It's Me, Sara Louise

In the Boyfriend’s mind, quick, means driving to Cousin’s house, having a drink, everyone (Cousin, his lady, Honey Jr, Boyfriend, and moi) piling into Cousin’s car, and driving to another friends house, have coffee, collect car, eat at McD’s, and then home.

I’ll toss that one up to another language barrier issue but I have a feeling it’s more of a gender issue.

The new car is for me. Well actually it’s for the Boyfriend so I can have his car. This means that I’m going to have to start driving.

It’s not that I don’t want the car and to no longer be housebound (although nothing wrong with being a hermit. I can be quite comfortable in my hermitness. Crabs can be hermits and no one tells them to get out of the house).

I’m just a tad nervous about driving here.

I’ve been driving for many many years, and after six years in Dublin, it’ll be nice to drive on the right side of the road again.

It’s the topsy turvy teeny tiny country roads and the madmen that drive them (the Boyfriend included) that I’m nervous about. I don’t care if you know these roads like the back of your own arse, slow the fudge down. And the white line in the middle is there for a reason. As are stop signs and yield signs. But you know what doesn’t seem to be there? Road signs. How am I supposed to know where I’m going? Or more importantly, if I get lost and I phone someone, how am I supposed to describe where I am?

For the moment I’m perfectly comfortable with my car sitting right outside. I can see it from the window.

And it’s probably best if I get a GPS before I venture out on my own. Yes. I’ll get a GPS. If I order it online it should take a few weeks to get here, right?

Just need to make sure that it comes in English.