Will someone think of the children
It is 20 seconds into the pleasantries between Dromid and Derrytresk before one pair arrive at the foot of the Portlaoise steps. The gentleman — seemingly fearing this meeting of minds is about to disperse without his input — is keen to vault the hoardings and join in. A girl — his daughter maybe — performs a gallant blocking job to keep him out of harm’s way.
A sad example of what this codology visits on our youth or a hopeful sign the next generation is blessed with an ounce of sense? You tell me.
