Hugh Brehon, from Palmerstown, Dublin, is among friends in Dublin Castle on Wednesday morning. The gathering citizenry at the Flood planning tribunal is small in number at first, but as the show's star, James Gogarty, progresses into his performance, the audience has swollen to almost 100.
Two great tribunals have begun their runs at the citycentre venue, the public are invited and admission is free. The ringmasters, Judges Flood and Moriarty, are endeavouring to ensure that the drama at each unfolds in a reasonably ordered fashion and that no one strays too far from their scripted roles.
Mr Gogarty at times, however, is not to be hemmed in by legalese and procedure. His dismissive flick of a hand at the collection of lawyers acting for Bovale Developments is accompanied by a spluttering exclamation: "I've been called a liar and everything by that crowd over there!"
"Jayzus, he's unreal," muttered a bemused member of the audience.
The Flood tribunal is held in a large modern room, little more than a hall with carpets. Mr Justice Flood sits behind a green desk-lamp; barristers, solicitors and clerks sit around a row of tables before him; rows of blue cushioned chairs to the left are occupied by the press, while more are filled by the public.
One tribunal fan says he is a retired builder with Joseph Murphy Structural Engineers, one of the parties to the inquiry, in London. "Gogarty is a great man to stand up to them," says Pat McDermott from Co Westmeath. "I could tell you some things myself. I am the small-man `Gogarty'."
The frail Mr Gogarty is certainly the people's hero if the assembled public here are representative of their peers. Last week he was feted with congratulations and flowers; today he receives much praise from the tribunal pundits.
"I think he's an amazing man," Joseph Downes from Clonskeagh comments. A retired businessman, he says he is here "to see how my money is being spent".
Thursday morning, and Mr Justice Flood is unwell. Ned, a retired civil servant from Kerry, is initially disappointed that the next instalment is postponed. "Ara sure," he says with a clap, "we'll go up to the other so."
And so, on to the courtyard where Ben Dunne is arriving for the first episode in the new season of the Moriarty show. "I've been to them all," says Ned. "The beef tribunal was a joke. McCracken was very incisive. I come to them all because, well, I've no minor vices and so I can indulge in looking at others'. It's amazing the things people will swear to."
A front-row seat has been saved for him by Maria, a retired teacher from the west. "We know each other from the tribunals," she says. "We go to them all. The beef one was long-winded. McCracken was more concise. I'm interested in the law, and the more I come to these, it seems there's one law for the rich and another for the poor. I learn a lot at them."
Referring with her eyes about the room, she points out players by name. "That's Mr Shipsey, and this is Mr McGonigal," she says as if introducing friends. "And there's Noel Smyth."
A posse of law students from Inchicore PLC has arrived too. "Mr Justice Moriarty is very user-friendly," their lecturer is telling them. "He's very good at explaining everything."
As 12.30 approaches minds turn to lunch. Smiles and back slapping among barristers and solicitors, journalists joke in groups about the courtyard, the public make their way to the cafes and pubs in Dame Street, and all will be back at 1.45 p.m. for the second half.
The citizens haven't changed much. The two things they should never be short of remain bread and circuses.