This gig used to be top-heavy with big Munster farmers, large in both girth and pocket. But today the Tiger has replaced the cow, and like the old marching soldiers, the ranks of big farmers gets fewer and fewer each year. No place either for the odd colourful headbanger who used be relied on to liven up proceedings. Grey, rather than blue, is the colour of choice today. The cull of 2002 has changed everything.

Inside the convention centre, they gathered on Friday evening. The air was thick with bonhomie, as hands and cheeks were extended. They drifted towards the hall in knots. One young man, tall and of an agricultural bent, sauntered in in his shirt sleeves, his right hand gripping a pint of plain. That was about as colourful as the evening was going to get.

The stage was blue, with green piping, and seemed to go on forever. Forty soldiers, good and true, were seated across two rows, but only five chairs were occupied by women. Olwyn Enright was seated near the podium. Obviously, these chaps have been taking tips from the Shinners, brightening up grey males with a splash of young female panache.

There was a time when you had to have at least a junior ministerial pension in your back pocket before you got a place at the top table for this gig. That was before the cull. These days, you're nearly propelled onto the stage if nominated by the local UDC.

Crime was all the rage for Enda's opening address. The ghettos are aflame, the streets are getting meaner by the day, Temple Bar is downtown Baghdad. The government is doing its ostrich impression. The country needs us.

Kenny has done a fine job hauling the party up off its knees, but the makeover of the spice boy has its limits. These days he uses his hands a lot. He chops to the left of him as he makes a point. He chops to the right. He traces little boxes.

He has the cut of an Italian chef on speed.

He wound it up to the main theme. We will bring change "principally through the area of crime". As he uttered the word "crime", his right hand came crashing down on the podium. Make no mistake, Enda's going to get tough.

Then he gets to the silly bit, policy.

Electronic tagging for bailed suspects isn't too bad. But his proposed package of changes to the courts is for the birds.

In the case of a guilty verdict for serious crimes, "the prosecution will propose a sentence which reflects the people's view", Enda thundered. How that? Will the DPP set up a text poll to inquire of the public their views on a prospective sentence?

He proposes a new Bail Act when nobody really knows how the current one is operating. There will be a fast-track for appeals by the DPP to the Court of Criminal Appeal, a nonsensical concept. But criminals had better watch out. Enda wants to be a tough guy. He wants it bad.

So does Jim O'Keeffe. When he stepped up and took hold of birch and noose, Jim said crime figures have gone from 85,000 in 1998 to over 100,000 last year. This, he pointed out, translates as 500 extra incidents a week. Sums aren't Jim's strong point. The correct figure is 300, but the comparisons are bogus anyway since they don't take into account the Pulse system introduced five years ago.

In any event, none of this is about facts or bettering society. It's about spreading fear and offering a repository for anger.

Saturday dawned and for some the golf course beckoned. Those who ain't got the swing struggled instead into the hall, which was cordoned off to provide maximum effect for the TV. Outside, one of the more popular stalls was dedicated to Michael Collins. With Bertie corralling 1916, it's time to tighten ownership of the man who won the war for Ireland.

From the stage, the fare got progressively drearier. Transport begat health, which in turn begat the economy.

Richard Bruton lauded Irish achievements on the world stage, including on the field of rugby. Bill Tormey put in an appearance, and didn't once mention the state pathologist. Looking attractive, even vivacious . . . as he himself described Marie Cassidy last Wednesday . . . the bould Bill appeared to be a paragon of sanity.

Brody Sweeney managed to get a reference to sandwiches into his contribution. And on it went in a similar vein, drifting south into a black hole of boredom. All that was left to endure was Enda's keynote speech, which he duly delivered with hands that took on a life of their own.