I may have alluded (on Saturday 2nd May, to be rather precise) to the fact that I had recorded a sort of burble into a tape recorder recently, and so here it is, transcribed:
Right, this is Ireland. Drive on the left, yes that's fine. Oh, the traffic lights are a bit different. They don't go Red.....Amber.....Green, they go Red.Green.
I need to get used to these road signs, but apart from that everything looks pretty normal.
And Kilometres! Kilometres per hour. Thank goodness for that! My TomTom set to kilometre units is finally … you know … worthwhile.
My radio seems to be playing pop music, and adverts, and I haven't de-tuned it from Radio 4 since I left England. Or rather, Wales. So this is the Irish Radio 4 is it? Well, no, it seems to be some commercial station in Dublin. But it's quite listen-to-able.
OK, I've got to go left here [indicator on]. Dammit.
Damn, why didn't I get some bloody Euros out? I could have taken this Toll Tunnel [from Dublin Port] but now I've got to go through the City Centre – in the rush hour. What an idiot.
OK, now we've got … oh, wow, he's fit! He's dressed... What's he? Rugby? No, he's carrying a sort of stick thing. What is that? Not Gaelic football … it's more like lacrosse, but it's not lacrosse, lacrosse is for girls, what is it? No, can't remember. [It's hurling. Ed.]
Oh buggery bollocks. I'm in the wrong f***ing lane now [indicator on, TomTom: “Turn right. Turn left”]. That means I've got to turn left. Actually though, that might turn out quite well. It's going to get me past this jam.
Oh look! An Irish pub.
Orange-jacketed evening newspaper sellers at the traffic lights, patrolling the queues of cars. Headline on the … whatever the paper is … a quick glance and I thought it read, “Body Found In Bog”. Too many Irish clichés on my mind I think. It actually says, “Body Found In Boot”.
[Indicator on] Erm … they're going to hate me. I've just scooted past a load of cars. I got into the left lane in front of a bus, and now I've realised it becomes a bus lane the other side of the traffic lights, and I've got to cut back in again, and they're going to hate me.
Slightly bizarre as we join the M1, or N1 – not sure which it is – motorway heading north out of Dublin: a funeral cortège with police motorcycle outriders, which seems a little … extraordinary … although somehow, very Irish.
Ok. Is this the M1, the N1 or the E1? I think it's the M1.
Or is it the E-01?
Ooh! I can officially do 120 km/h, which is 75mph. Although I can't, because it's congested, but I could.
I've just been undertaken on the motorway – that's not right! Ah, it's a Brit.
Right. The N1 is not the same road as the M1. The N1 is, I think, more like our A1, and the M1 is like … well … our M1.
Oh come on, you're having a giraffe. There's a sign to a village just off the motorway called Termon Feckin. Surely not. That's for tourists, no?
Well, I've kind of missed the border somehow, because they've diverted the road just at that point from where my sat-nav thought I should be, and the only indication I'd crossed into the North was a road sign warning “Speed Limit in MPH”.
Impressions of Ireland – driving through it: a mixture of Britain and continental Europe, which I suppose is no surprise.
I need to get used to these road signs, but apart from that everything looks pretty normal.
And Kilometres! Kilometres per hour. Thank goodness for that! My TomTom set to kilometre units is finally … you know … worthwhile.
My radio seems to be playing pop music, and adverts, and I haven't de-tuned it from Radio 4 since I left England. Or rather, Wales. So this is the Irish Radio 4 is it? Well, no, it seems to be some commercial station in Dublin. But it's quite listen-to-able.
OK, I've got to go left here [indicator on]. Dammit.
Damn, why didn't I get some bloody Euros out? I could have taken this Toll Tunnel [from Dublin Port] but now I've got to go through the City Centre – in the rush hour. What an idiot.
OK, now we've got … oh, wow, he's fit! He's dressed... What's he? Rugby? No, he's carrying a sort of stick thing. What is that? Not Gaelic football … it's more like lacrosse, but it's not lacrosse, lacrosse is for girls, what is it? No, can't remember. [It's hurling. Ed.]
Oh buggery bollocks. I'm in the wrong f***ing lane now [indicator on, TomTom: “Turn right. Turn left”]. That means I've got to turn left. Actually though, that might turn out quite well. It's going to get me past this jam.
Oh look! An Irish pub.
Orange-jacketed evening newspaper sellers at the traffic lights, patrolling the queues of cars. Headline on the … whatever the paper is … a quick glance and I thought it read, “Body Found In Bog”. Too many Irish clichés on my mind I think. It actually says, “Body Found In Boot”.
[Indicator on] Erm … they're going to hate me. I've just scooted past a load of cars. I got into the left lane in front of a bus, and now I've realised it becomes a bus lane the other side of the traffic lights, and I've got to cut back in again, and they're going to hate me.
Slightly bizarre as we join the M1, or N1 – not sure which it is – motorway heading north out of Dublin: a funeral cortège with police motorcycle outriders, which seems a little … extraordinary … although somehow, very Irish.
Ok. Is this the M1, the N1 or the E1? I think it's the M1.
Or is it the E-01?
Ooh! I can officially do 120 km/h, which is 75mph. Although I can't, because it's congested, but I could.
I've just been undertaken on the motorway – that's not right! Ah, it's a Brit.
Right. The N1 is not the same road as the M1. The N1 is, I think, more like our A1, and the M1 is like … well … our M1.
Oh come on, you're having a giraffe. There's a sign to a village just off the motorway called Termon Feckin. Surely not. That's for tourists, no?
Well, I've kind of missed the border somehow, because they've diverted the road just at that point from where my sat-nav thought I should be, and the only indication I'd crossed into the North was a road sign warning “Speed Limit in MPH”.
Impressions of Ireland – driving through it: a mixture of Britain and continental Europe, which I suppose is no surprise.
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