Remember Declan Ganley? He’s the British-born businessman who played a big part in Ireland’s rejection in a referendum last June of the European Union’s Lisbon treaty. Ganley often seemed a strange ally for the Irish nationalists, conservative Catholics and leftists who made up the No camp. But I saw him in action in Dublin and there’s no doubt in my mind that he was a formidable campaigner, fatally underestimated by the Irish political establishment.

Thanks to some good reporting by the Irish Times and the Czech newspaper Lidové Noviny, we now know a little more about Ganley. The Czech paper discovered that Ganley had paid a visit to Prague in late July and met President Václav Klaus, the Czech head of state. Klaus is a notorious eurosceptic who, immediately after the Irish vote, declared the Lisbon treaty dead - something not even President Lech Kaczynski of Poland or Gordon Brown, the UK premier, dared do.

As you’d expect, Klaus and Ganley got on like a house on fire. But when the Irish Times asked Ganley for his impressions of Klaus, this was his reply: “He has an amazing background of standing up to the Soviets and is a national hero in the Czech Republic.”

Ah-hem, not quite, Declan. Klaus was a young economist during the Prague Spring, which was crushed by Soviet tanks in August 1968. He worked at the Czechoslovak State Bank from 1971 to 1986, during the long dreary years of repression under Gustáv Husák, the Communist party leader installed after the Soviet-led invasion.

Klaus was certainly no party hack, but to talk of his “amazing” resistance to the Soviet Union is  farcical, as any Czech will tell you. As for his being a “national hero” - dozens of Czechs are drowning in laughter in their beer as I write.

All of which goes to show that running an effective political campaign is not the same as knowing your history.

With the European Union’s Lisbon treaty in deep trouble, some of the finest minds in Brussels are at work devising solutions to problems of which the general European public is wholly unaware. For example, the size and composition of the European Commission.

If the Lisbon treaty doesn’t come into force next year, the next Commission will have to be selected according to rules set out in the EU’s 2003 treaty of Nice. These state that when the EU has grown to include 27 countries (which it now has), the number of commissioners should be “less than the number of member-states”.

But Nice does not say how EU governments are to achieve the reduction. In the light of Ireland’s No to Lisbon, this gives ample scope for political and bureaucratic deal-making over coming months.

Fear of losing their commissioner played a part in the Irish voters’ rejection of Lisbon, but few seemed to understand that Ireland would be worse off under Nice. Lisbon contained a provision stating that, if all member-states agreed, they could abandon the commitment to reducing the Commission’s size and keep one commissioner per member-state. Before the Irish vote, many in Brussels had quietly assumed this was exactly what would happen after Lisbon took effect. By contrast, Nice has no such provision.

So if the Nice treaty remains in force next year, what can be done? One member-state has already proposed an answer. Cut the Commission in size, as Nice stipulates, but only from 27 to 26 members. Let the country which loses its commissioner take the job of High Representative for foreign policy (at present, Javier Solana of Spain). Let him or her attend Commission meetings. Hey presto! Everyone’s still in the room.

You have to admit, it’s an ingenious proposal. In fact, it’s so ingenious that it almost makes you ask, “Why bother with Lisbon, after all?” Which, of course, cannot possibly have been the question at the back of the mind of the country which floated the proposal … the UK!  

According to participants at the EU’s post-Irish referendum summit in Brussels, the atmosphere among the 27 national leaders is not one of crisis or despair, but resignation and a sense of having been there and done all this before - i.e., after the French and Dutch threw out the old constitutional treaty in 2005.

However, it’s also clear there are more than a few mutual recriminations going on in the corridors of the Justus Lipsius building in Brussels. “It’s what I’d call the ‘day after effect’,” says one top-level EU official, referring to last week’s Irish rejection of the Lisbon treaty.

If Ireland is a problem, what does that make the Czech Republic? The Czechs have been resisting efforts to include a line in the final summit communiqué that would emphasise the EU’s efforts to go ahead with national ratifications of the treaty in spite of the Irish No. This is irritating some delegations, who think the Czechs are riding on the coat-tails of the Irish rather than doing the decent thing - or the courageous thing - and joining the rest of the EU in defending the Lisbon treaty.

The situation at present is that the Czech Senate (upper house of parliament) has sent the Lisbon treaty to the nation’s constitutional court for scrutiny. President Vaclav Klaus has declared the treaty dead - the only EU head of state to go so far. The Irish No, meanwhile, has emboldened critics of the treaty in the ruling Civic Democrat party, whose hold on power is not particularly strong. All of which makes Czech ratification of Lisbon far from a done deal.

Mirek Topolanek, the Czech prime minister, is giving private assurances that his government will ratify Lisbon. But when Czech officials appear in front of TV cameras at the summit, they are saying something subtly different. For example, Alexandr Vondra, the Czech minister for European affairs, says the Lisbon treaty is “in the parking lot” and a jolly good thing, too. ”Don’t press us. Any pressure could be counter-productive,” Vondra warns.

In the end, the Czechs may have to buckle. They are due to take over the EU’s rotating presidency next January, and it would create a disastrous impression if, when they move into the hot seat, they were seen as bad team players.

But if I were a betting man, I would not expect the Czechs to have ratified Lisbon by the EU’s next summit on October 15-16.

According to the memorable aphorism of Robert Kagan, the conservative US scholar, Americans are from Mars and Europeans are from Venus. But when President George W. Bush was in Europe last week and heard about Ireland’s rejection of the European Union’s Lisbon treaty in a referendum, it must have seemed to the outgoing president that Europeans are so incapable of getting their act together that they’re really from Pluto - which astronomers no longer classify as a planet.

The same thought may cross the mind of President Dmitry Medvedev of Russia when EU leaders arrive next week in the western Siberian city of Khanty-Mansiysk for an EU-Russia summit. Of course, it’s possible Medvedev will be rather more exercised about the revelation that the US has been thinking about putting part of its proposed missile defence system in Lithuania - which is precisely the sort of things that Martians, rather than Plutonians, do. 

Today the leaders of the EU’s 27 member-states are rolling into Brussels for a summit whose main theme, before the crisis erupted over the Lisbon treaty, was supposed to be a robust European response to soaring fuel and food prices. Of course, there isn’t much the EU can do on that front, either, because in the end it’s mostly a question of world demand and supply.

Still, I don’t buy the oft-heard argument that EU leaders are totally out of touch with public opinion. Take last Monday’s meeting of EU foreign ministers in Luxembourg. Much breast-beating went on there about whether the Irish referendum result showed that the EU was too technocratic and too elitist. According to two people who attended the discussions, one foreign minister - Radek Sikorski of Poland - even burst out: “Why don’t we write treaties that even we in this room can understand?”

A question to shake up any solar system!