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About Navan

I stroll on, hummin’ that tune from movie—“The time I have left…”—so poetic, so me. Then, bam! This gal—tall, smoky eyes, legs for days—standin’ by a lamppost. I’m like, “Vow, she’s got it!” Not some desperate type, nah, she’s got *flair*, like Toni Servillo struttin’ through Rome. I go, “Hey, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends, big guy.” Cheeky! I’m happy—finally, some sass! Hate them quiet ones, bores me to death.

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So, I head back to my shop, and guess what? The power’s back on! I’m like, “Hallelujah!” I rush in, and the dough’s just sitting there, waiting for me. I start kneading like a madman. I’m in my zone, right? Then, outta nowhere, my mate Sean bursts in. He’s all outta breath, like he just ran a marathon.

Buses dropping Drogheda passengers off and then passing them by as they hike home