Ignore time and Saturday nights all right after all
The reason is simple. There’s something very wrong about rolling up the motorway towards Thurles at half-three, or later: at the molecular level you’re uneasy because, well, that’s usually the time you need to be at the ground.
The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy describes the physical discomfort when you realise you’re millions of light years from your planet of origin: the sensation will be familiar to many as a nagging tension in the body when you cruise past the Cashel exit offering you McDonald’s and it’s twenty-five to four.
