Day threatens to give new meaning to term 'floating voter'

ANALYSIS: So much for the Fianna Fáil election machine. As you must have heard by now, the party's backroom boys have been planning this campaign for four years, mapping it out in meticulous detail and leaving absolutely nothing to chance. And then they went and held the poll on a day when torrential rain threatened to give new meaning to the term "floating voter".

With profound symbolism, the eve of polling even brought thunder and lightning, as the warm air caused by three weeks of competing party promises collided with the cold reality of about two million people casting their votes.

And although there were divergent theories about who was most vulnerable to the rain, one theory was that Fianna Fáil voters, thinking the party was home and dry, would decide that was the best way for them to be too.

But if the best laid plans of mice and P.J. Mara fell victim to the weather, at least the computerised voting machines worked. There were a few early hitches here too, but they were short-lived. And by yesterday afternoon, voters in the constituencies involved were pushing all the right buttons, at least as far as the machines were concerned.

The innovation has led to some specialisation in the work of polling clerks. In Palmerstown Boys School, Dublin West, a "control unit operator" sat beside each machine, activating it for every vote. Signs on the wall asked departing electors "Did you press your 'cast vote' button?" But when the button was not pressed, the vote remained active on the control screen and the operator was quickly onto the case anyway.

Older people were slower, clerks reported, but everybody managed, and one woman in her 80s proudly declared that the system was "high infants' stuff" as she departed the hall. It was all about machines. Sinn Féin's was switched on early and by afternoon was going full throttle in Dublin South West, where Sean Crowe is expected to win a seat.

Taking a break from the effort in Killinarden, Mr Crowe disputed reports that he had hundreds of workers getting the vote out. But a fleet of cars with little Sinn Féin flags was cruising the nearby estates, looking like a reverse pizza delivery service, and bringing voters to the polling stations.

The rain was as relentless as Sinn Féin's rise in Irish politics. But if it was bad news for Fianna Fáil, Sean Crowe wasn't celebrating either. "I'd be happier without the bad weather," he said of his prospects, "but I think we have the seat all right."

The increased mechanisation of Irish elections was proving too much for some voters, however. Automated telephone messages from Mary Harney, Sean Ardagh and other TDs caused annoyance by getting through even to people whose phone numbers were ex-directory.

There was just no getting away from this election, it seemed. Unless you were the Irish soccer team, which escaped the deluge yesterday, in more ways than one.