Eighteen Months with a Red L Plate: Driving Again in Ireland

Eighteen months is a long stretch of life, especially when you are retired and the time is yours to enjoy.

By Neil Solomon · 2 min read

Picture a couple named Barbara and Tom. They have settled in Ireland. Both have driven for decades. Barbara has never had an accident, and Tom has taught half his family to parallel park. Yet here they find themselves with a red L plate on the car, and a feeling of being back at sixteen.

The account I have in mind describes eighteen months of this. The tone was irritation, and I understand why. When you have driven for forty years, being treated as a learner can feel like a small insult. It also shapes your days. The plate is a reminder every time you get in the car.

What I notice is that the length of time matters as much as the rule. A few weeks of a plate is a funny story. Eighteen months is a long stretch of life, especially when you are retired and the time is yours to enjoy. Many of us do not plan for how a slow process eats into the first year in a new country.

There is a good side, too. Some people say the wait made them slow down. They learned the local roads. They had time to hear how others drive. They took buses, walked, and met people they might not have met from a driver's seat. I would not call that a fair trade for the irritation, but it is something.

Let me suggest a way to read this. The question for a person like Barbara is not "Is this fair?" It is "How do I want to spend this stretch?" You can fight the clock, or you can build the year around it.

Barbara and Tom might have this talk in the car park.

"Still the red plate," Tom says.

"Still. Someone waved at it today."

"Kindly?"

"I think so. Like a welcome."

That may be the sweetest way to carry it.