Labour must wait, they used to say, until Mary Robinson and Dick Spring tore up the script. But now that the Civil War has restarted, must it wait again? Adi Roche doesn't think so. Like a sweet younger sister, she was calling yesterday on her two elder siblings in Fianna Fail and Fine Gael to stop their squabbling. Let's not drag the office of President into the mud, she told anyone in Galway who cared to ask.
You couldn't help but notice the calm that has descended on the Roche campaign in recent days. The panic over plummeting poll percentages has passed. Be stoic - stateswoman-like, if you can manage it. Sure things could be worse.
Just as Fianna Fail and Fine Gael are taking up their old battle positions, it seems that Labour too is reverting to type. The fuss over Mary McAleese and her nationalism has cleared the battle lines. And now that the compass of electoral support has stopped swinging so wildly, Labour and the other left-wing parties are returning to their core constituency.
For her canvass in Loughrea yesterday, Roche was turned out in a bright two-piece and coat in a socialist hue of red. Even her hairdresser was from Reds salon in Dublin.
Her message was more fiery too. Having a track record on the environment, or peace and social justice issues made "the establishment" uncomfortable, she told students in UCG last night.
That was why the rumours, the gossip, the accusations that she used soft language started. "If a candidate believes that it's time we faced up seriously to the position of children in society, the easy way to deal with that is to dismiss the candidate as touchy-feely. That way we don't have to worry about the issues she's raising."
Roche says she is "sick and tired" of being tagged a "Stalinist" or "touchy-feely". "No Belarussian border guard has ever described me as "touchy-feely". None of the governments I have negotiated with over many years ever saw me that way. I know the agenda behind slurs of this kind."
Her stock response to questions about the poll results was that they don't tally with the response on the ground. She could be right, if Loughrea is anything to go by. It isn't exactly a left-wing stronghold, but everywhere there were handshakes and smiles and honking car-horns for the candidate.
One woman gave her a tray of free-range eggs; a Fianna Fail councillor even wished her well (he turned out to be a second cousin).
In Footloose shoestore, she rummaged enthusiastically through the bargain bin and found something she liked. "I feel like Cinderella," she remarked, as she slipped on the shoe.
"You can say you sold a pair of shoes to the next President of Ireland," she told the shop assistant. "Then they'll be saying the President goes around in £10 shoes," he riposted. Sometimes, you just can't win.