Country Living with Francis Farragher

There are times when I’m seriously envious of people who possess a strong faith if only for the hope it gives them of sustaining some sort of link with life when our bodies decide to pack up.  Religion for all its establishment problems over the years does offer a certain reassurance and sense of place . . . and especially so at times of great family joys and sadnesses.

Irish Catholic funerals are for the most part very consoling and reassuring for those left behind with the coldness of the grave or the heat of the crematorium at least temporarily cast aside.

There is a lot to be said for the ‘decent send-off’ of a loved one and while the more scientifically minded of my associates tend to mildly scoff at my occasional reference to a greater power, I’m not certain either, that they’re fully right.

What prompted this thought tributary was a little coincidence last week as I went to pick up a new vehicle, in the process making that big transition from diesel to a petrol hybrid.

Insurance cover and changing cars scares me just a little bit with the ever-present fear that you’ll get delayed and a gap will occur with the cover just at the point when a van jams into you back-bumper. Slightly paranoid, I’ll have to admit, but we all have our irrational fears.

Sometimes with car registration numbers, they hit you straight away. I bought a new car in 2017 which by complete chance had the reg. plate of 171G2017 so last week, I thought to myself, ‘well maybe here I go again, could it be a 2024 to match the 242.

Alas, the very affable Hyundai sales executive called out the new plate number and as digits go, it topped the bland list, a humble 1459. If it was even 1460, it might have some kind of ring to it.

The drive out from the Liosbán Estate towards the dual carriageway in the afternoons is always a pretty tedious affair and as usual there was a tail of traffic heading out the Monivea Road.