It's not the worst public transport deficit in the country, I know. But even so, the inadequacy of the bus service between Drogheda and Newgrange is a pithy comment on the state of things in modern Ireland, Frank McNally.
In case you missed the story yesterday, local Labour councillor Dominic Hannigan complained that people who use Bus Éireann to visit Newgrange sometimes have to walk or hitch the four miles back to Drogheda. The problem arises because the last bus of the day leaves the monument - a World Heritage Site, remember - up to 75 minutes before it closes. Cllr Hannigan wondered aloud if tourists would find themselves similarly stranded at "the pyramids of Egypt".
The joke here is that, despite being even older than the pyramids, Newgrange is a masterpiece of synchronicity. It was built in 3200 BC, an era when what is now known as "joined-up thinking" seems to have peaked in Ireland.
Although Newgrange's stone-age creators presumably thought the earth was the centre of the universe, they were skilled astronomers. They used their knowledge to design the famous "roof-box" through which sunlight penetrates the central chamber at dawn on the winter solstice. And the fact that the sun no longer quite reaches the back of the chamber - because of slight changes in the relative position earth over 5,000 years - only underlines the accuracy of their original calculations.
We know that the light was central to Newgrange's role as a crypt, though we can only guess the exact intentions of the designers. The point is that, five millennia later, their system still works. On a cloud-free December 21st, the lucky few allowed inside can still watch the sunshine creep up the passageway, illuminating the darkness. And at such a moment, it is easy to believe - as one theory suggests - that this was a place from which souls could be "transported to heaven on the beam of light".
Unfortunately, as fanciful as being transported from Newgrange to heaven on a beam of light might seem, the chances of being transported from there to Drogheda on a bus after 4.45pm are currently even worse. But at least Bus Éireann has now promised a review.
We must hope that, by the time of this year's solstice, the light will have penetrated fully, and that the darkness of Bus Éireann's central timetable will be illuminated, however briefly. Then at last perhaps Newgrange can become cosmically aligned with that other ancient monolith whose exact purpose is still unclear to many people: CIÉ.
DUBLIN'S LUAS IS another classic example of disconnected thinking. Its red and green lines are the Romeo and Juliet of Irish public transport. They were clearly made for each other, but fate has conspired to keep them apart. Romantics can only pray that they will get together eventually, perhaps via a streetcar named Desire.
On which subject - broadly - I turn to the US, where the city of Seattle has provided planners everywhere with a cautionary tale about the need for care when naming a new public transport service.
Part of the problem is that, over there, light-rail systems are traditionally known as "trolley-buses". So the providers of a newly-built rail link to a Seattle suburb called South Lake Union should really have known better. In fact, they deny rumours that they ever planned to name the service the South Lake Union Trolleybus (or SLUT, for short). But it's already too late.
Seattlers, many of whom resented the expense and disruption involved in building the line, have adopted the name with a vengeance. Teeshirts with the slogan "R**e the SLUT!" are selling fast. And if any Seattle readers are wondering why I placed asterisks in the middle of such an innocuous verb, I should point out that, in Ireland, that word "ride" has meanings that go well beyond the realm of transport. Believe me, your T-shirts are much ruder than you realise.
The official name for the service is the South Lake Union Streetcar (SLUS). But the chances of that ever catching on now are slight. In the circumstances, I must congratulate Luas management - disconnected as their lines may be - for at least picking a name that nobody could possibly subvert. It's true there was a time when, because our line passes through a known red-light area on the way out of town, local residents did fear an upsurge of Luas women in the neighbourhood. But the threat seems to have passed.
IN AN ENTIRELY different vein, finally, I must return to the subject of the German ambassador, whose comments about Ireland have provoked national soul-searching. A sure sign of this is that readers have started composing limericks on the subject.
Hugh McFadden from Harolds Cross, Dublin even goes so far as to suggest a competition, and encloses his advance entry, which runs as follows: "An astute German envoy, Herr Pauls/ Said this Celtic Tiger appals./ The feline lacks class,/ Its manners are crass/ And its fame is a load of old balls." I know we shouldn't encourage this sort of thing.
But if the controversy inspires you to verse, feel free to send your entry to me at The Irish Times, Tara Street, Dublin 2, or at the e-mail address below. There's a one-way bus ticket to Newgrange for the winner.