I’m a nervous wreck thanks to the passion and persistence of a certain lady. I first came across her at my place of employment, the recycling depot on the Drumbarrel road. As you know, I work there two days a week under the direction of my wry supervisor Todd and his able assistant, The Whip Carey.

One meets all kinds at the depot – or “the dump”, as the environmentally uneducated refer to it. We have our regulars, our irregulars and our newbies, which is what The Whip calls new customers. He has a soft spot for newbies of the female gender.

These younger ladies get a personalised tour of the facility from him, leaving them in no doubt as to the appropriate place for their tetra packs, their cardboard boxes, their dead batteries and their wasted light bulbs. He will also show them his reconditioned Volvo and brief them on his country dancing schedule and plans for the weekend. They depart the depot with an in-depth knowledge of The Whip’s social habits and his mobile phone number.

While I admire many of our customers, at this stage of my life I’m beyond amorous notions. I reckon the sight of me in a high-vis jacket, flat cap and working boots is not a vision that will excite the romantic juices in anyone. On the contrary, it would cause even the swiftest of Cupid’s arrows to change course.

I enjoy watching The Whip in action; some would describe him as a master in the craft of courting but the results don’t say much for his mastery – half of his bed is still available for occupancy.

It’s been a long time since I was the object of anyone’s affections, so long in fact that I failed to recognise that a certain lady customer attending the depot had become besotted with me. I thought she was an avid recycler and a keen environmentalist.

Matilda Green, the woman in question, moved into Killdicken at the beginning of the summer. While she has no direct connection with the place, it appears her mother’s people came from Cossatrasna. She retired from the library service somewhere in Dublin or Kildare and Todd, whose missus is an avid reader of romantic novels, reckons Ms Green spent too long in the Mills and Boon section. Indeed, Todd was the first to notice that she had taken a shine to me.

“That wan never shows up here until you’re on duty,” he said. “How many times have you shown her where everything goes and yet she comes back again and again, askin’ what she’ll do with her used body lotion bottles.”

Of course, the Whip is perplexed as to why I don’t respond to Matilda’s advances: “Be jaysus, if I was five years older,” says he, “I’d be closer to her than any body lotion.”

“She’s not much older than you, Whip. For that matter, neither am I,” I said

Anyway, Matilda has become a problem; everywhere I turn, she’s there. For instance, I cycle to and from the depot, weather permitting. I enjoy my time on the bike; it gives me an opportunity to day-dream, do a bit of planning or just clear my head. The other morning I was turning down the Borrisnangoul road when who whizzed up beside me on her high Nellie but the bould Matilda,

“Good morning, Maurice, a lovely day for a cycle.”

I wobbled and nearly ended up in the ditch with the fright

“Steady yourself, darling,” says she, “I wouldn’t know how to handle an injured man.”

“You’d manage it somehow,” I said, “I’m sure ’twould be no bother to you.”

“Oh Maurice,” says she, “you overestimate me, but I am told I have a good pair of hands. All the better to hold you with my dear, ho, ho, ho.”

Jaysus, the big bad wolf. I knew she reminded me of something.

“I love to cycle, especially at this time of the day,” she said. “It’s so refreshing.”

“I do it because I have to,” I said, trying to dampen her enthusiasm.

As we neared the gate of the Depot, The Whip passed by in his Volvo giving a big blast of the horn. He was followed by Todd in his trusty Toyota who nearly did permanent damage to himself as he craned his neck to get a good look at us.

The pair of them were waiting at the gate as I wheeled up with Matilda on my tail. I dismounted and she pedalled on, shouting: “See you tomorrow, Maurice. I’ll come along again … for the cycle, ho ho ho.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” repeated the Whip, “that’s what I call steady progress, Maurice.”

“Shut up, Whip.”