Gally and Channerpor

If I had any doubts lingering that I was in Ireland (or that I have Irish blood by my maternal Grandmother), then they have all disappeared now. I had to take a short bus ride this morning and in doing so got chatting to the driver, who I approached cautiously, to ask for directions.

I'm a Londoner who uses buses every day and, via a plethora of warning signs, am advised not to to approach - let alone speak to - the man behind the wheel. It beggars belief what might happen if I did; London bus drivers are generally a depressive bunch who eye all passengers with immense caution. But Jim, my Irish bus driver for 10 minutes today, couldn't have been more welcoming.

In fact, he even gave me a little detour to show me some sights. He tried to, anyway - the road was blocked and we had to reverse. But what other country would this happen in? In the brief 10 minute journey, I spoke to him about cricket - "Ah, it'll never take in Ireland, will it? I like water polo m'self" - Guinness, Princess Diana and speed humps. He wasn't a cricket fan, however. At the ground in Clontarf - a picturesque little place with white-washed fences, every bit the small, local club - only a smattering turned up. True, it was a week day - and the weather threatened to tear down in true Irish style. So where were they? Has the effect of Ireland's stellar efforts in the World Cup amounted to nothing?

Perhaps, but perhaps not. When leaving the ground, a mother and her four boys, all no more than six or seven years old, approached me to get "Gally" and "Channerpor's" autographs. When I told them the match was finished, they were mortified. So disappointed was Connor, the youngest, that his mother chastened him for saying "Jaysus". Perhaps Chris Gally and Shivnarine Channerpor will oblige four young Irish fans on Thursday.