On the canvass:Candidates get used to packs of snarling dogs. They learn stoicism in the face of non-functioning doorbells. They keep smiling when the umpteenth gas card, stunned by her own originality, folds her arms and smirks : "So what are you going to do for me?" Kathy Sheridanwith Nicky Kelly
The one element they have no control over is the weather. And Labour seems to trigger its own mini-weather patterns.
Yesterday, when the battle bus rolled into Kilcoole, a gentle drizzle became a deluge. As Pat Rabbitte and local candidates, Nicky Kelly and Liz McManus, stood gamely waiting for parents outside the school, minders wielding protective umbrellas over the leader managed to funnel another few gallons of rain on to his pinstripes.
"Why would anyone vote for anybody who's prepared to do this? This is masochism," he declared to no one in particular.
We tittered as the most urbane of canvassers, who manages to be approachable without being sickly, tetchily and damply pointed out the obvious.
"Why am I where there are no people?," he wondered, after shaking the hands of two women - the only human presence to be seen - working in the petrol station.
Out in the rain, a man stops and gets out of his car with some deliberation. He was there to say that he was giving Labour one more chance, he said.
He was voting for change, not for Fianna Fáil, as happened in 1992, and he didn't want to see it happening again. "We're getting a bit of that all right," conceded Rabbitte later.
As the school empties, women fleeing the downpour shake hands on the run, pausing to say "Howya, Nicky."
"Give us a number one and we'll mind the baby for you," he jokes. Kelly has been through the wars in the past. He received a full presidential pardon in 1993 following his wrongful conviction for the 1976 Sallins mail train robbery.
In November last year, he was fined €730 at Wicklow District Court for motoring offences and picked up five penalty points on his licence arising from his conviction for not having insurance.
Kelly is no flowery phrase- spinner. An eager handshake, a few earnest words. "Only 19 more votes," is the slogan and the focus, a reminder of the 2002 marathon when he lost out to Mildred Fox by that number.
This time round, public transport is the major issue. He talks about the commuting drudge that is the lot of over 3,500 south Wicklow commuters.
"They spend three to four hours a day in a car. No quality of life. When a 6am train was laid on, no one thought to put on a corresponding one in the mid- afternoon for people who were in early and wanted to leave early."
A lethal and mysterious nine-kilometre break in the dual carriageway to Arklow remains two-way, because - the National Roads Authority informed - a "political decision" meant the money was no longer available.
Kelly claims it was diverted to an orbital road for Waterford, in Martin Cullen's constituency.
"At the last election, no one wanted to engage on the doorsteps because they were all doing so well. This time, you can't get away from them".
There is quiet optimism, buoyed by yesterday's poll, that Labour can recapture the glory days and two seats. At Arklow Community College, the reception party is a line-up of neat, cheerful students, head prefects and tall to small members of the student council.
The school has been waiting for a PE hall for 20 years, has seven pre-fabs bolted on and is expecting two more. It's high on the list for an extension, but no one is losing the run of themselves.
Meanwhile, two teachers can be heard commenting that Rabbitte "comes across very well . . . very charming". In the classrooms, he scores 50 per cent recognition with the fifth years. Kelly scores 100. They know him as Nicky.
The principal, Pat Bolger, proudly escorts the party to the vocational training area, where a practical beauty therapy exam is in progress. "Jazes, Nicky, you could do with a touch of that," says Nicky's boss, as we pile in to scrutinise a row of mortified women, lying prone, having their feet massaged.
"An unconscionable intrusion," Rabbitte pronounces cheerfully, heading off for a meeting in the antiquated home economics room, with members of Arklow Chamber of Commerce. It's a sorry report from the Garden of Ireland: raw sewage and rats in the river, undrinkable water, impossible traffic.
On the way out, a student presents him with a silver pen set. "When we're in the next government and signing for a new school, that'll be the pen we'll use," Nicky tells the student. Everyone grins but stays schtum.