ANALYSIS: Labour's candidate in North Tipperary, Kathleen O'Meara, is a natural on the canvass, doling out money to First Communicants on a sunny summer weekend, writes Kathy Sheridan
Odd. A statue of Patrick Kavanagh outside the Bank of Ireland in Nenagh town centre . . . It's blocking the entrance, which is also odd. And has lots of curiously watchful little boys around it.
Then its foot moves, presses a button and, oh criminally gormless journalist, you're in perfect range for a stunning squirt of water straight between the eyes.
It's a palpable hit for mime artist Paul Bannon and one in the eye for the Dublin media. As for the little gits, er, boys, they'll need tranquillisers to shut up their hysterical guffawing.
Combine with loads of free lollipops and balloons, the band of the Richardson Nenagh School of Music belting out The Fields of Athenry and the fact that the little gits' parents are as thrilled as anyone with the diversion on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and you have one of the simplest, most life-enhancing and effective stunts in the entire campaign, all courtesy of the Labour Party.
It's become a Labour tradition to stage a bit of razzmatazz in the town on pre-election Saturday. Then again, this is the party party, the one that's promising us all two extra holidays a year. And don't mock. According to Kathleen O'Meara, that's been a big hit with the voters.
She's at the centre of the festivities, in her red denim jacket, her pockets weighed down with two-euro coins in anticipation of stray First Communicants. And she's a natural. Easy and warm, a relaxed familiarity with people and names; a light touch on the shoulder here, a bit of banter there, a firm handshake, direct eye contact, a move to the fringes of the crowd for a quiet word.
Her husband, Kevin Dolan, is handing out lollies and saving people from the traffic. Fiona, their nine-year-old, is on keyboards in the band. The band's teacher, Larry Richardson, grins that he has "a bit of a thing for Kathleen".
Somewhere out the country, knocking on doors, are Kathleen's 85-year-old father - community activist, dairy farmer, two-time chairman of North Tipperary IFA and sidekick of T. J. Maher in the heady marching days - and her 82-year-old mother.
O'Meara attracted over 4,000 votes first time out in 1997 - "one hell of a foothold in the rockface of Keeper Hill". Her campaign director, John Tooher, has noticed a "huge" difference in this campaign. "Everyone recognises her this time because she's worked so hard."
There's no doubt about that as we canvass a street leading out of town. A grim-looking woman yanks open the door, opens her mouth to snap, then suddenly beams. "I was all set to have a go if it was someone else," she says, taken aback, "but I'm voting for you."
There are plenty more like her.
Where O'Meara shines is in engaging the apathetic and the undecideds. A youth too mellow for heavy discussions is suddenly coming over all serious about the environment and motor insurance.
A middle-aged man with a ponytail who seemed deeply uninterested, is suddenly holding forth about health, fuelled by O'Meara's remark about the vacant nursing posts in the local hospital and staffing in casualty.
A woman whose husband is about to be laid off after 20 years with Aventis, the pharmaceutical company, is told that the Government's own figures show that out of 400,000 jobs created since 1997, only 1,000 came to North Tipp. "A quarter of 1 per cent - and not a single high-tech job. Not one."
Meanwhile, the Lowry bus is in town. She doesn't curl a lip. "The Dublin media totally misinterpret what's going on here. Michael Lowry's vote holds up because it's a purely personal one that he has maintained through superb political organisation, hard work, and his ability to deliver one to one. You can only stand in awe . . ."
Mind you, one could only stand in awe at the kamikaze merchant who would say otherwise. With Lowry at 28 per cent in the polls and all that potential for transfers, who's going to side with the dreaded Dublin media (of which O'Meara herself was once a part)? And she has more nous than that. Unlike Michael Noonan. He "lashed Lowry over the sleaze" when he came to Thurles.
The folly of it. To illustrate, she points a finger at the side of her head and rotates it slowly. "All he did was send an avalanche of Lowry number twos in our direction. An avalanche."
Wishful thinking or sweet reality? One to watch.