‘I wasn’t the greatest of partners’ – An Irishman’s Diary

The moment I saw you, I liked you. Somehow you stood out and immediately, I felt, there is the one. The others didn’t seem up for it: a tad too delicate perhaps, for the challenge of a relationship with a mountain lover. While they religiously avoided my gaze, you appeared strong and focused – the one ready for the test of the hills.

We travelled a lot in subsequent years and did much happy exploring.

I took you to places you shouldn’t really have gone, but you never complained or failed to arrive. I know you liked the first snows of winter for immediately we’d be away to the Comeraghs, Knockmealdowns or Slieve Blooms.

Here, one of your great strengths would shine through. While others flapped and skidded on the ice we would segue into climbing mode and cruise easily upwards. We journeyed abroad and topped many high passes in Wales, Scotland and England.

Ossetia to be latest focus of Russia’s uneasy relationship with EU

---

Past and present: a dark pattern we must not repeat

---

Martyn Turner

---

Breda O’Brien: Fallen men never toiled in a laundry

---

Partners

Here your prodigious carrying capacity meant neither I, nor my travelling companions, were ever short of ropes, crampons, helmets and other fandangos of the climbing game. We were an item for six years and I enjoyed our time together.

I wasn’t the greatest of partners and some might even deem our relationship a tad abusive. Looking after your needs wasn’t my strong suit and you certainly didn’t get the TLC you deserved. Service intervals expanded interminably as I procrastinated, while the uncaring side of my nature meant that you suffered the indignity of failing every NCT test under my stewardship.

You weren’t perfect, of course; you did tend to be a bit high maintenance.

Certainly, you came with a pretty unquenchable thirst while the tax on your windscreen seemed to cost an annual king’s ransom.

As four-wheel-drive Jeeps go, however, you weren’t the worst, with toleration of my many foibles your greatest virtue.

So, whenever I drove off absentmindedly with the boot open or the handbrake half on, you never complained loudly, you just blinked disapprovingly from the dashboard.

Accumulated years of neglect meant that eventually you began ailing somewhat. Windows refused to open while one door could only be unlocked from inside. But even when the heater output declined to candlepower and damp spots appeared ominously beneath the passenger seat, I persisted loyally with you. In the end it was the intervention of the other partner in my life that ended our relationship.

It is putting it mildly to say she was unamused, when on a particularly rain-sodden journey, she was obliged to keep her feet on the dashboard as water swished beneath her.

Soon the inevitable happened; I was dispatched to the garage with instructions to “for God’s sake get rid of that old car”.

The salesman stroked his chin dolefully, kicked a couple of tyres and declared “She’s not in the best of health is she?”.

Then, he brightened and said, “I think we can put her right though” before mentioning, that somewhere up the hills an old farmer wanted a Jeep with plenty of horsepower.

Thus, it was our relationship ended. Then, it was into the showroom where, as usual, every sleek model appeared to be avoiding headlamp contact. Despite this, I was immediately dazzled by an auto that is, I dare say, slimmer, prettier and much lower maintenance than you ever were.

We’re together now and I’ve really enjoyed showing her handsome body to my friends while visits to filling stations have dropped precipitously.

Lately, however, she has begun getting on my nerves a bit. She complains loudly if I reverse too fast, accelerate urgently, leave a door open or move off with the handbrake slightly engaged. She also hates my habit, which you accepted with equanimity, of leaving my seatbelt off until I reach the end of the driveway and screams like a banshee every time I do it.

If we meet again

And during a recent cold snap, when I headed for the Slieve Blooms, she found things were way beyond her job description and refused point blank to move up an icy hill. So, I hope that the old farmer is treating you well – you certainly deserve this after what you’ve been through. And should we meet again on a mountain road where the new partner and I are struck in a drift, don’t just whizz gleefully past as we richly deserve.

Instead, slow down until the old farmer notices our predicament and gets out to inquire, “Do ye want a tow? I’ve got a four-wheel drive.”