Winston Peters has plundered a deep well of antagonism towards the media all his political life.
He has done so with the irascible finesse and knowing charm of a latter-day snake-oil salesman and it was always likely that one day the well would run dry, leaving him at the mercy of the baying pack.
That day cannot be too far off, now that his lawyer Brian Henry has had to adjust his prior testimony to the privileges committee.
All the same, and regardless of the extent to which Mr Peters has been the author of his own misfortune, there has been an unseemly rush to judgement while the evidence - rather than the innuendo and the gossip - is considered in the various offices ranged against him.
Reflecting on the respective credibility of this roguish political chameleon and the billionaire from Monaco who jetted in so eagerly for his hour in the sun, one might be inclined to conclude that when it comes to pride and sense of self-importance, Mr Peters does not have the floor all to himself.
Hell, evidently, hath no fury like a political donor scorned, and in this particular bonfire of competing vanities, it is Owen Glenn's that have blazed the brighter.
His post-testimony press conference last week was poisonous: Deputy Prime Minister Michael Cullen is a "bully", Prime Minister Helen Clark "self-serving", Labour Party president Mike Williams "wrestles with the truth".
The hounds have fallen upon his juicy epithets as if they were written in stone and drenched with blood.
I am more inclined to ask what misguided expectations did he harbour, on account of his generosity, that were so cruelly dashed and which now evoke such bitterness?
Mr Peters' recollection - itself under severe duress - is that the much-travelled tycoon sought a Mike Moore-type job in world trade, and diplomatic status so that he could pass with ease through customs and immigration in whichever country he fetched up.
Then there was that business about becoming honorary consul in Monaco.
If this is true, then his inner circle neglected to enlighten the man: it may pass muster in commerce but in politics the quid pro quos have to be much more subtle.
Mr Glenn is a very successful and wealthy individual.
The more generous reflections on his character point to a well-developed philanthropic streak - with donations to numerous charities and a generous endowment of $7.5 million for a new wing of the University of Auckland Business School.
Less kind accounts portray a man to whom money is no object and who generally gets what he wants.
But the rules of international business do not apply to the more arcane and delicate world of domestic politics.
It all began to go wrong between Labour and benefactor Mr Glenn in February when he and the Prime Minister were kept apart in public at the opening of the new business-school wing.
To jog a few memories, this was because certain parties were vigorously pursuing the line that Mr Glenn had been awarded an honours gong - member of the New Zealand Order of Merit - because he was a Labour Party donor.
His philanthropy and business success did not seem to rate a mention by those who latterly have drooled at his every word - but who back then were determined to find something sinister in his largesse.
In any case, it was to be Miss Clark's walk-the-plank moment: a photo-ambush that her minders anticipated and thus never quite happened.
The caption writers and commentators who had pre-scripted the meeting - "PM in cash-for-honours scandal", complete with incriminating front-page pictures - reluctantly had to settle for the lesser story about how Labour's "attack dog" Trevor Mallard had kept the two apart.
What possessed Mr Glenn to get into bed with Labour in the first place puzzles some people.
But it's not so very strange.
At 68, he has probably come to the realisation that wealth is wonderful, but a social legacy would be even better.
In February, when I wrote a column attempting to puncture the bubble of hot air and hysteria surrounding the Glenn affair as it was then, he corresponded from his yacht in California, expanding on his plans had he been appointed honorary consul of Monaco.
He was bemused by the furore.
It seemed then, as it does even more so now, that he simply wanted to be appreciated, to be recognised and to be loved in his own country.
Unfortunately, no-one told him that on the fringes of the political orbit, popularity and respect are qualities that even money can't buy.
Sad, really.
Simon Cunliffe is assistant editor at the Otago Daily Times.
