Miriam Lord at Dublin Castle:The planning tribunal has established an honourable tradition of key witnesses taking the stand to tell hilarious stories of how they happened to give large sums of money to politicians, while simultaneously failing to understand why ordinary people might not be inclined to believe them.
Yesterday afternoon in Dublin Castle, the millionaire former owner of a Manchester bus company joined that dubious roll call of the Strangely Forgetful Financially Successful.
Michael Wall insists he is telling the truth when he explains how he took a notion to do a partial clear-out of the cash in his safe, stuck it in a briefcase, came over to Ireland, called to see the serving minister for finance, plonked a surprise £28,000 or so in used notes and different currencies on his desk and then walked away without as much as a receipt.
He stresses he is telling the truth when he says this serving minister for finance in a proud first world nation, days before he expects to be elevated to the position of prime minister, accepted without question the aforementioned wads of money, even though he had no prior notice that it was coming.
And he says he is telling the truth when he says he doesn't know the exact amount of cash he actually handed over to the serving minister for finance who expected to be taoiseach within four days.
"He didn't count it. I didn't count it." As you do.
Bertie Ahern just said "Okay" and took it away into a back room.
If ever there was a case for televising the Mahon tribunal, it was made yesterday.
We were back to the halcyon days of the inquiry, when witnesses like the Bailey brothers and the Brennan and McGowan boys had the gallery in stitches with their wonderful yarns explaining how they selflessly disbursed money in the national interest to people like Ray Burke.
In the case of Michael Wall, it seems the urgency with which he rushed to financially assist Bertie was prompted, not by a love of the democratic process, but by the critical need to stick up a new conservatory on the back of a house that Ahern was about to rent from him.
Before we go any further, let us emphasise, as Wall did more than once, that he did not "give" this lucky bag of mixed notes to Ahern. God, no. He "made it available".
Michael Wall first met Bertie Ahern in the late 1980s, when he was boss of a thriving coach hire business in Manchester and involved in promoting Irish tourism.
The two men met regularly from then on. "I would class him as a close friend," said Wall. He also regarded the Taoiseach's then partner, Celia Larkin, as a close friend.
While he says he is still a friend of Ms Larkin, they haven't spoken in two years - or since she split from the Taoiseach.
The businessman remarked "she's no longer in the circle" - otherwise known colloquially as "The Drumcondra Mafia."
Fast forward to the early 1990s, and Michael Wall is considering setting up a coach hire business in Dublin.
He discusses this with Bertie, and says he'll have to find a base in Dublin. Lo and behold, but isn't Bertie looking for "accommodation" too.
They reach an agreement. Michael will buy a house. Bertie, struggling on his ministerial salary, will rent it from him with an option to eventually purchase, and his friend will be able to stay with him when he is in town.
Michael leaves it to the minister and Celia to source a suitable property.
A nice house in Drumcondra comes on the market. Michael agrees to buy it.
But Bertie, described last year by John O'Donoghue as "a simple and frugal man" when the story of his unusual financial affairs hit the headlines, didn't want to rent any old luxury four-bedroom house on an exclusive estate in an upmarket part of Drumcondra.
Tribunal witness Wall explained: "Mr Ahern mentioned a property that was suitable for him, but he mentioned a conservatory and other alterations which I expected a man in his position would want, and I said 'no problem'."
Understandable, perhaps. He is the minister for finance, about to fulfil a lifelong dream and become taoiseach.
If he's learned anything from Charlie Haughey, he knows he has to acquire a conservatory and luxury drapes or risk becoming the laughing stock of Europe! Otherwise, what would Mrs Mitterrand say? Bertie had to get his priorities right.
On November 29th, Mr Wall's tender for the house - IR£138,000 is accepted. (Sale to include curtains, carpets and blinds.) This is a serendipitous turn of events, as the businessman is to attend Bertie's annual Christmas fundraiser just three days later.
He tells the tribunal he had no idea when he attended that function that the entire country expected his close friend to become taoiseach four days later, on December 6th.
Nobody predicted the way events would turn out - Fine Gael's John Bruton became accidental taoiseach when Bertie's hopes were cruelly dashed by Labour's Dick Spring.
Blissfully ignorant of the delicate political situation, but mindful of the pressing need for to get Bertie a conservatory, Michael Wall took "a ballpoint pen figure" of around stg£30,000 sterling from his safe at home in Manchester and put it in a briefcase with the intention of giving it to the minister.
On the Friday night of the fundraiser, he stayed in the Ashling Hotel.
He took IR£2,000 spending money from the briefcase for his evening out, and kept a bit more back for his return trip to Manchester. He left the briefcase in the wardrobe and went off for his "Christmas treat".
Whatever was left, something in the region of stg£28,000, he gave to Bertie, in the presence of Celia Larkin, the next day.
And the minister for finance's and Celia's reaction when Michael opened his briefcase and took out the conservatory money?
"No particular reaction whatsoever." Henry Murphy, counsel for the tribunal, was nonplussed. "Were they surprised? Were they agog? Were they incredulous?" Mr. Wall remained deadpan as he considered his answer. Then, through his bushy grey beard, which looks like a sporran transplanted onto his chin, he described their reactions.
"Normal." Which, in the case of most men who are serving finance ministers and expecting to become prime minister in four days' time, would have been: "Aaaargh! Get rid of that quick, for God's sake!"
Not so with Bertie.
And that's the truth.