SHE is bright, pushy, determined. Sometimes delightfully indiscreet. Often joyously irreverent. With 16 weeks at most to the British general election, Mo Mowlam seems headed for Northern Ireland. And according to many there, inevitably, for trouble.

Even the "Mo" bit tells you something about the woman who might soon be Northern Ireland's first female Secretary of State. Born in Watford, the middle child of Post Office workers Frank and Tina was named Marjorie. Far too frilly, "too maiden-auntish", as she once put it. So Tony Blair and "New Labour" are stuck with Mo.

According to Westminster folklore, it's not for the want of trying. Dr Mowlam (47, degree in social anthropology, MA and PhD in political science) has been MP for Redcar in Cleveland since 1983. Her neighbouring MP, as chance would have it, is now Peter Mandelson, Tony Blair's spin doctor supreme.

The man who invented Labour's red rose reputedly decided Mo (the name, not the woman) didn't carry sufficient gravitas. She should henceforth be given her full title. But Mo resisted, as she has, seemingly, all attempts to remake her in the image of Labour's other golden girl, Harriet Harman.

It is a matter of some pride to Mowlam that the image-makers haven't got to her yet. Word recently went out that Blair's shadow ministers were preparing for government by taking to the gymnasiums of Westminster. The deputy leader, John Prescott, was obviously exempt from this harsh new regime.

But since childhood the shadow Northern Ireland Secretary has always been good at games, and highly competitive, too, according to her sister's account. The head girl at Coventry's Coundon Court Comprehensive played hockey. At Durham University she rowed. She says swimming is all she has time for now.

Despite the occasional sponsored diet with school dinner ladies in her constituency, she admits cheerily to being overweight. Too many Ulster fries for a start. She has never worried much about her clothes. She smokes like a chimney or, at any rate, one suspects rather more than the daily pack of Silk Cut to which she admits. And she swears.

Going through the newspaper cuttings it seems some journalists have been reticent on this point. She isn't. At the end of one 90-minute interview, Mo (then embroiled in controversy for suggesting the queen move out of Buckingham Palace) was informed that not one rude word had crossed her lips. She couldn't resist the invitation. "Oh shit" came the reply.

Eyebrows were raised recently when Blair tore into some of his critics in the Scottish Labour Party, denouncing them as "unreconstructed wankers". One insider laughingly suggested some of Mowlam's influence might be rubbing off. She clearly meets a lot of them as she wings her way to high office. But she and her staff are far too discreet to tell if she ever applies that description to any of the North's politicians, much less who they might be.

SOME of them take comfort in a persistent rumour around Westminster that Jack Cunningham, not Mo Mowlam, will get the job if and when Blair forms his first cabinet. Others anticipate her arrival at Stormont Castle with a mixture of curiosity and dread. There are policy worries all round.

Nationalists are deeply suspicious of Blair and Mowlam, who have guided Labour away from its traditional (or, at least, presumed) role as "a persuader" for Irish unity. One Labour aide at Westminster says this was crucial "in re-establishing the Labour Party's credibility, not just with the unionists, but with the two governments as well."

Unionists were initially delighted at her displacement of Kevin McNamara. But David Trimble has been troubled of late by her constant references to the Downing Street Declaration and the Joint Framework Documents, and her insistence that "the status quo is not an option". Certainly she has not always appeared at ease with her leader's pronouncements on the North.

And students of the detail can detect subtle differences between Blair's words and her own. The suspicion (almost certainly correct) is that Mowlam is more instinctively "green" than she lets on. And the persistent question (as with so much else about New Labour) is the extent to which the perceived change is substance rather than style and presentation.

It is to Mowlam's style that discussion keeps returning, and it is clear that, especially for the unionists, this will take some getting used to.

She once jokingly told Ian Paisley to "piss off" when he intruded on her conversation with one of his colleagues during a Commons division. He eventually forgave her. But she can clearly rub them up the wrong way.

The Guardian's mischievous Pass Notes column once humourously reported: "Ms Mowlam has developed the irksome technique of quasi-sexual harassment of the unionist brethren, involving some stomach-churning flesh-pressing."

She is very touchy-feely, which you either like or you don't. The more uptight Presbyterians plainly won't. One MP says: "I think she might well get dragged down by her over-familiarity, throwing her shoes off, throwing her legs up on the seat. It's not exactly what you would expect from a Secretary of State."

She does a lot of that sort of thing. But it's not just Mowlam's movements which excite attention. Her table manners, too, attract critical comment. Some, on the other hand, find her habit of pinching a chip off your plate (or an oyster, perhaps, if it's the Savoy Grill) rather endearing.

Mowlam's back-slapping ways went down well in the City boardrooms, when she was the party's trade and industry spokeswoman.

But if the Ulstermen don't fancy having a woman as political master, they apparently don't want her to be "one of the boys" either.

One Ulster Unionist says: "Undisciplined is the main problem, both intellectually and verbally. There's too much wanting to be one of the boys. Northern Ireland, being the small conservative place it is, is not the ideal stamping ground for any female, but particularly for someone with a predisposition to prove she's the best man in the Cabinet." As he speaks, one fancies Blair might find this reason enough to send her there.

An Irish source sees it as a rather more joyous prospect: "What you see is what you get, a feisty feminist, one of the boys in the sense of being clubbable, at ease in the company of men."

Some of those offering personal comments admit they discuss Mo Mowlam in terms they wouldn't use if she were a man. And there is recognition, more grudging in some cases than in others, that this woman could have a pretty big impact. "You never know how good someone will be until they get the job," says one DUP man. But she would be, very, popular with the working class. She'd be out and about, caring, wanting to help and sort things.

As ever, it's on the "constitutional" and political questions that the unionists have their doubts. The ambiguity, arguably, is a symptom of Labour's role in opposition, and the requirements of the bipartisan policy. But ambiguity there undoubtedly is.

One veteran commentator on the North says: "She's bright, sparky, no respecter of male egos, determined to show that a woman can do the job. But there is a hesitation about spelling out what the future holds for Northern Ireland." He suggests she is possibly less forthcoming than she might be because of her close links with Blair, but also because Prime Minister Blair, ultimately, would drive Northern Ireland policy.

Nationalists would be only too, happy to think the North is set to be one of Blair's priority issues. But, against the knocking trend, one senior nationalist politician allows that Mowlam could have a considerable impact.

He says: "She would be a fairly unusual type of Secretary of State. Her general approach to people and things is, to say the least, unconventional. And I could imagine some staid people in Northern Ireland being ruffled by her."

And he echoes that Ulster Unionist complaint: "The danger is she could distract herself and others into peripheral issues. I fear that is the nature of her. She tends to flit from idea to idea rather than pursue ideas to conclusions."'

But he continues: "She has undoubted intellectual ability. If that is focused on the requirements for a solution then she could have a very potent effect on circumstances here."

Others agree, significantly, in the corridors of Whitehall, where the exercise of power will be unaffected by any change of government.

Because of the bipartisan policy, Northern Ireland officials have had a better opportunity than most to observe their Labour "shadow" at close quarters. They say they rate her highly. And there is praise, too, from Conservatives closely concerned with the North. One minister immediately offered his assessment: "I think she'd do very well."

IF that's enough to confirm unionist anxieties, they are presumably pleased that her domestic arrangements at least now conform to their concept of family values.

Mo's father died in 1981 from the combined effects of cancer and drink. She has spoken of "the shame, anger and bitterness and money problems that every family in that situation lives through as a consequence of alcoholism".

The young Mowlam repressed things, sought escape through good exam results. She says she remembers only the good times, and has blotted everything else out. But she doesn't cast herself as a victim, doesn't see or feel the scars. Like my mother I'm strong and pushy, a basically optimistic person.

She does admit, however, that her experience of her father made her "wary of relationships, made me stand back, remain on the outside, analysing, studying other couples, without being able to make the final commitment myself".

After a couple of affairs, described as "spectacularly untidy", she met the merchant banker Jon Norton. He is five years younger than her, a socialist and a campaigning republican (in the British, not the Irish, context,).

After four years together they married in 1995, largely, it seems, out of regard for Mr Norton's two children from a previous marriage, Henrietta and Freddy. They have them on Tuesdays and Thursdays, on alternate weekends and for part of the holidays. Jon does all the shopping and cooking. She describes him as "a brilliant man" who clearly makes her very happy, even if the task of getting a Labour government elected means he, too, has to be factored into the diary. And they'll see even less of each other if she gets the Stormont job. Jon emphatically will not be doing the rounds as Mr Mowlam.

There will be less time, too, for the people of Redcar. But her loyalists there seem ready to make the sacrifice. John Palister says: "In my opinion she's the best Northern Ireland could have. She cares about Northern Ireland." He tells me that up there they call her The Queen of Redcar and explains: "Because no matter who or what you are, she'll treat you exactly the same."

Her fellow cabinet-minister-to-be, Chris Smith, is also a big fan. He says Mo Mowlam "is one of the most devastatingly charming people I've ever met. She's got a very touchy-feely way of talking to people. She can convince people she's on their side, and listening to them in a way many others would find difficult."

Smith thinks she has won "a lot of brownie points with the unionists by being prepared to talk and relate to them in a way perhaps that some of her predecessors didn't." He believes she can make a difference beyond the enduring, issues in areas such as health, employment, education and investment. And he confides that Blair thinks Northern Ireland "has been the making of her".

Devastating charm is all very well. But Northern Ireland is a rough old spot. Would she be up to the big tussles? What if, for example, a newly-elected Labour government, within weeks of taking office, was confronted with Drumcree Mark Three? Chris Smith at least has no doubts. Mowlam, he says, has a deep reservoir of principle: "She's not just very good at personal relations and charm. She also has absolute steel underneath."