What does Bertie Ahern have in common with every low-life drug-dealer, scam artist, con-man and crook when asked to account for his money?
He won it on a horse.
So at last we know. Bertie, why didn’t you tell us this all those months ago and we wouldn’t have given you such a hard time?
Oh Bertie, Bertie, what the fuck were you thinking? Why didn’t you just tell us and we’d have understood?
Poor old Gráinne Carruth would have been spared all the trauma of cross-examination, and I wouldn’t have been calling you a slithering fucking liar.
Oh dear God.
Enough of this nonsense. Today’s Mahon Tribunal is one of the funniest yet.
You might remember all the money that went into Bertie’s accounts, which Bert claimed was just cash he lodged from his pay cheque and dig-outs, and cash he found up a drainpipe, and a bag of money a crow dropped on his head one day while he was cleaning the chimney, and a pillow-case of used bills he found in a public toilet and a vast inheritance he got from his uncle Vladimir, a Russian oligarch. And a load of swag that grew on a bush in his garden.
But definitely none of it was converted from sterling. Not a penny. None at all. And Bert allowed Gráinne Carruth to go into the witness stand, and undergo stern examination in his defence. (This was the secretary who received less salary in a year than Bertie lodged in his children’s bank accounts). And then the nation gasped as Gráinne broke down and admitted that, yes, it was actually sterling after all, and Bertie had kept it in his safe.
So how did Bert explain all this to the tribunal today?
Well, you see, he was planning to buy an apartment in Manchester and he changed various amounts to a total of about £12,000 with a businessman called Tim Kilroe. (Tim, incidentally, joins a long list of dead people Bertie dealt with in these matters. People who can no longer talk for themselves).
Bert wanted to build up a pile of English money, you see, to buy this apartment. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why he couldn’t just go to an English bank with his Irish money, but that’s not how things happen in the Bertieverse. Unlike you and me, Bert had to be constantly going around with bags of cash. Unlike you and me, he couldn’t just save up and take out a fucking mortgage. Christ, no.
Anyway, he kept this money in his safe, and eventually decided not to go ahead with the purchase, so he got Gráinne to put it in the bank for him.
When asked, he agreed that this money must have been part of the £15,450 he lodged in his own account and the accounts of his two daughters. That came to about £12,000.
And the rest of the money?
Horses, said Bert.
What the fuck? said the Tribunal.
Horses, Boss. I musta won it on the horses.
Fuckin horses! Bertie had enormous wins on the gee-gees. Damn!
That explains everything.
Also: Bertie Ahern