INEVITABLY we are reminded of Samuel Beckett and the theatre of the absurd. But it's a sign of the times that the Godot for whom the whole country waits is an accountant, and the Unnameable a politician whose name is on everyone's lips.
A sign of the times, too, that the theatre of national politics is, in a sense, a sideshow; overshadowed by a drama being played out by one of the wealthiest families in the land.
The Dunnes, to judge by their own revelations and the public record, have a ruthless way of dealing with each other and their suppliers and staff.
And it's as part of a struggle within the family that Price Waterhouse produced a script which, sight unseen, has caught and held the attention of politicians, public and media day and night for a week.
Though less weighty than the beef tribunal report, Price Waterhouse promises to illuminate some corners of public affairs which Hamilton barely reached.
Unedited, the report is said to contain information on more than 1,000 transactions, some authorised, some not, all completed while Ben Dunne was still chairman of the family company.
But what has proved so fascinating is the series of documents - a small proportion of the whole, by all accounts - that reflect his relationships with politicians and public servants.
In the week since Michael Lowry's resignation, the point at which politics and business intersect has become so sensitive that politicians on all sides favour - and a few fear - the publication of the relevant section of Price Waterhouse.
The Progressive Democrats believe it ought to become the springboard for a full dress inquiry lasting up to three months. The coalition partners are unconvinced. Though Fine Gael has been shaken by the week events - and its own unsteady handling of affairs - it seems unwilling to embark on another tribunal.
It foresees an inquiry dragging on - as the beef tribunal did - while costs mount and public interest decline.
Instead, it seems, the party would welcome an independent selection of Price Waterhouse material, to be published within a week, after which further decisions might be made.
IN THE meantime, it's been convinced that the Electoral Bill should now its progress through the Dail, with the promise of (partial) state funding for parties, (limited) disclosure of contributions and control over spending on elections.
And the debate on ethics in public life, a preoccupation of politicians before the last election, is bound to return to prominence in the next. After all, our present predicament didn't begin - and it won't end - with Dunnes Stores and the Michael Lowry affair.
Several years ago, I remember, a leading politician was asked about the financial scandals then coming to light. He used his fingers to tick off the countries where politicians were already under attack.
It included the world's most highly developed countries: Japan, Germany, the United States, France ... the industrial leaders of G7, the pride of the free market and the envy of the less fortunate.
The emergence of scandals here, he said with a wry smile, showed that we were beginning to achieve the status to which we aspired. It was a measure of our maturity.
By the same token, some would say, the events of the week marked a scandalous coming of age.
But who can tell? In some cases, what happened is clear enough but, because we have yet to hear the whole story, the full significance of the happening is not.
The payment by Ben Dunne for the extension to Mr Lowry's home in Tipperary, as reported by Sam Smyth in the Irish Independent, falls into this category.
If this was Mr Dunne's way of paying for the services of Mr Lowry and his company, then the key question is whether tax was payable and, if so, whether tax was paid.
Here it seems that only Mr Lowry or the Price Waterhouse report can help. And the cry rings out from politicians of all shades: the sooner the better.
Then there are common practices invested with uncommon - often scandalous - significance by commentators who have only lately discovered their prevalence. Corporate funding, for example.
Most political activists, at whatever level, know that most parties raise funds, not only in national collections, but by appealing directly to companies - whether their owners are sympathetic or not.
The surprising disclosure of the week was not that Fine Gael sought contributions from Dunnes Stores - and received sums of £180,000 over six years.
Nor was it all that surprising that Dunnes contributed £15,000 to the Labour Party for President Mary Robinson's election campaign. (Many companies have an each way bet on elections.)
What caused most surprise was that Fianna Fail, which has had several famously effective fund raising operations in its time, does not appear to have been helped at all.
THIS IS ironical indeed. Whenever corporate contributions to parties have been discussed, the spotlight has been on the party, but always because it was thought to be better funded than any other.
Taca, led by Kevin Boland and Neil Blaney, achieved a certain notoriety in the 1960s. It was eventually disbanded because it combined fund raising with ostentation.
Des Hanafin, on the other hand, carried discretion to extremes; worked from a small office in a city hotel and jealously guarded his lists of contributors from friend and foe.
Not even ministers knew who'd paid or how much. (That, at least, was the claim in Mr Hanafin's day.)
But public attention began to focus on funds - and contributors - during the hearings of the beef tribunal when it became clear that processing companies subscribed heavily both to FF and FG.
How much Larry Goodman and others paid was not reported by Mr Justice Liam Hamilton - he described their contributions as normal - but some witnesses and lawyers later spoke of sums amounting to £300,000.
The tribunal report was finally published, other issues dominated discussion, though by then Michael Smith of Fianna Fail was at work on the electoral measure which the current controversy has helped to revive.
One of the reasons for dropping it was the complication of the McKenna judgment on the funding of the divorce referendum. Another was the public hostility to party funding by the State which some backbenchers anticipated.
Apparently they feared the criticism which any hint of higher taxes or assistance to politicians would provoke "in certain quarters".
But, surely, it would make for more openness and, therefore, less suspicion? So it might, but you know, I was told, it wouldn't go down well with certain well heeled broadcasters or some of the begrudgers in the Sunday Independent.
True enough. But the well heeled broadcasters don't seem to worry too much about the taxpayers when they cash in their own chips.
As for the people in the Sunday Independent who come to mind, a description of George III fits the bill all knowing, all powerful but not quite all there. {CORRECTION} 96120600093