Can you imagine our disappointment when we spoke to Cath earlier this summer, excited to come to Hungary and hoping to see her there, only to find out after 3 years she's moving back a couple of weeks before we get there. Oh the irony. Kind of. How's about those Bosnian escapades though hey? Police stop us for having our side lights on, then we break down and a mechanic rigs the lights to be constantly on. Now that's irony! With all my time in America, and the loose grasp they have on the concept, it gets hazy at times. Never mind Morrisette's "…rain on your wedding day" (which I believe is only ironic if you're a weather man, getting married, and you predicted it would be sunny).So to our delight, we heard Cath is back THIS WEEK to collect her things for the final move home. Well, in another turn of irony, I decided to call her to arrange hooking up in Budapest, doing my favourite 'Mo's Bar' stunt of faking some alias or another - this time a demented sounding old fella who is insistent that she's just called me. Cath remained on the phone for a remarkable amount of time - I would have told such a rambling nutter to politely bog off by now. Testament to Cath's good Christian nature? No. Her dad's just had a stroke and it might be him calling. Man I feel bad now. I'll buy her a pint when we see her.
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