Displaced in Mullingar:The story of Granny's trip to Knock, or a tale about Bollywood? Michael Hardingmade the wrong choice

Last week I saw a famous actor coming out of Cocoon, where the swanky ladies shop. I rushed over and asked her what she was doing in Mullingar.

"Oh," she said, "I'm just having a day out".

Well it's not often that I find a beautiful actor having a day out, in Mullingar, so I urged her into a coffee shop, and paid for two mochas, and we went upstairs and sat at a table near the window. In my overexcitement I couldn't stop talking.

"Do you know," I said, "that my granny loved a day out? She came with us to Knock one time, in an Austin A7, and somewhere in Roscommon, we crossed a humpbacked bridge at high speed, and Granny's hat, and head, hit the roof." The actress was taking her coffee like it was medicine, and she wasn't entirely helpful at making small talk.

"So," I said, "you come to Mullingar for the day out! Isn't that interesting!" Mullingar is peppered with attractions. Fancy lingerie shops. Designer shops such as Bentley, Khan, and Benetton. Coffee shops, health shops, and even a therapy shop tucked away on Mount Street, where the staff massage people's heads for a few euro, to de-stress them from all the shopping.

"Have you been to the de-stress place on Mount Street?" I wondered.

"No," she said, with chilling control. Obviously it was none of my business where she went to de-stress.

Her gaze recalled a politician of the 19th century, whose smile was famously described as being as warm as the copper plate on a coffin.

"What did you buy?" I asked, pointing at her Cocoon bag.

Our coffee break wasn't boring her. By now it was clearly beginning to frighten her.

As we stood on the street outside, my lips may have moved a few inches towards her cheek, in anticipation of a warm Thespian farewell, but it was not to be. I could feel a definite resistance, if not horror, at the approach, so we shook hands, and she turned briskly and walked away.

I've never had a "de-stress massage". When I need to relax I get the train to Dublin. That's what I call a day out.

On the station platform during the week there was a man with a cowboy hat, a blue denim shirt and pointy shoes. He was strutting about like a nervous crow. And watching him apprehensively was an Indian woman, in a duffel coat that hid a nurse's uniform.

I was watching 40 swallows swoop low over the roofs of the town. The only seat available, while waiting for the train, was a bench already occupied by two young girls in pink anoraks and white jeans. I sat myself down, and they flew off, as young girls do when patriarchal figures approach.

When I lived in west Donegal, just above Carrick Finn beach, I used to spice up my solitary life with weekly trips to Dungloe. Every Thursday was my day out.

The bus was full of old men with woolly hats like tea cosies, and string bags for their messages: little old ladies escaping from the unbearable silence of stone-cold kitchens.

On damp afternoons the interior of the bus was a fog of steam and stale smells. And after seven or eight days living in the mist and rain above a rugged beach, the lights of a fish restaurant in Dungloe were as thrilling as the neon of Times Square.

I remember standing on Bandra beach in Mumbai, one autumn evening, as a huge orange sun sank towards the turquoise of the Indian Ocean. And among the ladies in saris and the men in colourful pyjamas, I spotted five Muslim women. Each was completely covered in a coarse black abaya.

In a line they faced the sea and did prostrations towards Mecca in grim obedience. But when they were finished praying, they opened a wicker box, and took out soft drinks and sandwiches. They bought bananas from a boy who carried a huge amount on a stick above his head, and they spread a green rug, and they sat on it, and laughed with abandon.

The sun was hanging above the sea like an orange lantern, as they enjoyed the remains of their day out, and I was convinced that, beneath the black, they were just like my granny.

Now that's what I should have told the actor. I should have regaled her with tales of Bollywood, Bandra, and the orange lantern floating above the turquoise sea.