On the canvass - Keith Duggan with Imelda Henry:Nothing advertises the beauty of the Sligo landscape as dramatically as the descent into the airport at Strandhill and yesterday the movers and shakers turned up to celebrate the launch of the new Sligo-Manchester route.
Among the procession of speakers was Ray MacSharry, once an omnipotent figure in the northwest and now a big noise in tourism. While the mood was generally celebratory, the prevailing message was that Sligo still resides beyond the last street light of national politics.
"The slogan that Sligo is the gateway to the northwest is true in name only," according to Imelda Henry. "Sligo is a great town but there is a feeling here that we have been left behind. I want to change that."
Henry's bid for election to one of the three seats in Sligo-North Leitrim has been founded on her absolute knowledge and implicit understanding of Sligo town.
Her father Peter served for 14 years on the county council with Fine Gael and the family ran the Blue Lagoon pub on Riverside, which was probably as close as Sligo had to a heartbeat through the dereliction of the 1980s.
"I've lost count of the number of people who have said, 'Oh, I met my husband in the Blue' over the past month," she says.
Henry is the quintessential local girl, schooled in the Ursuline, elected to the council on her first attempt and now running the family pub with her husband, Aidan Meehan.
As the only woman among 10 candidates, her profile is naturally high and as she takes a brisk stroll through the commercial heart of Sligo in a red suit (the colour has become her campaign motif), it seems as though she knows most of the town by name.
She is personable and friendly, prefers a hug to a handshake and has a good knack for making people smile. "Imelda, I'm one of the whingers," warns Dessie Cosgrove behind the till of his newsagents and deli on Castle Street. "I'm after selling a business like this in Cork after two years of criminal work and I handed €110,000 in taxes to the Government.
"Like, I left school at 14 and worked my way up and I'm all right now, my business has taken off, but I know there are plenty of young people who would love to get into retail but the incentive isn't there. And I think we need that in this town."
Reviving the town is a central concern. Sligo is a mystery. It is a handsome garrison town built on the Garavogue river and surrounded by scenery that fired the imagination of WB Yeats, but it has never been as confident or prosperous as it might have been.
In Broderick's book store, Imelda breezes past a man flicking through a business magazine. "Taking a break?" she says lightly.
"Sure I might as well. The politicians are on a full-time break and ye have done nothing for the country," he says challengingly.
"I'm not in government . . . not yet," Henry points out with a smile.
"Well, what are ye going to do for the nurses?" a traffic warden says, warming up.
"What about the water rates? Why can a farmer leave his tap running all week and the rest of us can't."
Water rates have been a constant concern on the doorsteps. Parking and class size are the other recurrent local themes. But the prevailing worry relates to the health service.
The INO work-to-rule was in operation in Sligo General Hospital yesterday and Henry stood among the protesting nurses, listening to a succession of women speak with calm, seething clarity.
"People think this is about money," Delia McDevitt told Henry, "but we are trying to maintain and save nursing as a profession.
"I am a fourth-generation nurse and I have two daughters but they are not going into nursing. I don't know who is going to replace me."
Other voices tell her of the exasperation over the lack of movement on an oncology unit for Sligo and the sense - again - of being on the outer edge of the country.
"I think it is akin to death by geography because of where we live," says Henry and this gets a strong response from the nurses.
Near the admissions desk, Henry bumps into Michael Harkin, the brother of MEP Marian Harkin.
"Anything we can do, Imelda", he promises.
Back on the high streets, the message is the same. She has been traipsing through these shops since she was a kid and among the proprietors, the guardians of old Sligo, there was a definite sense of pride that a local girl is shooting for government.
When the election was called, Henry was regarded as an outsider but she says with some glee now that the bookmakers have her at 3/1. She reckons she needs 4,500 first-preference votes, believing her transfer appeal will be strong.
Between now and polling day, she intends meeting - and hugging - most of those. In a clothes shop on Castle Street, she hands her leaflet to a young man wearing a T-shirt saying "I AM THE AFTER-PARTY."
"I need your number one for Sligo," she implores. "Remember me. I'll be the only one smiling back at you from the election posters."
And Henry hustles on, a bolt of high energy in a low wattage town.