Emma’s spent the week admiring the results of a beautiful manicure, but failing to read the small print will always, unfortunately, be her downfall. Time for a visit to Specsavers, perhaps?

I DECIDED last week that I was going to get my nails done. I’m dragging the birthday celebrations out as long as I can and, as I was heading away for a night with two school pals, I figured it would be a lovely treat especially as it’s something I rarely, if ever, get done. My mum has beautiful slender hands and my dad had stubby ones, sort of like shovels. Guess whose I inherited?! The stubby shovels were cute until I was around 11, but after that not so much. I always try to draw as little attention as possible to them; my husband could have saved himself a fortune on the engagement ring if only he’d known, but I decided a professional manicure could only help the situation so off I went with high hopes we’d
‘nail’ this. 

My appointment was mid-morning in Bandon, which can be a tricky enough town to get parking in so I was absolutely thrilled to get a spot practically outside the door of the salon which meant, after paying for my parking, I still had time to get a lovely takeaway coffee for myself. Life was good! Things only got better as my nail technician was an absolute wizard and while she didn’t quite manage to make a silk purse from a pig’s ear she made a pretty fantastic attempt. I was delighted with myself as I drove home admiring myself, even stopping en-route to buy a pair of rubber gloves to preserve the great work for as long as possible. I should do this more often, I merrily declared. I’m worth it!

Right, so fast forward to later that afternoon and I was driving my daughter to an activity when I spotted something sodden and yellow, fluttering about, trapped between the wind screen wiper and car bonnet. Oblivious, I went to retrieve it and instantly got that sinking feeling, for it was a parking ticket. My first reaction was complete indignation. Sure I had paid for my on-street parking. There’s got to be a mistake and I’m most certainly appealing this, I fumed. A quick read of the small print revealed that yes, I had paid for my parking but I had parked in a loading bay. No flipping wonder the space was free. I had been so full of the joys of life, that I didn’t read the sign correctly through my rose tinted glasses, and now I had to cough up €40 for my stupidity. When I logged on to pay the fine there were several photos of my car parked in what was very clearly identified as a loading bay, which just added insult to injury. Sure, just get me bumper sticker saying ‘Dumbo on board’ altogether. So all in all a very pricey morning out that left me feeling pretty sheepish (but still loving the nails).

It still absolutely galled me to pay the fine even though I was completely in the wrong. I’d prefer to spend the money foolishly. I’ve had a few such  incidents where I had to pay the price for not reading the small print. A recent example was a Christmas gift which arrived too late for its intended purpose. When I went to return it I was told that the cost of collection would be almost as much as the refund itself, but that they’d happily give me a €20 refund, and I could keep the item. I could see this was one battle I wasn’t going to win (even if I’m sure Conor Pope would have sorted it for me) so I acquiesced. In a bid to rescue the situation I decided to sell the item on a popular online platform. 

Honestly, you’d want nerves of steel for the brass neck of people here, they’re professional hagglers (I didn’t say chancers…). I had messages from people offering me half the asking price and then wondering if I’d deliver…to Sligo. 

Anyway, eventually a deal was done with someone locally, and I have to admit it was more than a bit thrilling to make a sale, but on the downside it was at a major financial loss. You live and learn. Well you’re supposed to, at least. I’ll probably do the same again next month, just wait and see. 

The ’occasions’ are coming fast and furious aren’t they? Valentine’s this weekend, with Pancake Tuesday and Ash Wednesday hot on its heels. Pancake Tuesday used to be a huge thrill when I was growing up because it was probably the only time in the whole year we’d have pancakes. The batter was always made the night before, the first pancake was always ‘for the pan’ (i.e. a disaster) but after that my mum would be churning them out at a fierce rate and we couldn’t get enough. The only thing they were served with was sugar and lemon, and perhaps honey. It was a major event and marked the beginning of Lent, and an end to all things tasty for 40 days. Now, pancakes are completely common place in most households and the idea of sprinkling sugar on top would probably have you arrested by the food police, and even smearing a thin layer of Nutella is frowned upon. I won’t mention my weakness for smothering mine in golden syrup.

There’s still so many bugs and germs circulating. I know so many people who are smothered with nasty colds and unrelenting coughs that they can’t shake, but more positively it’s super to see all the clusters of primroses popping up along with daffodils reminding us that brighter, and hopefully drier, days are coming. There’s most definitely a stretch which remind me I need someone to sort out our lawn which has turned into a swamp. I even spotted a little frog who obviously took a wrong turn at some point in the garden last week. More than a bit disconcerting, with Noah’s Ark coming to mind. 

Final word to the nails. Seeing as I was so in love with myself and considering a career as a hand model I decided I’d lash on some cuticle oil to help maintain the manicure for as long as possible. My daughter’s dressing table is better stocked than my own (eh, I don’t even have one in fact) so I raided hers. I was thinking something wasn’t right when everything started to feel a bit gloopy but I was in a rush and ploughed on before the penny finally dropped. I had mistakenly slathered myself in nail glue (they’re in similar bottles) and there was no rescuing the sticky mess I was in. Back to reading the small print. I think I need new glasses and a minder. Any takers?