The Missing Five Months – Part II

Earlier in the year we all headed across the water to the emerald isle for a wedding. One of P’s friends was, unsurprisingly, getting married and P was the matron of honour. It was quite funny really as I kept on asking her whether she’d written a speech and if she’d be ready to stand up in front of everyone at the reception and thank everyone for coming. P did get a little hot under the collar for a while, but her friend soon assured her that none of that was necessary and all she had to do was witness the signature.

All of P’s other university friends were there too so it was nice seeing her catch up with old friends and being introduced to them – especially as I’d only ever seen them on pictures and heard about exploits that would make the most outgoing of people blush. It was also nice to hear from them that they’d “heard so much about you” – although I’m not really sure whether this is a good or bad thing!

I do like Southern Ireland and find everyone so friendly. Unlike the UK, where every village use to have a Police Station, Post Office, Village Shop and Pub, the villages in Ireland still have them with supermarkets reserved for the larger towns. Every body knows every body else and, even if you’re a stranger, they all seem to know who you’re visiting and where you’re from. Needless to say, if you’ve a secret, it won’t be a secret for too long!

The country side is wonderful too, and once we’d driven into Southern Ireland away from the grotty cities and depressingly run down towns on both sides of the border, the pace of the cities gave way to enchanting landscapes. Where we were staying was a short drive from a deserted beach that could have been lifted from a postcard. Given that we’ve not exactly had the best weather this year, the weather for our trip was perfect and strolling down a sandy beach with only the sound of the waves gently rolling in was bliss.

I’d really like to retire there (assuming there’s anything left in my pension pot that hasn’t either been lost by some reckless banker or stolen by Gordon Brown) but P said she wouldn’t like the isolation and the lack shops. So, although she hates shopping, I think P secretly loves the Trafford Centre and her local Tesco Superstore too much.