I had to collect Daniel and a neighbour’s child from GAA training last night. The neighbour dropped them off and I was to collect them. I never do this normally as I am at work/indolent/put in whatever you fancy here. Mr. Waffle was away for a couple of days and he had left me detailed information about everything including GAA drop off and pick up times (school sporting events, putting out the bins etc.). He has no faith in me. I went to our club to collect the two boys at 7.
There was no sign of the 2005 boys’ squad anywhere. I checked all the fields. In mounting alarm, I checked the changing rooms and the bar. Nothing. Could I be in the wrong place? I tried ringing Mr. Waffle, his phone was off as he was in a plane. I tried the neighbours; their phones were off as they were having a romantic anniversary dinner. I approached a man training another team. “Maybe they are at another club,” he said. He started to ring around people: “Do you have the 2005 boys’ summer schedule? Oh you’re in Mallow/You’re on your bike” and so on. I was grateful but I was also imagining the two lads having decided to walk home or something daft. It was half an hour after the end of training at this stage and there was no sign of them. Then I saw one of the other parents. “Where are the 2005 boys?” I asked him. “They’ve been training down the road since April; your fella was there, I saw him.” I drove down the road like the clappers and there were the two boys with a kind coach waiting patiently.
When Mr. Waffle got in I asked how in the list of things, he could have forgotten to mention to me that the boys weren’t training in their own club. “Oh yeah, sorry,” said my very organised husband. I’m still recovering.