quoth the raven oh come on

Picking my way on foot through precipitous traffic on the Main Street of Naas, a provincial Irish town whose name in Gaelic means Maniacal Drivers.
Well it should.
Let me be clear.
I am trying to cross the road.
The traffic is sweeping by.
Using Jedi mind techniques I reach the centre of the road.
Presently I hear a voice say: "Don't worry, just follow that man."
It's girl's voice so it can't be Obi Wan Kenobi picking the worst possible moment to advise me how to blow up Death Stars from beyond the grave again.
I turn as the cars whizz by on either side.
There is a gaggle of no less than five school girls lined up on the median strip with their attention focussed firmly on me.
I am like nothing so much as a mother hen with a brood in her wake.
A brood I never signed up for.
How on earth did they get there without getting hit?
Ruefully I shake my head.
"You picked a wrong one today girls," I tell my informal charges cheerfully. "I've been knocked down five times already this year."