For the second week of our holiday in Cork, we booked the children on to a computer course. Herself did it last year and loved it and all three of them were old enough to partake this year. I prayed that the weather would break because I couldn’t stand it if for the finest summer since 1976 I sent them in to look at a screen all day. My prayers were largely answered. The weather was pretty awful:
This left me free to do a range of things with my free time: spend time with my parents; go shopping; force my sister to look at a large house which was deeply unsuitable for her needs but really lovely aside from the dead pigeon on the drawing room windowsill and the damage to the west wing from the largely collapsed roof and, of course, the derelict listed house next door which was included as part of the sale.
The children meanwhile really, really loved their course. But they were exhausted. We got back early one evening and we ate early and I sent the boys to bed. I was just about to turn my attention to herself when she remarked in tones of outrage, “Do you realise that you sent the boys to bed at 7?” “Yes,” I replied. “You cunning, little vixen,” said she. Really, cunning, little vixen? I have a lot to put up with.
Anyhow, after two weeks we returned to Dublin. The children were delighted to be back pointing out familiar landmarks to each other. “Ah the sights and sounds of Dublin,” said their father. “Tobacco,” shouted the children happily from the back seat. Something needs to be done about the illegal cigarette trade alright.
I guess you realise that although you are, and always will be, from Cork, your children are Dubliners (and especially will be if you let them spend their teens here). It was one of the (many) unsettling moments I had when the boys arrived when I realised that although they were like me genetically etc etc they would be Irish and not little Kiwis (I mean, they’ve already got little Dublin accents!).
Who cares if the house is derelict when it has a west wing and a drawing room? She should snap it up.
I think that photograph is absolutely stunning.
Ken, I know, I am almost resigned.
Praxis, she would never be able to afford a holiday again. I suppose she could holiday in the west wing once she put a roof on it.
Thank you M – most kind.