It was the day Bergerac joined the peace process. The television detective from the Channel Islands could not be there in person, but his political representatives came along to play their part at the inaugural meeting in London of the British-Irish Council.
Their titles were unusual, at least in the British and Irish contexts: Senator Pierre Horsfall represented what is officially known as the Bailiwick of Jersey, and Conseillor Laurie Morgan spoke on behalf of the Bailiwick of Guernsey. Little did John Hume and Gerry Adams know, when they started that discreet series of conversations in early 1988, how far-reaching the political and constitutional effects would be.
Despite their exotic titles, these Channel Islands folk talk a lot of sense. Conseillor (the same as councillor) Morgan told of a system where there were no political parties, no ministers, just 57 representatives elected by 60,000 people. The public finances were run with the same common sense and fiscal prudence as a family budget. Well might Tony Blair remark afterwards: "We'll all be adopting Guernsey as a model from now on."
Ireland may, in nationalist historiography, have endured 800 years of oppression, but Senator Horsfall told the Lancaster House audience that Jersey had enjoyed 800 years of autonomy. Jersey had seldom had the chance to take part in anything historic, but the island looked forward to hosting a meeting of the new council, as specified in the ground rules. And then the little dig: "I will ask the Prime Minister to cancel his next holiday in Tuscany."
Inwardly Tony Blair may have said "Ouch!", but outwardly he grinned like the true professional that he is.
The Isle of Man's Chief Minister, Mr Donald Gelling, pointed out that his homeland had experienced more than 1,000 years of continuous parliamentary government. On a day when little or no Irish was heard (although there were generous dollops of Welsh from First Secretary Alun Michael), Mr Gelling broke into Manx to pray "Dy bannee Jee ny eabyn ain (May God bless our endeavours)".
Now all these places, which have been at peace for the past 50 years, are united in the same body as storm-tossed Northern Ireland. It all added to what David Trimble called "the charm of this occasion". Ruritania meets the peace process.
The British-Irish Council is known as "BIC" for short, which makes it sound like a particular make of ballpoint pen, but the original title, "Council of the Isles" was rejected as too unionist.
One London official was calling it the "British Industry Council". Mr Trimble was skating on thin ice yesterday when, flanked by his nationalist other half, Seamus Mallon, he referred to the BIC members as being part of the "British Isles". The SDLP won't put up with that for long: maybe they can cut a deal - David stops talking about the British Isles if Seamus stops referring to "the North of Ireland". A press release from the British Cabinet Office was more tactful, merely referring to the BIC as a gathering of representatives of "all the islands".
Although the word "historic" appeared in the text of Trimble's speech, he refused to actually say it. Since he failed to use the term yesterday, it is difficult to see when there will be another opportunity. The main institutions are up and running - the Civic Forum will take another few months - and, from now on, defining moments and the like will be in short supply.
Mr Peter Mandelson was there, but did not talk to the news media. Some routine comments of his about the Patten report on policing had been "splashed" on the front page of a London daily, so maybe he was wise to keep a low profile. And there was no sign of Bobby, his pet dog. Perhaps the Northern Secretary has learnt the Hollywood maxim, that you cannot compete with animals and children.
The various representatives were greeted personally at the front door by Mr Blair. There was a handshake for Bairbre de Brun; the first time in public for Downing Street and Sinn Fein.
Tony looked towards the cameras, as though not entirely sure he was doing the right thing. The Trimble-Adams handshake cannot be far away now, but presumably not before the Ulster Unionist Council meeting in February.
The Scots delegation arrived in a modest saloon car, setting an example to the Cabinet from Dublin, whose display of the "cavalcade complex" at Armagh last Monday was generally regarded as unhelpful. Edinburgh's First Minister, Donald Dewar, also set a headline for modesty when he declared that one of his strengths as a politician was the capacity to plagiarise other people's ideas.
Tip to aspiring politicians: find out what the buzzword of the day is and start using it. The key term at Lancaster House was "architecture". Tony Blair spoke of "a whole new architecture of institutional links" created by the Belfast Agreement, and the word kept cropping up.
With the British-Irish Council duly inaugurated, the main players adjourned to Downing Street for the first meeting of the new British-Irish Intergovernmental Conference, another part of the Good Friday architecture. Instead of the usual baubles, bangles and beads, the Christmas tree outside No 10 was festooned with white doves of peace against a background of cotton-wool snow.
At a news conference inside, the Taoiseach brought the first touch of real politics to a largely ceremonial day when he was asked if he had a message for the paramilitaries on the decommissioning of weapons. In a tantalising reply, Mr Ahern, the most cunning, the most ruthless, the most brilliant of them all, said: "They should assist us in decommissioning the word decommissioning. Get rid of it."