It's the 40th anniversary of the summer of love. And as the friends of the earth join the friends of the earth-mover in Government this weekend, nobody can accuse Ireland of not getting into the spirit of the occasion.
It will be exactly 40 years tomorrow since the quintessential event of 1967: the Monterey rock festival featuring the Grateful Dead and others. How apt then that, reflecting on the Green Party's path to coalition in his blog this week, Ciaran Cuffe should quote Jerry Garcia: "What a long strange trip it's been."
Sadly, the environmentalist movement is not all love and peace in the wake of the decision. Instead of flowers, Trevor Sargent is wearing Roger Garland in his hair. Even so, these are heady times for politics. If the Greens and Fianna Fáil can live in harmony, there must be hope yet for the Middle East.
Because of a certain planning decision that coincided with it, the line-up named by Bertie Ahern yesterday may yet come to be regarded as the "Ikea Cabinet".
In a sense, last month's election delivered all the parties flat-packed, without a ready-made majority. The Taoiseach had to assemble the various parts of the Cabinet himself. And when he did, as often happens, there seemed to be a couple of bits (Beverley Flynn and Michael Lowry) that didn't fit anywhere.
Perhaps their true significance will emerge only when a leg of the Cabinet falls off. But Mr Ahern will be hoping that any long-term comparisons between the Swedish furniture company and his Government are limited to the layout of Ikea stores, where you go in at one end and come out the other - about five years later - with no turning back in between. If the partnership does run its course, it could be a long, strange trip for us all.
Speaking of trips, I thought I was having one - in the Jerry Garcia sense - when I saw that picture of Ian Paisley and Martin McGuinness crossing cricket bats the other day. Even if they haven't shaken hands yet, the warmth between the two men is now undeniable. It seems that the summer of love has arrived even in Stormont.
Cynics might say that cricket is exactly the right sport to symbolise their working relations. After all, it involves a series of "partnerships", in which team-mates face each other 22 yards apart, always run in opposite directions, and try hard not to meet in the middle.
This is no time for cynicism, however. It's not long ago since the DUP leader would not have touched the Sinn Féin man with a 40-foot pole. He is now touching him with a three-foot pole, according to the photograph. That is surely progress.
Messrs Paisley and McGuinness are the tail-enders of the Northern peace process's first XI: the two last men standing when everybody else has been bowled out. I was reminded of the fate of the opening batsmen recently while watching, of all things, a documentary about Bob Marley.
Another of this year's anniversaries marks the release 30 years ago of Marley's landmark Exodus album. And among other things, the documentary featured his role in uniting Jamaica during the violent late 1970s.
During one famous concert, he brought the leaders of the two main political factions on stage, raising their arms and urging them to make peace. It was a moment that was uplifting and embarrassing - in about equal proportions - to watch. Because, as usual at rock concerts, the politicians just did not look like they belonged there.
For the casual viewer, any tension between the two leaders seemed to be a result of their proximity to the reggae star, who bopped vigorously in the middle while holding their arms, as they remained firmly in non-bopping mode.
Anyway, the footage provoked strong feelings of déjà vu. And then it hit me that I had witnessed this scene before once, in person, albeit with a completely different cast. It was in 1998, at the Waterfront Hall in Belfast, with U2's Bono playing Bob Marley and John Hume and David Trimble as the Jamaican leaders.
The Belfast Agreement had just been signed. Now it was getting the ultimate seal of approval, from Bono. But the UUP and SDLP leaders did not look quite at home on stage with a rock band. It was as if the laundry had overstarched their shirts that morning. While the event was certainly heart-warming, you were glad when it was over.
If the Marley and Bono incidents were strikingly similar, subsequent developments in the two countries were not. The two Jamaican politicians thrived, swapping power for a decade afterwards. But as we now know, a final settlement in Northern Ireland required that the middle ground be eliminated first. Unwittingly, Bono was giving the kiss of death to his stage guests, or at least to their parties.
The Belfast Agreement was "Sunningdale for slow learners", as Seamus Mallon said. And of course we are all grateful that the competing hardliners got there in the end, and that their bats are now wielded in peace. What a long, strange trip it's been, and no mistake.
Let's hope the dead are grateful too.