Northern Ireland politics is becalmed, nothing more hopeful on the horizon than a painted ship of government: little wonder that Northerners see the unsteady fortunes of Tony Blair - and Bertie Ahern - dimly and selectively through the August haze, writes Fionnuala O Connor
Lacking politics that moves of its own volition, the place peers out wistfully at the bigger world. It is always belittling to wait for the emergence of main players in London, and to a lesser extent in Dublin, who are a) informed about Northern Ireland and b) committed to action. Hoping for Northern reasons that they prosper, regardless of their record on other issues, means likely disappointment.
When Mrs Thatcher signed up to the Anglo-Irish Agreement, even some unionists knew they could chalk it up to Jim Molyneaux's misreading of the Iron Lady and overestimate of his own status in Westminster. For every unionist cheering now as Mr Blair's wheels come off and the spinning has to stop, there are nationalists looking away from the television and recalling their own cheers when Blair spin kept the peace process moving.
Blushing is not a nationalist characteristic, but some also recall that cloud no bigger than a hand, the niggle pushed to the back of the collective mind in the glory days. Tony Blair's ability to persuade was wonderful: David Trimble's acceptance of the Good Friday agreement a marvel. Still, wouldn't there be trouble eventually about the Blair "side-letter" of reassurance to Mr Trimble about decommissioning? Was that a bit too smooth, a move too far in the direction of saying what was useful regardless of truth or consequences?
One near-scholarly observer who watched the British prime minister's performance then with awe says that disappointment is what he feels most now. "The worst bit was Blair saying back off, lads - let's all show restraint in honour of David Kelly, out of respect for his family, let's leave it to the Hutton inquiry. And the next day the poor man's Walter Mitty."
But for those hooked on politics no matter how stagnant, distaste for Downing Street shenanigans is no deterrent. Any and all connections are worth celebration, gossip at the least.
Downing Street's press officer Tom Kelly, still holding the parcel when the music stopped: we knew him well. He was a sombre and thoughtful voice through years as BBC Northern Ireland political correspondent, then a watchful face in the background and an adept briefer as the Northern Ireland Office's chief spokesman.
The mercy is that spin-masters don't hold public attention for long, nor should they. Lay on the mincer of opposition and public opinion where punishment should land most heavily. Feeding out indefensible lines calls for harsh criticism, but so do the bosses who wanted the line spun.
General public interest can't be detained for long by the detail of how that line emerged and what etiquette was observed or broken on the way: the sifting that political reporters do between quotes which are on the record/unattributable/for background only, the squared off sentences marked "NOT FOR USE" as anxious reminders beside the shorthand sentences from the source that says "I don't ever want to see this in print". This will certainly bore most readers in short order. But it isn't complicated.
What's the difference between a private conversation and a briefing? One very often runs into the other, and out again. In any lengthy conversation most official spokespersons are likely to move between statements which they intend should be reported word for word as "an official spokesman said last night", to points which they are happy to see reported, indeed would quite like to see reported as the views of "insiders" or "well-informed sources".
And then there are the colourful assessments of character or bits of detail which may be more exaggeration than fact, and which say more about the spokesperson's personal opinions, or the opinions of the person they speak for, than are wise to voice in any way that can be traced back. Practised briefers learn early to build in their safety mechanisms.
Many are incapable of colourful statements because their sense of self-preservation is so strong.
Most get through only the first words of a daring assertion or a juicy speculation about character or motivation before caution kicks in: "This is just you and me talking; this would get me in terrible trouble; entirely off the record and not even for background."
Oh, the plain speaker grumbles, this is such slippery talk. But there is only one way to interpret NOT FOR USE.
And what if a spokesperson is trying to have it both ways, to feed in a smear while suggesting, though never spelling out, that the conversation is private? That's when the reporter makes a judgment, and writes the story.