At least if last week's AGM held in Dublin's Jurys Hotel in Ballsbridge is anything to go by.

CRH is one of those solid firms whose AGM attracts day-trippers in droves: retired, grey-haired, longtime shareholders who relish the opportunity to dress smartly and spend the day swanning about town . . . a bite of lunch before the AGM, then drinks . . . sherry, or even a wine perhaps, afterwards at the bar. There's little wrong with that in itself, it's just a symptom is CRH's age . . . now over 30 years old . . . and the fact that it has built a loyal following over the decades. In March, the company announced 15% rise in net income to 998m for 2005, and a 13% rise in sales, to 14.4bn.

A string of strong performances means there is little to ever really liven the AGM.

No bickering, no recriminations, few, if any, tough questions for the board. Some of the 400 or so shareholders that gathered in the conference hall looked in danger of dozing off.

There were just two voices of discontent. The first was from a former employee who provided a minor disruption at the beginning and threatened to add spice to the whole affair. He was initially offered the microphone so the audience could hear him, but it quickly became apparent that this was not for the ears of the masses, and the microphone was discreetly disappeared like a Pinochet rival.

"We'll speak to you afterwards, " said CRH chairman Pat Molloy, diplomatically . . .and unfortunately for those hoping for a ruckus . . . defusing the situation.

The second was from an individual complaining about the illegal dumping that took place at CRH's subsidiary site in County Wicklow. It transpired that his family has been involved in ongoing litigation with CRH, so Molloy could not comment much, except to reiterate that the company was appalled at the dumping that had taken place.

One elderly man, Kevin Anderson, who said he began his career in the cement business 70 years ago, asked why transcripts of the AGM, rather than just minutes, could not be kept and made available to shareholders.

The reason is quite simple: they'd make for fairly dull reading.

And then came the resolutions. This is not the UN, however. There are no vials of suspect white powder offered as evidence. No smoking guns. If only CRH had found weapons of mass destruction.

It's not even like New Year's Eve, when at least there's an opportunity to make outlandish claims about how, this year, life will change.

Only one resolution drew comment: a proposed share incentive scheme aimed at "key" personnel. One shareholder worried that such a scheme may be somewhat elitist and be potentially demoralising to those staff excluded from it.

Never fear, said the chairman. Another stock scheme in place has already benefited around 1,000 staff. Sounds good. But CRH has more than 65,000 employees, so that means that only 1.5% of them fall under its veil. . . Never mind.

As the AGM drew to a close, some of the more elderly members of the audience began shuffling towards the doors. It was like watching people leaving after communion at Sunday mass. One man, clutching an obviously sore hip, made his exit. A slow exodus was triggered.

More followed, three wellturned-out elderly women taking their cue. They had voted neither for, nor against, any resolution. They made their way to the bar, the highlight, perhaps of the afternoon. Maybe they'd get to have a chat with genial chief executive Liam O'Mahony, who does after all, have a twinkle in his eye.

And then all home, until another CRH outing is marked on the calendar. In the meantime, they can no doubt rest easy that CRH will keep on making stacks of money.