The universe delivers

The universe delivers

Musings

Sonia Kelly

Readers may recall that I was busy working the Secret System in order to find someone to fix the craters in my drive. This entailed visualising the end result and keeping this picture in my mind. Up until my last mention of it, two potential fixers had promised their services and failed to materialise. Then I got a third one.

Well, between phoning him one evening and lunch time the next day, the drive was fixed. No, it wasn’t a dream, but it was exactly as I had visualised it. And isn’t it comforting to know that there is at least one person on the planet who fulfils a promise? Thank you, John Needham in Kilsallagh, the maintenance man par excellence.

The day of this amazing occurrence had other surprises in store. One of them was being asked by my sister-in-law to bring her to the train. No big deal, you might think, except that the previous day Tiger had developed an alarming rattle, which I had resolved to consult his doctor about the next day. However, in the circumstances, I decided to chance it.

All went well until we encountered a police check point on the way. Now, I’ve always had excellent relations with the police – any previous encounters having produced nothing but accord. (I should say here that this amiability has its down side, though, as it makes it obvious that I appear either too boring or too stupid to be engaged in any criminal activity.) This time was no different, except that now I really was committing a criminal offence in that Tiger’s NCT pass was no longer in the little pocket on the windscreen because I had enclosed it with a tax-renewal form, due to having lost the actual certificate. Today’s officer was lulled as usual by my innocuous appearance, and we exchanged pleasantries while the train warmed up at the station. It seemed a lost cause, but then, with a final burst of bonhomie and a cursory glance in the direction of the windscreen, we were waved on.

Phew…

So my unbroken record with the… continues. And I leave a blank space here, as I still haven’t worked out the correct usage of the Irish form of “police”. Is one officer a ‘gard’? Or a ‘garda’? And is ‘gardaí’ a collective noun? I have tried to solve this problem by examining news items, but the result is inconclusive.

On the way back, I had to run the gauntlet of the same check point and the gard (?) seemed really glad to see Tiger again, forcing me to the conclusion that he looks as inconsequential as his mistress and was totally unlikely to be carrying whatever criminal he was hoping to apprehend.

Anyway, on arriving home – intact, in spite of the rattle – there was the said maintenance man at work on the drive, thus adding to the magical quality of our encounter. How did he know, without me being there, exactly what had to be done, or even if it was the right drive? You see what I mean about getting the Secret System to work for you?

Now I’m wondering what other kind of operative I could visualise who could smooth the path of existence. Perhaps a lumber-jack would be appropriate, as my house is gradually being swallowed up by trees. A cypress, for instance, which was sold to me as a dwarf and which is planted by the front door, is now threatening to come in that door and is taller than the roof. Neighbouring sycamores are holding their horrid umbrellas over the struggling flowers, and even fuchsias have left their hedges and are clutching at everything within what seems like a half-mile radius.

In fact, in one way or another, endless vistas are opening up...