Should you encounter a stocky man with gold rimmed spectacles and a large fish under his arm, there is no need to be afraid. That'll just be Eamon Gilmore, with his vision and his new porpoise, trying to do an Enda Kenny and electrocute the Labour Party.
"When this conference is over, I intend to embark on a journey - physical and political - to relearn Ireland," said the new Labour leader on Saturday night in Wexford.
Whereupon he journeyed up to the fifth floor of Whites's Hotel and enjoyed some canapes with the diplomatic corps.
It should be an interesting trip. Somebody once wrote a bestseller about travelling Ireland in the company of a small fridge. Maybe that's where deputy Gilmore got his porpoise idea. Although he may have got it from the drawer marked "Keynote speech, one size fits all." Purpose, porpoise, whatever. It always goes down well with a nice bit of vision.
This was Eamon's first big outing as Labour leader, and he was lucky enough to get the chance to perform it on the learning slopes of a non-televised conference. He was very warmly received by the delegates, relieved they would be able to sit down for a while after standing ovations to a parade of party luminaries in the run-up.
Among those honoured were former leader Pat Rabbitte and former deputy leader Liz McManus. This gave rise to one of the highlights of the weekend. It happened when Deputy Rabbitte was called to the platform to accept a token of the party's appreciation, and then asked to say a few words.
When the applause, and standing ovation, subsided, Pat blinked out over the crowd, opened his mouth, and couldn't think of a thing to say.
"Uh, ah, eh" he began, clearly as surprised as his giggling audience at his temporary inability to talk.
But he quickly recovered. "It's the first time my parliamentary colleagues took me by surprise," he explained, before launching into an impromptu speech about how, if he were starting out as leader for a second time, he wouldn't do anything differently.
Just hadn't the luck, sniffed Pat. On the other hand, he had a feeling his successor might turn out to be "a lucky general". The crowd gave him another standing ovation while Joan Burton gave him a fountain pen in a box.
"He writes all his own letters, you know," explained a party official afterwards.
Next up for the standing treatment was Liz, who looked very elegant in a velvet pinstriped trouser suit which she chose not to team with one of the red T-shirts on sale outside. It had the slogan: "Labour Women! Stand Up. Speak Out. Fight Back." Deputy McManus made a plea from the platform for more women to get involved with the party. "Girls out there, we can all do it if we want." The crowd gave her another standing ovation while Joan Burton gave her a big bunch of flowers.
That's not fair. Does Liz not write her own letters, too? Stand up, speak out, fight back, Liz. Demand a fountain pen immediately. By the time Eamon arrived, everyone was exhausted, having risen to their feet yet again for Brendan Howlin, who did the warm-up.
The new party leader put in a very assured maiden performance. He decided not to deliver a speech attacking the Government, steering away instead from negative comment.
Perhaps he could have been a bit more violent in his approach and less lavish with the earnest aspirations. The biggest cheer of the night came when he thundered: "Éamon de Valera would never had taken fistfuls of cash in a suitcase."
But no, deputy Gilmore wanted to outline his vision and introduce his new porpoise. More importantly, he wanted to rekindle interest in Labour. He wants members to go out among the people and recruit new converts. If the best candidates for election are not already among the membership, then they must keep an eye out for "like-minded people who share our values" and sign them up.
So a quick warning: when you see one of them coming, hide. They'll be worse than doorstep evangelists with their leaflets, visions and porpoises.
More than 1,000 delegates went to the conference. They had a whale of a time, thanks in particular to a bearded gentleman from Tallaght who took up residence in the foyer and played the banjo into early hours. He played The Red Flag many times, which was good practise for delegates, who voted on Saturday to sing it at the end of every annual conference.
And so they did at lunchtime yesterday, with great, and in some cases, teary gusto. The words went up on a large screen in case some of the young firebrands lapsed into what they had been singing the night before.
"Build a bonfire/Build a bonfire/Put the Blueshirts on the top/Put Fianna Fáil in the middle/And burn the effin' lot."
That's the spirit.