So I’ve got to tell you about my action packed trip down to pick up the pet passports for J. You’ll remember that my sense of direction is not fantastic, but I’d printed off a map from the AA website and was feeling quietly confident. I left Bertie with a chewy bone and strict instructions to cross his legs until I came back, and set off. I made it into Dublin no problem (37 minutes in fact), but that’s when the trouble started. I sat in traffic quite a lot, and had a fine time window shopping. There was a particularly nice underwear shop that I was tempted to pull over for, but steeled myself to keep my mind on the job in hand. Then, when I passed the promising underwear shop for a second time, I knew I was in trouble. I sent J a ‘fk I’m lost!’ kind of text, hoping against hope that she’d be able to save me.

Suddenly I recognised the Mater Hospital and, discarding my map and sending Jen a ‘disregard my last’ kind of text (she was probably shaking her head in despair), resolved to just follow the signs that read ‘City Centre’ but then got confused because they also started to read ‘Dublin Port’ as well. Anyhoo, next thing I knew an enormous old-fashioned sailing ship loomed up in the distance and I was in the Docklands (worth a nose about if you’re ever in the area - sadly I didn’t have time to stop). Cheered by my first sight of the Liffey sparkling in the sunshine, I crossed over and found myself once again hopelessly and utterly lost. I passed Grafton Street twice (handy for when I finally get to meet gorgeous S for lunch), but my ‘Dorling Kindersley Guide to Ireland’ wasn’t much help and I’d pulled over, seething, when there was a knock on my window and there stood the Gardai (hope I’m getting these plurals right). Now at this point I normally would have been worried but these, girls, (boys, you can probably disregard the next couple of paragraphs) were the HOTTEST couple of Gardai (Remember, children…One Superfit Fine Thing = GARDA, two Superfit Fine Things = GARDAÃ? © Jenny NiB 2007 ) you’ve ever seen in your life, and all of a sudden I felt delighted to be lost in Dublin. They were also incredibly sweet and friendly (’humph’, said Hubby later, ‘wouldn’t have happened if you were a bloke’) and after coming to realise that my blank look indicated that their hand signals and directions were possibly not sinking in, they tried a different approach: ‘follow us’, said Hot Garda #1 (dark hair, amazing eyes, huge eyelashes)’ and they jumped back into their car with Hot Garda #2 (fairer hair, blue eyes, taller, fantastic biceps) in the driving seat, blipping their siren to be let back into the stream of traffic, pausing to let me slot in behind them (ahem). Off I sped, then, with my fit police escort, arriving in Kildare Street in no time at all. We all pulled over and stood about chatting for another ten minutes before they drove merrily off, blipping their siren again in farewell (sigh). It’s okay, Hubby knows what a tart I am.

Half an hour later, with the pet passports nestling next to me on the passenger seat, I put the pedal to the metal and sped back up north to relieve Bertie, pausing only to ring J to rub it in a bit about my two gorgeous gards (sorry, Gardai). ‘God’, I told her, ‘I LOVE Ireland’.

No Comments »