Sight of a Garda uniform gets me all hot and bothered every time
Minding my own business, I was. Driving along happily in the late afternoon, heading home from a meeting, talking hands-free on the phone to a friend, when I noticed, on the left, a vast articulated lorry pulled in with a squad car behind it, blue lights busily flashing.
As I passed, I cast a casual glance at the two vehicles, wondering what the artic driver had done. At that precise moment, a garda leaped between them, pointed a forceful and accusatory finger at me and yelled “Pull in!” My heart stopped.





