WHILE we were in Ireland, I refused to think about the dead motor car I had left in my drive.

It had packed in the evening before we were due to fly out and I had contacted my garage man, Rob “Stan” Staniforth at the last minute. Stan had turned out to see if he could get it started but declared himself puzzled as to the problem.

“Leave me the key,” he said. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

I suspected something extremely complicated with the electronics. The radio kept coming on of its own accord and the dashboard lights flashed like a disco.

Still, plenty of time to worry about that when we got back from Donegal. While we were there our grandson Ruairi celebrated his fifth birthday with a party attended by 15 wild youngsters.

When everybody had gone he only had enough energy left to play stare you out.

Later, sitting in the bath, he said to his mum: “You know, if I try and out stare the window, the window will win.”

I’m not sure what that means but it put me in mind of my own battle with broken motor cars over the years. I can stare at it as much as I like but the car always wins.

I was still considering Ruairi’s philosophy while gazing out of the terminal window at Derry Airport the next day.

To avoid the scrum of queuing I had paid extra for Priority Boarding and Maria and I had taken two seats next a lady in a wheelchair and her two relatives in a very short and select queue.

A Ryanair attendant came to assure the lady that arrangements had been made for getting her aboard the Liverpool flight.

“We’ll board you last,” she said. “Don’t worry, everything’s in hand.”

Then she looked at Maria and me, sitting there with blank looks, trying to stare the window out. “And do you need help boarding the aircraft, too?” she said, in a gentle voice.

I can tell you, my flabber has never been so gasted.

I had not fully recovered by the time my mate Kev the Sparky drove us home to find my car was still sitting in the drive where I had left it.

Oh bother, I thought. Now’s the time to worry.

I tried a key in the ignition, just in case, and it started. Amazing – it had been fixed. For once, I hadn’t tried to out stare the car and the problem had been solved.

Could this be a philosophy for life? Don’t worry about things over which you have no control? Or should I just thank Stan the Man?