So. Our usual weekly trip the visit The Granny this week left me with at least three blog posts. If she knew I blogged about her on the internet she’d be none too pleased but secretly a little delighted I reckon.
Anyway, my favourite story of the evening went a little something like this.
The Granny: “I have an appointment at the Áras at 6 o’clock on Friday”
Really? She’s been there a couple of times before with the ICA and the likes, so this was not big news.
TG: ” At the back gate” Interesting…“with a Garda” Excuse me? What? Secret rendezvous with a Garda at the back gate of the President’s home?
She’d been in a local petrol station recently and a Garda had come in. She asked him if he was with the ‘animals’ outside – a pair of Garda horses, one of which still had the other Garda sitting on it. “I am”.
“And are you from Blanchardstown Garda station?”
“No we’re from the Áras”
“I see. I’d love to know how could I get my hands on some of your horse’s manure for my garden?”
Garda tells her no problem at all, that she should come to the gate of Áras an Uachtaráin at 6pm on Friday evening for a bag of his horse’s finest poop. Writes her name and number in his little black book and promises to call her beforehand. So fingers crossed for her that the young Garda makes the call today and she gets her poop. Apparently she added in ‘the back gate’ for special effect, he only told her to come to ‘the gate’.
Like that story needed any embellishment 😀