic and comfortable with their surroundings."
Though the "brown envelope" jokes are OK, Fennell is clearly a bit bored by them: "It's difficult to explain to people what I do but I am very comfortable with it. I don't feel morally challenged, or anything like that. I could not do it if I was. For the first time, I can really say that I love the job, but it has taken me this long to say that. This isn't a job to stay in for life, but I'll do it until people stop giving me money. That'll be the sign."