I suppose I’d better finish my tale of my torrid day in Belfast.

After the barber’s (I remembered something else strange – there was no hair on the floor after he had finished with me), I drove into town to get the hot water bottle covers for Fionnuala and the pilchards for mum and I was back in hellish traffic with furious drivers staring straight ahead.

Any thoughts of road manners were in the bin as the Lisburn Road became a sludge of slow-moving steel.

Buses too were stationary and the rain washing down the windows made the faces of the sullen passengers appear tearful.

A tale of two new year messages - and one load of claptrap

Stormont is not working and the SDLP needs to stop going it alone

I eventually entered the city centre but there was nowhere, and I mean nowhere, to park. Round and round I drove and when I saw a car pulling out, another car bulled in as I was about to reverse.

The woman who stole my space completely ignored my dirty look and I headed back on the merry-go-round.

Then, beside the BBC, I got a space, sorted it out on the........

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