"No metal spikes beyond this point", read the sign at the hotel entrance, prompting images of delegates intent on inflicting mortal wounds on each other or the party leadership.
But in the event there was n'er a sharp word at the Fianna Fβil Ard Fheis over the weekend, let alone a sharp implement. Instead they stood around in the unseasonal sunshine at Citywest on the outskirts of Dublin, sipping, not Pimms, but lager and stout, and reflecting on the glory of the country under the stewardship of their great party.
It was like a FF country club with delegates being whizzed around in executive golf buggies; a helicopter on the lawn; and a few non-party golfers trying not to feel too self-conscious about their swing, as they putted just feet away from the sun-soaking delegates.
At 6 p.m. the public address system announced, somewhat shockingly, the bars were closing and everyone had to make their way into the main hall for the leader's address that wouldn't begin for a further two hours. Men with tight haircuts could be seen talking into their sleeves. Delegates were asked, "for security reasons" to display their identification prominently and to turn off their mobile telephones. Clearly taking no chances with to allow any surreptitious calling or texting from inside the hall.
The warm-up was a bit tepid, notable only for the party making the very most of its female members. In fact the female prominence at the podium belied their minority status in the party. More than 2,000 people were gathered in the hall and the only one they were interested in was Bertie.
He was lauded and applauded. Various video inserts beamed him around the hall and into homes around the country.
There was Listening Bertie on the telephone; Brave Bertie wearing a flak jacket; Statesman Bertie with Clinton, Blair and Mandela; Fun Bertie laughing. It was the cult of Bertie and they loved it.
Just when you thought he must have been blushing to his roots backstage he made a dramatic entrance from the side of the hall.
He slowly made his way through the adoring throng, to the strains of an exceptionally stirring composition called Oceania, later dubbed The Nuremberg Sonata by one Fianna Fβiler.
It was all very slick but that was about as stirring as it got. In the words of one party handler it was "an interim speech" along the lines of "we have done a lot and much more remains to be done".
The Taoiseach pledged to end child poverty; cure the ills in the health service; fix the education system; end racism; "honour our fathers and mothers"; and in a by now typical Bertie-istic slip of the tongue he said that the Government would "help parents access high-quality, affordable children", (childcare).
At the end ministers, TDs, senators and MEPs made an unseemly dash to be captured on camera by the leader's side. But the one who lack of haste was most obvious was Sean Doherty.
He was clearly not interested in a prominent position in the family photograph.
Then the Taoiseach left the stage, no doubt to put the final touches to the graveside oration at Glasnevin.
The delegates were delighted to see in their Clβr that in the event of their own demise there is now available a Fianna Fβil funeral flag. Party headquarters commissioned the design and manufacture of the party flag, to be draped over the coffin, and each Comhairle Dβil Cheantair has been encouraged to purchase one.