We were lost – having turned off a brand new and completely empty motorway that cut across the lush green hills of the West coast of Ireland in a quest to visit my Irish mother’s third cousins twice removed. So we finally pulled up next to an old road sign, which confusingly said:
← Knockroe Knockroe →
My English sister turned on the satnav and said “OK, tell me the name of the street.”
“Sure Knockroe hasn’t any street names,” said my mother.
“Postcode? Everyone has a postcode!” tried my sister, frantically tapping the satnav which was largely blank.
“There are no postcodes in Ireland!” said my mother.
“But how do you find anyone?” said my sister, with all the exasperation of someone born in Generation Y who now finds themselves inexplicably without a signal.
