Rowan Tree and Red Thread

Last night about 12.45 we had a fellow knock on the door. I got up to take a look. He'd been mugged and was looking for help. I rang the Gardai, and Sam got him a cup of sugary tea. The Gardai arrived about 1.15, questioned him a bit and then helped him on his way. His friend, who was also attacked, had sheltered in a house near-by and the Gardai had seen him first.

Following our break-in in June and our car door being smashed in back in August, I'm beginning to think my neighbourhood is going to the dogs. Admittedly, last night saw the triumphant return of the Cork hurling team after winning the All-Ireland so I imagine that many people were out on the streets quite the worse for drink, and doubtless easy targets for the casual mugger(s).

I was amused by the Gardai who turned up. One of them I knew from our June break-in and recognized me with a wry smile. When his companion set to questioning the victim the first Guard gently suggested that they continue the questions out in the car. He no doubt noticed my bare legs, tatty dressing-gown and fed-up expression. It took him three attempts to get the message across to his partner. The sheepish look of dawning realization was almost worth the whole interruption in my sleep. Almost.

[The Gardai (or more properly An Garda Siochana with long accents in there somewhere too) are the police force of the Republic of Ireland.]