The red mist had cleared yesterday, and Bertie Ahern was in more mellow mood, writes Miriam Lord
He'd had his rant against the media on Friday night, and now it was time to move on. These things happen when a man is "fairly wrecked tired", he explained in a radio interview at lunchtime. "I wasn't angry."
If he becomes Taoiseach again, he will become "the father of the European Council of 27 countries," he said, rightly chuffed. (Although he was probably thinking that it's only a matter of time before the vengeful media accuses him of getting the mother into trouble.) Father of Europe.
That's another great tale to tell Rocco and Jay when they grow up.
For fear of being accused of capitalising on his daughter's happy event, Bertie didn't want to introduce her newborn twins during an election campaign.
But on the day when the final seat in the 30th Dáil was declared, he proudly presented his two beautiful grandsons to the press.
More of that anon.
Wrecked tired after the campaign, the Taoiseach says that he took to his bed after polling day, snoring until twenty past four in the afternoon.
He didn't hear the results of Thursday's exit poll, nor did he find out how well Fianna Fáil was faring until his daughter telephoned with the good news before teatime.
Not even the miraculous developments at count centres around the country could stir drowsy Bertie, who was so poleaxed he didn't even turn on a radio or television until nine o'clock.
So he missed the moment when he was elected for Dublin Central, topping the poll with a whopping first preference vote of 12,734, almost twice the quota.
On the other hand, he was spared from hearing the derisory first count total pulled in by his running mate and pal, Cyprian Brady, whom he tirelessly promoted around the constituency.
Conor Cruise O'Brien used to describe those candidates who surfed into the Dáil on Charlie Haughey's coat-tails as his "human surplus".
Bertie Ahern's human surplus, despite getting just 939 votes, got through on the eighth count. His election provided one of the most enduring images of count day - it happened at half past one on Saturday morning, long after this newspaper had gone to bed. The RDS was quiet. Most people had gone home.
All that remained were count officials, journalists and Joe Costello, waiting with a small group of Labour supporters to hear confirmation that he was returning to Dáil Éireann.
Suddenly, a crowd milled into the hall, cheering and punching the air. We recognised some faces from Bertie's so-called "Drumcondra Mafia". They were beside themselves, roaring: "Five more years! Five more years!" as the returning officer tried to make himself heard.
Joe Costello and his wife Emer stood at the barrier, looking a bit anxious. As the din continued, an elderly supporter began to shout over to the Brady camp about hospital beds. "Five more years!" they bellowed back.
Finally, the result was announced, and new deputy Brady was hoisted aloft amid more manic cheering. It was like he had topped the poll, and was a shoe-in for a ministerial post.
Three Labour women tried to muster a few defiant bars of the Red Flag, but they were drowned out. Then the human surplus and his supporters left in triumph.
Twenty minutes earlier, the results were announced for the adjoining constituency of Dublin North Central.
In contrast to what was to happen later, this was a more restrained affair, marked by the unfettered joy of winning candidate, Finian McGrath.
Independent Finian had managed to do what many saw as the impossible. He saw off the challenge of Fianna Fáil's Ivor Callely, who had mounted an expensive presidential-style campaign. Finian and his family couldn't believe he had won.
His rival Ivor called in earlier to make sure that what he was hearing was correct. He saw that Finian had overturned his hefty lead, taking a massive portion of transfers to exceed the quota.
So he quickly exited the hall in what observers described as the highest of high dudgeon.
In the early-morning quiet of the RDS, these two counts provided an interesting insight into how Bertie Ahern's spectacular nationwide success was not reflected by voters on his northside home turf.
Besides his huge personal vote in Dublin Central, Fianna Fáil's two other candidates flopped.
Next door in North Central, where Bertie resides, Ivor was sent packing. And in adjoining Dublin North East, Fianna Fáil's Martin Brady surprisingly lost his seat to an unknown quantity from Fine Gael. Curious, how it turned out to be Bertie Ahern's own who had most doubts about him.
But now to the future, and building a new coalition. Bertie began to play a little footsie with the Independents yesterday, and whispered sweet nothings to the last two PDs left standing. He also began reminding the Greens of his credentials on the environment front. The wooing has begun.
And so to little Rocco and Jay. Word reached newsdesks at lunchtime that the Taoiseach would be posing for photographs with them in a Malahide hotel. Photographers only.
They duly arrived, accompanied, as is always the case on these fluffy, human interest occasions, by a few colour writers. We put the nice words to the happy pictures. No questions asked.
This time, though, reporters were not allowed into the photo-shoot and protests were not entertained. Three senior Government press officers saw to that.
"They're two babies, just out of hospital," was the reason. We said we just wanted to look at them. "I'm not saying you're going to do anything to the babies," said a spokeswoman, still refusing access.
Just a dozen burly photographers using flashes, so. "The room is too small," it was pointed out. "Could have got a bigger one," we sniffed. No go. This is the future. As Bertie said on Friday, "God, we're getting intrusive." The photographers got their shots. The babies are gorgeous. Nos comment from the Taoiseach.
Five more years.