Danger - nuns on road

You know the only thing I dislike about writing this blog?  It's thinking up titles.  I never, ever have a title in mind before I start and, no matter how flowingly the content comes out and how pleased I am with the end result, I then spend ages trying to think of a suitable title.  I've noticed that anything slightly risque always gets more hits, but with some of the subjects I write about it would be difficult, not to say impossible, to come up with a titivating header that wouldn't be completely irrelevant.

Today is no different, so who knows what I'll come up with, for the first subject on the agenda is nuns driving (badly).  I was on my way back from the garden centre, having managed to resist a climbing rose, a holly tree and an enormous potted geranium for the exhorbitant price of 75 euros.  It didn't take me long to notice that the driver in front was slaloming around in quite an alarming fashion.  From my perspective, it seemed as if she was holding up a piece of cardboard to block the sunlight - why not indeed, if your visor is broken.  Quite innovative, actually, if you think about it.  But when I overtook the little green car I realised it was being 'driven' by a little old nun, with a monster of a wimple on her head - this was the piece of cardboard, by the way.

There are quite a few nuns round here, as abbeys are two a penny.  However, I have yet to see one under eighty.  They are usually sighted in the cheaper supermarkets, and I have observed that they have a penchant for those plastic lemon things with extra-acidic lemon juice inside.  The good sisters generally favour the bicycle - can't imagine why - but some are to be seen, like today, driving old granny cars around, head barely visible over the wheel and putting their fellow motorists in mortal danger as they make their way from St Benedikt to St Ursula, or whatever.  No wonder really, because it's probably years since they took a driving test, if they ever did.  And abbey life can't allow much opportunity for improving one's driving skills.

Still on the same journey, I entered Bovinia and was struck by a classic vignette which typifies life here.  Coming from the other direction, on foot and pushing an overladen bike, an elderly lady with bowed shoulders was making her way up the road ever so, ever so slowly.  Behind her was a line of four or five cars.  Nobody could overtake as the road is so narrow at that point.  But no one looked concerned.  They contentedly crawled along at snail's pace as the lady wearily shuffled home.  (I hope she lives nearby, or the cars will still be behind her as I write.)  The lack of impatience, not a single blast of a horn or angry red face leaning out of the window to castigate her, sum up the attitude in this rural idyll.

Note to weary lady - ask a nun for a lift next time??