The cliche in the early days of the Stormont talks was that it was like watching paint dry. But a dark eminence from one of the government teams rephrased it to the more accurate: "It's like listening to paint dry."
The talks had a difficult birth and emerged under peculiar and contradictory circumstances. For some time, Sinn Fein was pressing the slogan: "All-party talks now" but, ironically, when the demand was granted, Sinn Fein was kept out.
The reason for granting the demand may have been the same as the reason Sinn Fein was barred. Governments cannot officially acknowledge that terrorism works or that the Canary Wharf bomb gave the vital impetus needed to get negotiations going. But if the start of the talks was not a result of the London explosion, it certainly "followed hard upon".
Of course, Sinn Fein's entry was made conditional on an IRA ceasefire. Mr Adams and his cohorts objected vigorously to this and showed the world yet again that even setbacks can be turned into major publicity coups. The other difficulty about the birth of the talks was the insistence of the British government, egged on by unionists, on having an election to a Forum which would also be the election of delegates to the talks.
Despite a successful showing in the Forum elections, Sinn Fein was still kept out. The Dublin Government adviser, Mr Fergus Finlay, said that talks without Sinn Fein were "not worth a penny candle" and it was certainly the case that very little progress seemed to be made in its absence.
The first day of the talks saw Mr Adams yet again marching his supporters to the gates of Castle Buildings, the extraordinarily dismal structure within which the future of Northern Ireland was to be conceived.
London-based papers, giving evidence of wishful thinking, published photos of Mr Adams and Mr Martin McGuinness "behind bars" at the gates of the talks centre - trying to get in rather than to get out.
The early sittings were dominated by a huge row over the nomination of Senator George Mitchell as chairman. The former US Senate Majority leader was chairman of the International Body on Arms Decommissioning. Perfectly logical then that he should become talks chairman? Not at all, said unionists of almost every hue. He was a product of the Kennedy stable, they said, an agent of the Irish-American lobby and likely to be a worm at the heart of loyal Ulster.
The pattern of events began to emerge: the mainstream Ulster Unionist Party objected loud and long to the Mitchell chairmanship but at the end of the day acceded to pressure from the two governments.
Dr Ian Paisley's Democratic Unionists and the United Kingdom Unionists, led by Mr Robert McCartney, walked out in protest over the installation of Mr Mitchell but walked back in later on to keep an eye on their "Trimbleite" opponents.
Once Mr Mitchell was in situ, the talks settled down to what seemed like seven centuries of stony sleep. Long speeches, little advance was the message to the waiting hacks who were excluded from covering the proceedings (to the silent relief of some of them).
There may be no reason in theory why talks between the middle-ground parties could not produce a Northern settlement but the fact was that in 1991-92 that strategy failed. There was little evidence it would succeed in 1996.
Reporters and camera crews whiled away perfectly good summer and autumn evenings covering the futile endeavour. Other issues swept peace moves out of the headlines, notably Drumcree 1996 and occasional acts of paramilitary violence.
Underlying all the paralysis was the fact that the Tory government of Mr John Major held a paper-thin majority, was afraid of alienating the unionist bloc and was in its death throes anyway. There is also a view that Mr Major, having previously taken risks for peace to help bring about the 1994 ceasefire, had remembered that his organisation's official title is the Conservative and Unionist Party.
Meanwhile, interesting noises were coming from the Labour opposition, particularly its Northern Ireland spokeswoman, Dr Mo Mowlam, who seemed to be "pushing the envelope" towards the IRA: offering rapid entry to the talks in return for a ceasefire.
It has been said that "death is part of the process" and clearly the IRA was sending a pointed and bloody message when one of its snipers killed the British soldier Stephen Restorick at Bessbrook, Co Armagh.
The tension of last year's marching season was exacerbated by the ruthless gunning-down of two RUC officers on a Lurgan sidestreet. Although there were encouraging signs of moderation from the Orange Order, the decision to force the Orange march down the Garvaghy Road caused severe damage to the reputation of Dr Mowlam - now Northern Secretary - among the nationalist community.
More importantly, it engendered a mass movement of nationalists onto the streets, potentially the biggest such manifestation since the civil rights days. The stage seemed set for a sustained confrontation between the broad mass of nationalists and the forces of the state when, almost out of the blue, the Provisionals declared another cessation of violence.
The advent of New Labour to power, the obvious interest of Mr Tony Blair in solving the problem and more tic-tacking than you would see at the Curragh races had brought about a new atmosphere of cautious trust between republicans and London.
The long-fingering of the issue of paramilitary decommissioning was obviously crucial in the IRA's decision. Here again the pattern was one of Ulster Unionists hanging tough for as long as possible but, at last, giving into the superior force of the two governments in determined mood.
The second ceasefire hasn't been as good as the first. There has been fraying at the edges of the republican movement and a fair amount of violence from splinter groups, although the mainstream of the IRA is still behind the process.
The fissures in republicanism may have reflected, in part, the fact that it was deal time. The Westminster and local elections last year saw a further rise in Sinn Fein's share in the vote and the party now had two MPs who wanted to set up offices at Westminster but couldn't, thanks to Ms Betty Boothroyd's insistence that they take the oath of allegiance.
It can certainly be said that, with Sinn Fein aboard, the talks were worth at least one penny candle but the fact that the Ulster Unionists weren't talking directly to the republicans ensured the candle-power remained low. A unionist wag memorably described the scene at the table as being like a family Christmas dinner with certain people not talking to each other.
AN attempt by the SDLP and the unionists to reach agreement on a list of key issues in the talks last Christmas was scuppered because a Northern Ireland assembly was included and Dublin, in particular, felt it wasn't yet time to offer Sinn Fein such distasteful medicine.
The Propositions on Heads of Agreement proved even more distasteful to the republicans. The terms were bad enough, from their viewpoint, but advance leaking to the Daily Telegraph against a background of renewed attacks on Catholics made for an even more hostile reception.
The rationale in Dublin - now emerging as the major player on the nationalist side - was that the unionists needed a document as a basis of negotiation if they were to be kept on board. The nationalists already had the Framework Document which, although officially agreed by the two governments, was anathema to unionists.
Stresses and strains aplenty indicated at least that the governments were trying to make the talks the crucible for a deal, rather than a mere talking-shop.
The parties adjourned to London's Lancaster House, where the UUP's Mr Jeffrey Donaldson became a national name when he tore up the Framework Document in full view of TV cameras. Comfort was provided to Sinn Fein with soothing words to allay fears aroused by the Propositions paper.
The situation "on the ground" was putting strains on both republicans and loyalists. The Ulster Democratic Party had to leave the table after its associates in the outlawed UDA admitted a number of sectarian killings. When the IRA killed an alleged drug-dealer and a prominent loyalist in Belfast, the two governments were faced with the necessity to show that "sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander".
The circus set up at Dublin Castle but, instead of Strand Two North-South issues, the week was dominated by the proposed expulsion of Sinn Fein and that party's efforts through the High Court and the court of public opinion to prevent this. Unionists were secretly relieved that opponents in their own camp could not accuse them of selling Ulster out on enemy ground and the SDLP, for the most part, maintained a judicious silence.
After meetings with the British and Irish leaders and a tete-a-tete at the White House, Sinn Fein came back. But President Clinton's pleas to Mr Trimble to hold bilaterals with Sinn Fein fell on deaf ears.
Soon we were into the final countdown, with Mr Mitchell coming out of his shell to assume the role of active broker. Settle your differences by April 9th, he insisted, but still the atmosphere at Castle Buildings remained enervated and overlaid with ennui.
The reason was that the real action was taking place in London and, to a lesser extent, Dublin. The governments were like tailors measuring a man for a suit over the telephone.
When the product of their deliberations appeared in Mr Mitchell's draft text for a settlement, the suit clearly did not fit Mr Trimble. Outright rejection was his initial reaction but he carefully refrained from walking out of the process and his colleagues insisted they were eager for agreement - but not on those terms.
Right to the end, Mr Trimble kept everyone guessing. He was clearly determined not to suffer the same political fate as Mr Brian Faulkner who failed to keep the grassroots "on side". In an odd way, his strategy mirrored that of Sinn Fein which was also intent on staying in touch with its base. After much boredom, many long days and numerous false alarms, the talks were finally approaching the moment of decision.
Like great aircraft carriers, the apparatus of two governments, both leaders and civil servants, had lined up together and the parties had been presented with the same hymnsheet, although they still weren't singing in tune. As the hours and minutes ticked by, everyone knew that, whatever the outcome, this was the last best chance for peace in a long, long time.