It's politics old style on the Dundalk Road in Crossmaglen. Seamus Mallon doesn't knock or press the bell; he goes directly for the handle on the door but it's locked. "Ah, Margaret is out, we'll have to come back and see her later," he says, and he does.
Akin to his long-time attachment to the pipe, canvassing is a ritual for the North's Deputy First Minister in his Newry and Armagh constituency. Mr Mallon's campaign trail is a well-worn one.
As he approaches a home in the nearby Ardross estate he's expecting the usual dressing down. "There's a woman up here who's been telling me off for 30 years," he says expectantly. But the elderly woman has no cause to berate him today. "Not a problem, Seamus," she says with a wink, assuring her support. "God, I got off easy today," he quips as he strides away.
There are no inquisitions for Mr Mallon on the doorsteps, just quiet nods and nudges to communicate voting intentions. Then the offer of tea . . . "no tea, well what about a brandy so?" says a woman. Mr Mallon rubs his lips together for a moment but declines again.
The broad-shouldered frame of the SDLP deputy leader refused to be rushed by his canvassers on Saturday. The SDLP Assembly member for the area, Mr John Fee, places a bet they can cover "Cross" in an hour. "Well you won't be getting me around it in an hour," responds Mr Mallon flatly.
He sees this election as a "non-issue" election, resting simply on who people want to represent them. "If they start asking you questions you know they're not going to vote for you."
The sound of the British army helicopters swooping low over houses in the Lismore estate is deafening. Mr Mallon looks skyward as one thunders past close to a chimney stack with its side door open and a manned machine-gun pointing to the ground.
"That's deliberate," he says with disdain. "You know what the Shinners will say, Mallon brought in the helicopters," adds Mr Fee.
Mr Mallon performs a U-turn to visit an 89-year-old Protestant woman living in the estate. Mrs McDonnell says she's very happy there after moving from Ballymena, Co Antrim.
As the car he is travelling in pulls away young men throw eggs. "You'd want to wash that off straight away. It hardens and you can't get it off. I'm somewhat of an expert on eggs," he dryly informs his canvasser.
Mr Mallon doesn't go walkabout in the town square, where the IRA killed a total of 13 British soldiers during the Troubles. "I'll come back here myself and have a wander and a cup of coffee before the election. You have to leave some bits undone, it gives you an excuse to come back."
He popped out another Nicorette gum through the foil wrapping and into his hand - 11 weeks now without lighting up. "I had got to the stage there that I was filling the pipe last thing at night so it would be ready for the morning. But I still keep it in the car and look at it longingly every now and again."
If smoking comes with a health warning so too should election campaigns by the sounds of it. Mr Mallon admits to one man he'll be "glad to see the back of it". Last weekend alone he faced exhausting hill walks in Keady, lashing rain in Armagh and of course there was meeting the relatives in Blackwatertown - "they're Shinners," he breathes.
In Chestnut Grove in Newry on Monday he encounters another branch of the Mallon family. "More Shinners," he says after exchanging pleasantries. "But there's the smell of a vote there."
Cllr Frank Feely, who shared digs with Mr Mallon when they were both young teachers, stresses to the other councillors he is the "number one" in that area for the PR poll in the local elections.
"I've been doing it all wrong. I've been saying you were number two. We'd want to go back and tell those people," jibes Mr Mallon.
One woman is delighted to find the familiar face on her doorstep. "Oh, pleased to meet you and my face not washed today at all," she says.
"A wee bit of reading and no doubt you'll believe every word of it," says Mr Mallon as he hands over his pamphlet to another woman. "Ah, of course, sure aren't you a politician," she says. "Touche," he retorts.
Many residents express their indignation at the council decision to block off of a number of roads being used as "rat runs". "If you weren't such a populist, Frank, you wouldn't be agreeing to those types of thing," remarks Mr Mallon as they retreat from one door.
"Are you on the register here?" he asks another of his canvassers as he passes them speaking to a householder in Beechmount Park. "Well, you've been standing here long enough to be on it."
"It's the oldest trick in the book," he adds, tongue in cheek. "Find someone who'll talk to you. Put your shoulder against the door for the next hour and by the time you come out the rest of the boys will have it all done."
Off the Upper Damolly Road an elderly woman explains in exasperated tones to Mr Mallon how the local council is charging her pensioners' bowling team £2,500 a year for green fees.
"Now you did my brother a good turn and he's very impressed with you, Seamus, but I'm so disgusted with the council I won't be voting for anyone," she said.
"If you don't vote for people you can be sure they are not going to be able to do anything for you," said Mr Mallon. Grasping her arm he adds, "Whether you vote for me or not I'll get that sorted for you."