Meathman's Diary: Parking Paradise down at the Plaza

When it comes to the lively issue of parking in Navan, there is no sterner test of nerve for a driver than rolling into the death funnel, Kennedy Plaza.

For those who don't know, the 'Plaza' (Irish for ‘abandon all hope here’) is the strip of paved chaos opposite Navan Shopping Centre, where a no claims bonus goes to die.

It was redesigned as part of the Navan 2030 Streetscape Scheme in 2022 where planners convinced themselves that pedestrians could mingle freely with the cars and delivery trucks squeezing down a cobbled ransom strip.

What could possibly go wrong?, they asked; 'it's the perfect solution for local businesses that need customer parking and also for drivers who love toddlers running into the blind spots of SUVs’.

The Diary swung in there last Friday evening for the full experience and instantly regretted that decision.

Straight away, we encountered a blockage, a Qashqai driver was stopped and waiting to turn into a space that didn’t exist. And then we all had to wait. A line of traffic was giving daggers to a stressed mammy furiously unloading a trolley of shopping and small children into the boot of her car and desperate to vacate staring, judging eyes. No one questioned why the children were put into the boot, we just wanted to park.

Behind the Qashqai, the lad driving the enormous orange Ford Ranger, wasn't waiting any longer and swung out and around, narrowly missing three young lads on an e-scooter whizzing down the middle of the Colesseum. The boyo on the rear swung a bag of cans over his head in anger and roared abuse at the Ranger driver but his sudden movement caused the e-scooter to fishtail all over the plaice, literally... they clattered into the Fishmonger’s van.

Then, a Toyota Yaris with two old dears inside came down the opposite way blocking the Ranger driver and refused to give way. This was Thelma and Louise and this was their Grand Canyon.

In the Fifty Fifty restaurant, patrons in the first floor window seats were getting a grandstand view of the Hunger Games below. Urban legend incorrectly has it that it's called Fifty-Fifty to mirror the odds drivers have of getting off the Plaza alive.

Further down Death Valley, a stressed punter pushed a laden Dunnes trolley into harm's way, his shopping cart chattering over the uneven paving stones turning his milk to butter and sending his €10 off €50 grocery voucher into the wind. In a desperate attempt to retrieve it, he nearly went under the wheels of the Ford Ranger.

There was more stone mad antics outside the Stonehouse pub when a parked motorist and a hopeful arrival had that strange conversation you have through glass... 'are you going out' the hopeful arrival mouthed in that exaggerated way you do through a windscreen. 'No, I'm waiting on Vincent to come out of Boyds, sorry,’ came the slow motion reply!'

One of the old dears in the Yaris was out of the car now offering her parking ticket to anyone that wanted it. ‘There’s six minutes left on that, you’re welcome to it, love’, pressing it into the hand of a bewildered student on the way to catch the NX.

I eventually got a space, got what I needed (wine and paracetamol) and got out again, went home, wept and put the Ford Ranger up on Donedeal.