| 13.2°C Dublin

'Mad Cow' Maggie's ingenious solution to a very G-stringy predicament

"WHOSE idea was this anyway?" asked Maggie, as the rain bounced off my windscreen and the wind howled like a Jack Russell in heat.

We were making our way to the Luas at the Mad Cow roundabout so we could be whisked into Dublin to take part in the charity 'Run in the Dark'. Patsy stayed at home.

"I don't want to make ye look bad as ye stagger towards the finish line," she said. Yeah right.

It was Maggie's idea to participate, and she somehow, convinced Josie and me that it was a good idea.

"Can't we just give the money and not turn up?" asked Josie. An emphatic "NO!" was the answer.

As Maggie pressed every button bar the right one on the ticket machine, the Luas came and went. We eventually got on and, as it typical with culchies, didn't know where to get off. Josie had never heard of Spencer Dock so we decided to alight there. The rain stopped and the wind had abated.


"Where are we?" Maggie asked, never having been to this part of Dublin before. Then she saw the Convention Centre all lit up with blue rings. "Wow, it's just like Las Vegas," she said. Anyone who overheard her would be hard put to believe she only lives about 30 miles down the road.

Across the Liffey, runners and walkers were gathering with their armbands flashing red LED lights. It was damp and cold.

Maggie suggested we should do a few stretches to warm up. She started jogging on the spot and then bent over to touch her toes. "Jaysus!" she said, suddenly standing up and grasping her buttocks with both hands.

Most concerned, we asked was she okay? "My thong just snapped," she replied. Where it had gone was anyone's guess, as Maggie seems to have more orifices than a slice of Swiss cheese.

"What are you like?" Josie said from the comfort of her thermal vest and knickers.

And then we were off. Maggie assumed the lead, bounding away from us like a greyhound. Josie and I took it easy – just a brisk walking pace for us.

Halfway through, we caught up with her. She was bent over double and gasping like she needed a lung transplant. She was also holding her snapped thong in her hand.

"It was annoying me so I took it off," she wheezed.

"How did you do that?" I asked her.

"Over my head," she explained.

Moral of the story is: you can take the girl out of Kildare, but you can't take Kildare out of the girl.