And there's hardly a soul to be seen. Possibly the biggest event ever held in the town, and it appears everyone is having a lie-in. It's a small town, but Michael Flatley is no longer big news. Or so the locals would have you believe.

On this day, the man with the super-speedy feet is due to marry fiancee Niamh O'Brien in St Patrick's Church at 2pm. Flatley, not known for his love of understatement, surprised everyone when he refused offers of exclusive magazine deals in favour of leaving his wedding open to the public. And so the church, standing high on the hill on this chilly Saturday morning, awaits an onslaught of press and guests and locals . . . and right now it's close to empty.

Everyone has filed out of 10am mass and most people have gone directly home. A few admit that they may be back later, "just for a peek".

By 11am, only a handful of determined onlookers remain, perched high in the balconies overlooking the altar. You have to have endurance if you want the best seats in the house.

Down in the town, the streets are eerily quiet. One lady is walking her dog and chatting animatedly to a local taxi-driver. Her name is Mary Duggan and she, at least, is very excited.

"I was meant to be going on holidays this week, but then I said, 'Jesus I'll bloody miss the wedding, ' so I cancelled and I'm going next week instead, " she said.

"Sure I couldn't miss this.

It's 'The Wedding', you know." As well as postponing her holiday, Duggan has also gone to the trouble of taking Tierre the poodle for his daily walk an hour earlier than usual. "I need to get home and get washed and get changed, " she said, before leaning forward conspiratorially, "to be honest though, if Michael was to walk down the street here now, I wouldn't know who he was."

She explodes into delighted cackles and disappears down the road. Across the street in the local fruit-andveg shop, two teenage boys are rather disaffected with the whole affair. "It's only a wedding, " said 14-year-old Andrew O'Leary, with a shrug. His friend, 18-year-old Gerald O'Brien agrees. "I mean, in fairness, like, if it was Roy Keane or someone, then maybe, " he says. "But Flatley does Irish dancing, like."

A few doors up, Neil O'Donnell washes the windows of his hardware store and is a little less scornful of the entire event. "I won't be going to it myself, because I'll be at a much more enjoyable hurling match, " he says. "But I'll be well-represented there by my wife, who will be staring at the whole thing with her mouth open."

Back up the hill, it's noon and the church has filled up a little bit. A few classy flower arrangements have been placed on the outer aisles.

That's all the decoration to be seen. So far, so very understated.

By 1pm a single file of locals has formed on either side of the red carpet that leads from the gate to the door of the church. By 1.30pm, the lines have thickened to three people deep and a few of the more athletic natives have scaled the outer walls.

The car park is teeming with people. By 2pm, UTV presenter Gerry Kelly is the only recognisable face to have arrived and the ever growing crowd are getting exceedingly restless.

A quarter past two, and the six bridesmaids provide some ease to the tension, with their tightly fitting navy dresses and finely honed bodies. "Mustn't have eaten for a year, " sniffed one portly onlooker.

Finally, the star of the show, the Lord of the Dance, the groom-to-be, pulls up outside the gate. And holy war breaks out.

Flatley's carefully groomed blonde locks are all that is visible from beneath the scrum of photographers and fans. "I've been here since nine o'clock and I deserve to shake his hand, " screamed one rather rotund lady before flinging herself into the melee.

Two seconds later, Flatley's gone and a dissatisfied crowd immediately turn to wait for Niamh.

This time, the beleaguered security guards are a little more prepared. "Stand back, for the love of God, " screamed one. It's just a short wait.

Niamh O'Brien arrives clutching a bouquet of very red roses and wearing a vintage lace dress designed by Badgley Mischka . . . the same American who has made clothes for Eva Longoria, Nicole Richie and the Olsen twins. Again the photographers scrum, the locals push forward and the guards scream.

Niamh disappears into the church. There's a second of stunned silence and then hundreds of people make a dash for the doors, eager to get a seat. Within minutes the building is at capacity and the doors are closed.

Two devastated ladies are left standing outside. They look at each other. "Ah sure, he wasn't that big a deal anyway, " says one. "Coffee?" says the other. And they walk away.