"South of the Border down Drogheda Way" is the song on our lips this morning as we venture into the Republic for a lunch and some golf. Not the drama it used to be with the road blocks and military outposts and Soviet style Border controls ( I exaggerate slightly) But now you only know you have crossed the frontier when the telephone boxes and post boxes turn to Green and the petrol is marked in Euros (and well under the UK price)
Report later if we are spared
