Green smoke at last. At half-eight last night, an environmentally friendly emission wafted from Leinster House, writes Miriam Lord
Agreement had been reached. The deal was done.
Habemus Programme for Government, declared a spokesman for the Greens (or words to that effect). It had been sealed with a handshake at 10 to eight.
In a historic coupling, Grianna Fáil: The Soldiers of Broccoli, have embraced their inner tree. After a difficult courtship, Bertie and Trevor are now officially affianced.
The Greens are inside the tent.
As word spread, property developers openly wept into their Bollinger. The organisers of the Fianna Fáil fundraiser at the Galway Races responded immediately by slashing admission prices to €10 a plate, with special concessions for the unwaged.
Bunting went up in bicycle shops.
But one big hurdle remains. Unlike Bertie Ahern, who is allowed out on his own and can do what he pleases, Trevor Sargent needs the permission of his extended family before he can give his hand in any coalition arrangement.
Meeting the Greens will be a difficult task - some of the family are said to be a bit eccentric.
In the Mansion House today, Deputy Sargent has to convince them that his head wasn't turned by the promise of a big job in government, and that the union is a consummation devoutly to be wished.
It is understood that the happy couple are ecstatic, and Bertie was tending to his hanging baskets with particular zeal yesterday.
Everyone around Leinster House was convinced that the two parties were going to get hitched at some time during the day. Indeed, word had it that the two had cemented their partnership over the weekend, and were just waiting for the right moment to break the news.
It would have to be done in a manner that would not upset the Green family.
To complicate matters, many in Bertie's wider Fianna Fáil circle were rumoured not to be enamoured of the proposal. The parties have little in common, they muttered, and had never gotten on particularly well.
Furthermore, in agreeing to take on Trevor and his people, Taoiseach Ahern isn't exactly marrying a laying hen - organic eggs or not. Fianna Fáil is bringing far more to the marital banquet than the impecunious and slightly suspect Greens.
Then there was the little problem for Trevor of there being more than two parties in this marriage - a situation poor Princess Diana knew about all too well.
The politically promiscuous Bertie may have no problems dallying with the likes of the PDs and Independent deputies, but for the virgin Greens, this is an unpalatable prospect.
So the ground had to be very carefully prepared.
This led to a comical sequence of events around Kildare Street yesterday, as the prospective government partners strove to reach an accommodation that would keep everyone happy.
Trevor Sargent, John Gormley and Dan Boyle knew their people were watching from a distance, assessing their behaviour. A loose word or two could spell disaster. Above all, they couldn't give the impression they were succumbing to the charms of Bertie and Biffo too readily.
Nonetheless, by midday, they were sending out signals that a deal had been reached. The mood music was harmonious, and the hints pregnant with meaning - but not enough that the family might think it's a shotgun wedding.
The media took these signs to mean that the Dáil is booked for the big day tomorrow. This was duly reported by some outlets, following particularly positive comments by Dan Boyle.
But when Green headquarters heard this, there was consternation. Within the hour, Dan was dispatched back to the plinth to say no deal had been done.
"We're a lot closer, I don't think it's a huge distance," he said. However, a last-minute breakdown was still possible.
An announcement was expected around lunchtime, but it emerged from the Greens that the pre-nuptial agreement wasn't ready. Something to do with the "fundamentals". Right enough, no point in getting married to somebody who isn't in full possession of their fundamentals.
Everyone waited for the news. By mid-afternoon, John Gormley came out of Leinster House in high spirits. He couldn't say too much, but it seemed resolution was near.
He went off to the party office in Suffolk Street, radiating optimism, but came back half an hour later, racing up the plinth, refusing to talk.
What's happening? "I've to go back in. I've to go back in," was all he would say. Why? "They've sent for me."
Maybe there was a ministerial position on the plate, although given his agitated state, maybe there wasn't.
Might the negotiations be over soon? "I don't know, I don't know," he puffed, tearing through the revolving doors in his crumpled linen.
Time dragged on. "I'm going for my tea," announced a Green press officer. Some people took this as a sign. There was a "drafting problem", he said.
"It's very bad. It's very bad, isn't it," prompted a reporter hopefully.
"Well, if we had a deal, we'd be in the fecking pub by now," came the wistful reply. "We should have an answer by around eight." Which they did. And which was what everyone had predicted that morning.
It all seemed a bit readied up - some drama to impress the family in the Mansion House today.
All together now: And we're off to government We're the Greens, We're the Greens, Where Mercedes glisten in the sun . . .