I drove from 250km to here today. RTE helpfully kept advising me that the M7 was completely iced over in Kildare. As each bulletin drew me closer to the dreaded M7 – completely iced over – I became ever more nervous. I hate other drivers, you see. They do stupid things. Not because they are being cautious, but because they are being reckless.
When push came to shove, the M7 wasn’t that bad in Kildare, N7 in Dublin, on the other hand was iced up on the edges. Sane people stayed in the middle lanes. Insane truck drivers sped down the ever slightly icy inside lane because they were in a hurry. It’s the one thing that scared me today.
The weather has been one godawful nuisance this week. Courtesy of it, I wound up not going climbing in the climbing centre in Dingle. I’d wanted to check it out. Courtesy of it, if it didn’t happen to be pitch dark, I’d have been able to count each individual blade of grass on the N20 from Mallow because a journey which normally takes 45 minutes took 2 hours on Christmas night. Thanks to it, I didn’t go checking out various ruined abbeys that I never knew existed but now I want to photograph because they were swimming in freezing fog. I wanted to see stuff, dammit. At least it was clear enough to see the one eighth lunar eclipse on New Year’s Eve.
Ice driving, however, was never on my list of extreme things I want to do.
Post a Comment