Interviewing four masked men is a disconcerting experience at the best of times. It is made all the more surreal, however, when the men in question are perched precariously on the roof of Belfast City Hall while your humble correspondent shouts up questions from the gardens about 40ft below.
The men are members of Saoirse, a group which is campaigning for the release of republican prisoners. They are occupying the roof to protest about the terms of the Good Friday Agreement which, although making arrangements for the release of "political prisoners", also states that this will only happen after a period of two years, and is conditional upon the organisations to which those prisoners belong maintaining a ceasefire.
Onlookers seem to regard the protest with some bemusement. The tableau being played out is a source of light entertainment on a sunny Wednesday lunchtime, a subject for casual conversation when they go back to their offices. RUC men wait for the protest to end. David Ervine, leader of the fringe loyalist PUP arrives, looks up at the men, shrugs his shoulders and makes his way into City Hall.
Not everyone adopts such a laidback attitude, however. One middle-aged man approaches a group of people who are watching events. "Are there no fuckin' hoses in this city?" he asks.
Despite their threatening appearance, the protesters are more than willing to co-operate with media enquiries. They bellow their greetings to me long before I have got close to them, and assure me that answering questions would be "no problem, mate." To my dissappointment, though, like everyone else I have met during my week on the referendum campaign trail, they stick rigidly to the "party line". Yes, they hope to make a point about prisoner releases. Yes, they think that all prisoners, loyalist as well as republican, should be released. No, they aren't happy with the terms of the Agreement.
For added emphasis on this last point, one of the men begins to wave his arms around emphatically, and in so doing nearly falls off the roof. Having no desire to create headlines like "Protester plunges to death answering Hot Press questions", I beat a hasty retreat.
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It is Monday morning, and the media assembles at the DUP's offices in East Belfast for a press conference chaired by Peter Robinson, the party's deputy leader. The turnout is poor, and the attitude of the press who have bothered to turn up is less than positive. "I wonder what they'll say?" one cameraman asks with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sure it will be really different to what they have been saying for the last thirty years."
The room is bedecked with predictable Unionist trappings: a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II hangs on one wall, an aerial photo of a huge anti-Anglo-Irish Agreement rally on another. Robinson arrives, and sits down flanked by Councillor Nigel Dodds and St. Clair McAllister, who, as the DUP's press officer, must have the most thankless job in politics.
Robinson's statement is intended to rebut the accusation that the "No" campaign has no alternatives to the Agreement. He suggests any of the models of devolution proposed for Scotland, Wales or the major cities of England. He wants one of these ideas put alongside what he calls "Mr. Blair's all-Ireland proposal" in the May 22nd referendum.
The DUP's strategy is simple: to raise Unionist fears about the implications of the Agreement. To this end, Robinson's speech is packed with emotive language. Every time he comes to a particularly potent soundbite, his press officer nods in approval. "Pan-nationalist agenda," says Robinson. Nod goes McAllister's head. "RUC will be destroyed," says Robinson. Another nod. "Places for terrorists in government," says Robinson. Three nods on the nod-o-meter.
At no point is the antagonism between the DUP and the media particularly well disguised. No-one can think of any questions worth asking. "I suppose you're all in a holiday mood?" Robinson asks us, smiling through gritted teeth with the forced bonhomie of a loyalist Fr. Trendy. The conference is over and we file out, boredom filling the air.
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8am, Tuesday. St. Clair McAllister has already taken to the airwaves to put the case for a "No" vote. Pitted against him is a pro-Agreement Unionist, Dermot Nesbitt. The depth of bitterness within Unionism is obvious. Nesbitt accuses the "No" camp of "peddling untruths"; McAllister responds by claiming that those Unionists on the "Yes" side are guilty of "treachery".
Today also sees the launch of the United Unionist "No" campaign. This is the banner under which the DUP, United Kingdom Unionists and the "dissidents" from David Trimble's UUP have come together. The press conference takes place in a hotel close to DUP headquarters, and the speakers are Peter Robinson (again), UKUP leader Robert McCartney and "the two Willies", Ross and Thompson - David Trimble's most vociferous internal critics. The Rev. Ian Paisley is out of the country.
The arguments presented are the same as yesterday. Robinson claims to have found that the Unionist community are "overwhelmingly in support" of his position; once again he declares that "Northern Ireland's days within the Union are numbered."
McCartney, meanwhile, is trying to combat the perception that casting a "No" vote is a negative act. He hopes to do this via the campaign slogan "It's Right To Say No". That's that problem solved, then . . .
The United Unionist campaign has worked out that potentially one of the most powerful motivations for Unionists to vote no is that Gerry Adams might well vote yes. References are made to "the Trimble-Adams agreement," and McCartney mischievously wonders when "David Trimble will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gerry Adams" to sell the deal.
The ill-feeling between the press and the "No" campaigners comes out into the open today, with accusations of imbalance being flung from the podium.
Robinson claims that 78% of the coverage in The Belfast Telegraph, the north's largest-selling newspaper, is pro-agreement. A short time later, Martina Purdy, one of the Telegraph's journalists, begins to ask him a question. "Here's 'Martina 78%'," Robinson sneers by way of introduction.
Much of the discussion is given over to how the "No" camp would define a victory. McCartney talks in terms of a "No" vote of over 30%. Peter Robinson, whose party has consistently upheld majoritarianism in Northern politics, claims that anything more than 26% would be a win for his side. His rationale is that such a figure would mean that the majority of the Unionist population had rejected the Agreement.
The indications are not good for the "No" men, however. The PUP launch their campaign for a "Yes" vote in Ballymena, Co. Antrim, the heartland of Ian Paisley. And this evening, Ballymena Borough Council votes 13-10 in favour of the Agreement. Developments like these would have been unthinkable in Paisley's heyday. It seems that support is slipping inexorably away from him and his allies.
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Despite having followed the campaign for only two days, I'm relieved to discover that Wednesday is almost free of press conferences. The exception is one being held by Sinn Féin Youth, who have their briefing in Conway's Mill, just off the Falls Road. Not surprisingly, the youth wing of the party endorses the leadership's line. Eoin O'Broin, SFY's national organiser, does, however, put added emphasis on the parallel need for active campaigning, including street protests.
"We need to be campaigning for the release of prisoners, the disbandment of the RUC, nationalist equality and demilitarisation," he says. "Sinn Féin Youth is calling on all young republicans and progressive activists to take to the streets and mobilise."
O'Broin and the four other SFY representatives seem undeterred by the fact that their audience consists of Brendan Anderson of The Irish News, myself, and two Japanese observers.
Later in the day, the arrival of Tony Blair and John Major sends the media into a frenzy. The duo conduct a question and answer session with local schoolchildren in The Waterfront Hall. This is the sort of PR opportunity that Blair's spindoctors have wet dreams about. He handles it with his usual smoothness, talking about everything from his horoscope to the danger from terrorist splinter groups. A man well used to offering platitudes, he makes repeated references to "the need for peace".
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Decisions, decisions. Gerry and Martin in the Balmoral Hotel, or David and his yes-voting chums at their Party HQ? Press events come thick and fast on Thursday. After much pondering about the news value of each meeting, the "whiff of sulphur" claims myself and photographer Peter, and we head for Balmoral.
As far as media pulling-power goes, Sinn Féin far surpass any other party in the north. Rival press conferences have brought an adequate attendance at best. Sinn Féin announced this briefing only a matter of hours in advance, yet 15 minutes before it is due to begin, nine television cameras are ranged across the rear of the room, backing up innumerable print and radio journalists. This is the one event of the week which creates a tangible air of expectation, even among the jaded political hacks.
In contrast to the near-paranoia of the "No" campaigners, Sinn Fein are dab hands at playing the media game. Gerry Adams is the dabbest hand of all. As he enters the room, for example, he inadvertently kicks Today FM's Eamonn Mallie, seated beside me. "Sorry, Eamonn," Adams says, smiling benevolently, "but that was, of course, entirely intentional." The bonhomie extends further: like some strange Republican parody of The Late Late Show, there is a free copy of An Phoblacht for everyone in the audience.
Virtually all of Sinn Féin's "heavyweights" are present, seated on a tiered platform which leads Adams to jokingly refer to "those on the lower deck." On the "upper deck" with him are Martin McGuinness, Bairbre deBruin, Lucilita Breatnach and Mitchell McLaughlin.
Adams reads a ten-minute statement. The major point, however, is reached quickly: "Having thoroughly debated [the Good Friday Agreement] the Sinn Féin Ard Chomhairle is recommending to the Ard Fheis that it support a 'Yes' vote in both states."
A frisson of excitement goes round the conference room, but Adams continues reading evenly: "The Ard Chomhairle is also proposing that the party constitution be amended to enable candidates to stand in the elections on the basis of participation in the Assembly."
The historic significance of this is huge. With those few lines the Sinn Féin leadership has jettisoned its boycott of northern institutions, which the party had previously regarded as inherently "partitionist." Not surprisingly, then, Adams is at pains to refute possible complaints of a "sell-out". These decisions come, he says, "in the context of our absolute rejection of partition, of the Unionist veto and of British rule."
Martin McGuinness is asked if he has any message for Republicans who are still carrying out armed acts. He replies: that, "People who are involved in these actions at this time are doing a great disservice to themselves, to their families, and to all the people of Ireland."
Along the platform from McGuinness, Lucilita Breatnach looks on impassively. Her nephew, Ronan MacLochlainn, was buried yesterday. He was shot dead by gardai while on "active service" for a breakaway Republican group. No senior Sinn Féin figures attended his funeral.
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No sooner has the Sinn Féin conference finished than the press corps depart for Queens University where Mark Durkan, campaign director of the SDLP, and Ian Paisley Jnr. are debating the Agreement. This is the only public meeting this week, and the room is packed to bursting point.
The speeches are heard respectfully. Paisley Jnr makes his case, despite not having the gift of natural oratory which propelled his father to mass popularity. He refers to "the Trimble rump" of the UUP, and claims that the "so-called peace process" was "brought about as a result of violence." His appeal to the audience that "if you look into your hearts, you don't believe this Agreement will bring peace" is, however, met with mocking laughter.
Durkan argues that, "a 'No' vote changes nothing. A 'Yes' vote changes everything." He also makes a jibe at the rhetoric used in the past by Paisley senior: "Marching up hillsides will not allow us to escape from the past, nor avoid the challenges of the future."
The floor is thrown open to questions, and a revealing incident follows. A young woman with an English accent asks Ian Jnr a question. He has just begun his reply when she interrupts him. Paisley snaps back, "You don't have a vote, love."
The female chairperson of the meeting lets Paisley finish, and Durkan reply, before reminding the former, to cheers from the audience, that "You are not to refer to anyone in this meeting as 'love.' " Paisley is enraged, asking "Am I not allowed free speech here?" The furore eventually dies down, and at the end of the meeting the chairperson thanks both debaters. Ian Paisley Jnr turns to her with a broad smile curling around his lips. "Thank you . . . dear," he says.
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Paisley Jnr is scarcely more relaxed when we meet to conduct a brief interview, later in the afternoon. "I don't have much time," he informs me brusquely in his office on Belfast's Ravenhill Road. The room is lined with editions of Hansard, the official journal of British Parliamentary debates; a framed Private Eye cover featuring the Spitting Image puppet of his father hints at some capacity for self-deprecation. I ask Ian Jnr about his earlier comment that he had "suffered as much as anyone" as a result of the Troubles.
"Really, I am a child of the Troubles," he replies. "My whole life has had that as a background. I think everyone who has tried to live a normal life under those circumstances has suffered. The threat is probably more in my case, in that my house has been bombed, there have been bullets shot at my family.
"I am very much aware of what the Troubles are about. It is essential, therefore, that people in the 'Yes' campaign don't disparage my stance on peace. I'm as committed to peace as the next person. It is my commitment to peace which forces me to say no."
Given David Trimble's reputation as a hardline Unionist, does Paisley believe that Trimble is deluded in signing up to the Agreement?
"I don't think that any Unionist of intelligence can read that document and believe that the Union is safe. I think he has deluded himself, and is now trying to mislead others as to what he has achieved. I think he has been caught up in his attempt to make a place for himself in history. I think we have to accept that David Trimble's interpretation of this document is, at best, inaccurate."
But surely the document enshrines the principle of consent, which is what Unionists have always demanded?
At this point, Paisley reaches for a well-thumbed edition of the Agreement, with "Post-It" notes inserted at various points.
"Well," he replies, " the document actually states on three occasions that people are under a binding obligation to work towards a United Ireland. We're not under a binding obligation to strengthen the Union."
Having located the relevant passage, he reads: "It will be a binding obligation on both governments to introduce, and support in their respective Parliaments, legislation to give effect to that wish [for a United Ireland]."
But isn't that only if the greater number of people in Northern Ireland demonstrate that wish?
"The point is that the Agreement allows for an outcome of a United Ireland," says Ian Paisley Jnr, indignantly.
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Perhaps it is because opinion polls are predicting a large "Yes" majority that Mark Durkan is more relaxed than his DUP opponent. Durkan was a member of the SDLP negotiating team at Stormont. What does he remember of the atmosphere in the hours leading up to the Agreement being signed?
"Well, I was busier than a lot of people. I was constantly running around the corridors between one room and another. It was only later that I saw the things that people were talking about. "I was too preoccupied with details, so you were just trying not to let the emotion of the occasion cloud your applied judgement," he says.
What is his response to the argument that having "brought Sinn Féin in from the cold", the SDLP face a real danger of being eclipsed electorally by Adams and co?
"That may or may not be a danger," Durkan concedes, "but any such danger would come about through electoral patterns out there in the community. I believe we are a party of integrity, and I believe we have played a role of real value . . . it is conceivable that Sinn Féin's vote will expand. As a democrat, I accept that."
How would Mark Durkan sell the Agreement to sceptical Unionists?
"Do people really believe that this Agreement is going to make Unionists less Unionist? I don't believe that. I don't believe either that it is going to make Nationalists less Nationalist. What it does mean is that that difference between us needn't be the 'be all and end all' of political detail."
Durkan also seems confident that Northern Ireland is turning a corner.
"I think there is a real enthusiasm for this," he says. "People do have a sense that this really is a chance to share history in a way that means we can share the future."
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After one week following the campaign, I have heard so many different "spins" I feel dizzy. Stark perspective is provided when a Belfast newspaper prints an extract from a new book in which victims of the Troubles relate their story. Michael McGoldrick's son was murdered in the aftermath of 1996's Drumcree stand-off. His memory of hearing of his son's death was more eloquent than any politician's words in articulating the horrors of the recent past - the horrors that Northern Ireland is hopefully about to leave behind.
"It was our son, our only child. We were so shocked that we just started screaming and shouting. I loved my son so much, and now he had been taken away from us.
"It was the saddest time of my life. At the wake, and before they put the lid on the coffin, I went up to the coffin and, putting my two hands on top of his, I said: 'Goodbye, son. I'll see you in heaven'." n