My lovely horse
Diary of a home bird
THE driveway of the old homestead has seen some things in its time, from rogue cattle to rogue pets to rogue drivers.
My history of ups and downs behind a steering wheel have been well documented, both on these pages and in admission statements to friends and family. From letting my sister’s brand new jeep roll out of the driveway, to once thinking I lost my car at a petrol station, I’ve done it all really. All at the age of 24 … well, there or there abouts.
Last week I rightly put the cherry on the cake – ‘guiding’ my prized car, Black Beauty, into the pillar of the driveway. Out of politeness and to protect my character, I won’t reveal the many expletives that were unleashed on the pillar. And I wouldn’t mind, but the pillar didn’t do anything to anybody for nigh on 35 years. Now though, it’s been through the wars and has earned chipped paint and more ‘rounded’ edges as battle scars.
Many people have since asked me, ‘How in God’s name did you manage that?’ The simple answer is I was so looking forward to minding my three adorable nieces for the day that I said I’d take a shortcut home to see them.
Speaking of my nieces, it’s a good job some of them were on site when I came home, as it meant the expletives could not be voiced when explaining to the female roomie what happened her poor pillar. So we avoided that scene from ‘Friends’ where Phoebe launches into a rant of bad words in front of Ross’s son Ben after she loses the top score on an amusement arcade game.
Rather than wallowing in my own self-pity at the state of Black Beauty, I instead had ‘the lols’ with Saoirse, Saran and Aoibh for the day.
It was a big family weekend, and there’s no one better than ‘extracting the urine’ when it comes to my driving mishaps than la famille. I opened the door to my sister, her partner David and my godchild Saran only 30 minutes after the accident, and was met with David’s ‘Well, were ya havin’ a smashin’ time?’ in his thick Roscommon brogue.
At a family dinner that night, there was only one topic of conversation as you can imagine. Soon enough I knew I had to break the news to the Boyf, who was sat at the table looking rather confused.
‘What’s left of it?’ he asked. I entertained this question, quipping that I could try and ‘tap out’ the dents with a hammer like that hilarious scene in Father Ted.
Since my little accident, the craic is still being had by la famille at my expense. The last day while helping the male roomie put my niece’s pram into his car, I assured him it would fit in the boot. When it did, he uttered the eternal motto of all good craftsmen: ‘Measure twice and cut once’, followed by ‘Pity you got your measurements wrong coming in the gate of the house the last day’. I could only laugh.
With that, paired with work colleagues and even inquisitive petrol station attendants assessing the damage to black beauty, I fear it’s time I bit the bullet and got the old filly fixed.
Or worse, as the Roscommon man suggested, I might ‘put Beauty out to pasture’.
In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.