The Rocky Road Ends Here – Full Development

I won’t sugar-coat it: this past winter was awful. It didn’t stop raining for days at a time. In fact, according to the Irish Met Office, for 54 consecutive days from 29 December 2025 to 20 February 2026, it rained somewhere on the island. Several people told me on separate occasions they had never had a winter quite like it, which for a country famed for its rain is some statement to make. Still, it gives me hope, because it can only get better.

However, when the sun shines, this place is truly magical in every sense, especially as the temperatures are never extreme. A real antidote to the searing Valencian sun, I actually love to go to places where the heat doesn’t prevent me from enjoying my day. The children love to play outside, and we make sure they wear appropriate clothing. It’s hard to persuade Livia to button up – she’s like me; she hates being overburdened with too many clothes. Coats often feel like extra responsibilities rather than useful accoutrements to keep us warm or dry.

All this hunkering down over winter had made us a touch restless, and ready to get on with making our new home truly “ours”. On 25 March, once the colder weather had passed, I hired a 3-ton digger and set about recreating the things we had back at our old house in Germany that we all missed. One of those things was the pond, which was a central point of the garden and doubled up as a paddling pool.

In the end, I made one large pond on the sunset side of the house, with a promontory that will accommodate a fire cauldron for ceremonies, and a smaller one on the sunrise side of the house for the children to enjoy. The larger one will hopefully be a haven for wildlife – I hope to introduce some shrubs, trees and flowers to attract the birds and insects, rodents and amphibians. Around the smaller one, a large mound contains lupins, a dogwood, a panicled hydrangea, a bird feeding station, a paddling area, and a short footpath with steps over the top for the kids to play on. It’s about 60% ready.

I also spent the early winter planting a series of trees – the sunrise garden has a clay-type soil that drains really badly, so I have had to make some mounds and drainage holes to let the water run off. I have also planted some of the more thirsty-type trees, such as a few willows, a hornbeam, a maple, and a birch. On the drier part of the garden, I planted two apple trees and a cherry tree. The only doubt is a staghorn sumac, which as of 5 May hadn’t really got its act together, but now seems to have understood that’s its new home. I will keep an eye on it, otherwise I need to move it somewhere less squelchy. I have also been busy cutting the grass and leaving the cuttings where they fell. This helps to harden the ground over time, although on this sunny morning after a few rainy days, it’s starting to resemble a savannah clearing.

During the breathless month of April, the children joined us for some nature walks, some garden work, and a few trips out for cake. I also launched my book in town with a reading at Mohill National School and a book signing event in Boyce & Co Café (photos at the bottom), both of which were quite a success. But it was the arrival of May that brought about our first overnight trip away. Aoife, the effervescent wise woman who looks after Dai and Milda four days a week, told us about the Festival of Fools in Belfast. She was going to attend it and see her brother, who was running a wooden folk games event. On the way, we passed by the splendid Navan Hill Fort near Armagh, where there was a demonstration of life in Ireland two centuries ago. The children loved dressing up and trying their survival skills - photos at the end.

The Festival of Fools is a joyfully unpretentious, understated and unembellished three-day street performing arts event that takes place in various parts of the city and invites travelling performers to show off their talents to the people of Belfast. Many of the invitees are encouraged to practise their well-honed routines and try out some new material. There were many local performers, but some had come from as far away as Finland to put on their acts.

One of the most important aspects of the festival is crowd participation, with the philosophy that maybe some will go home and think about taking up a new street performance hobby of their own. I can see how easy it would be to gain new grassroots recruits this way: it’s interactive to the point of being virtually 50:50 contribution of crowd to performers.

And I cannot recommend this overtly welcoming and inspiring event enough. What’s tragic is that there seems to be a funding issue that prevents the festival from growing and developing into the international phenomenon that it could be. When we look around European cities at what cultural festivals mark them, Munich has the Oktoberfest of course, Valencia has the Fallas, and there is an argument to be had that both festivals have outgrown their cities and as permanent fixtures are now liabilities prone to overcrowding, unwanted noise, tension and loutish behaviour rather than something the exhausted locals actually look forward to each year.

This is where such a festival comes into its own: without the constant worry about losing someone in the crowds, the children had an absolute blast. Many of the acts were outdoors, but one of the venues was a community building in the centre. Before we even entered the place, some jugglers with skittles, beanies and diabolos approached us at the door and invited the children to give it a go.

Well.

What followed was a demonstration that even a six-year-old girl can do it. The diabolos were a real eye-opener. Watching Milda, Dainoris and Livia controlling them like puppies on a leash was a cathartic moment that will live long in the memory.

We went inside to be greeted by smiling volunteers ushering us to the main activities. The children hurried to the wooden folk games, which included a skittle setup with a weight on a stick, another with a catapult and some targets spinning on an axle, a chess-type game, a maze in a basket, a wooden 3D snakes-and-ladders game, and many others. The place was a hub of entertainment and energy, with all ages giving the games a go.

Then an organiser announced there was to be a series of short shows. The first was a youth theatre and acrobatics group from Derry City. Average age seemed to be about 14 or 15. They rode unicycles in formations, juggled, and balanced stuff on their heads. Then came a man dressed in a plastic pinny who performed with eggs. Yes, you heard that right, with eggs. His bizarre but amusing act included pretending to make eggs disappear and failing quite hilariously.

And just when I thought the children couldn’t do any more to show how fast they’re growing up, Dainoris was called up to be the egg man’s assistant for the middle part of his show. And he did ever so well, even making a few improvised moves of his own. At one point, he had to catch an egg that had been catapulted into the air, which of course was planned to fail, but he took it so well it was almost as if they’d rehearsed it.

After this, a couple of Finnish ladies did a comedy acrobatic routine, followed by some more youth formations on unicycles, and a finale with some more comedy acrobatics from the same youth group. Livia and Dainoris sat through all this without getting up or being distracted. Milda hovered between the shows and the folk games.

I sent a photo of Dainoris to Aoife to show her what he’d been doing, and she reminded me that her brother was the one running the folk games. I hadn’t made the connection. So I went to introduce myself to him, by saying “oh, you’re Aoife’s brother?” which initially bemused him somewhat, but when I explained, he thought the situation was quite amusing.

After the festival, we headed to the car along Royal Avenue, stopping at Writer’s Square for some merchandise on the way. The drive home was a peaceful one, punctuated by a stop in Enniskillen for an enormous Indian meal.

Bank Holiday Monday was a lazy day for everyone – although I still had to cook, take the washing to the dryer in town, and dry the children’s hair after their bath, but I still managed to watch the extraordinary climax to the World Snooker Final. I wouldn’t miss that, despite the adverse conditions inflicted by family members ambushing me with spontaneous tasks.

All-in-all, life had taken a tremendously malevolent set of turns over the previous three years, but time is helping us all heal. I have found it the most difficult to adjust to this new reality, mainly because I have been so used to being in an international environment for a quarter of a century, and having to give up most of my career in order to start again at my age has frankly made me economically obsolete, but the kind people of this pretty corner of the world have made it much easier than it could have been.

On Saturday 23 May, some friends of ours from Valencia came by for a day on their way around Ireland. The weather was cheering up after a few days of rain, and the sun was starting to get hot. Nobody associates Ireland with the type of Mediterranean weather that brings northern Europeans south in their millions once a year, but after all that rain, we’re owed some lovely sunny days. And this week has been terrific: of all the days of my life that the sun has shone, I can’t remember such a perfect combination of colour, warmth, and serenity.

Unfortunately for our friends, they spent a few days under leaden skies and ceaseless horizontal rain as they took the Wild Atlantic Way out in County Kerry and up to Galway. But reaching us, their last full day in the country, the clouds disappeared and the first signs of a decent-length spell of unbroken clear skies took over. And what a lovely day it was: we took them round our enchanting domain, then headed for the Lough Ree Inn, just north of Athlone. It’s about an hour and a quarter away, but the drive is delightful: you pass through the flats of County Longford, which give way to the rolling hills of Westmeath, taking in the colourful façades along the broad Main Street of Ballymahon, the picturesque scenery around Glasson, Tang and Tubberclair, and the various pubs and restaurants on the way.

But nothing prepares you for the approach to the Lough Ree Inn: you reach the outskirts of Athlone, then you see a sign for Coosan Point along a rather nondescript-looking turnoff next to a car showroom. Less than a minute up that road, there is an almost imperceptible left-turn a car-and-a-half wide. Your journey takes you into some shallow woodland past some of the tidiest houses with the neatest, manicured lawns, ornamental trees, statues, fountains and electric SUVs before you enter some farmland. After a number of secluded houses with boats in the driveways, you finally arrive at a bustling and thriving leisure facility on the shore of the huge lake, the island’s fifth largest.

And boy, what a view it is – visitors with their own barbecues pepper the parkland leading to the water, where children paddle in the shallows. A well-equipped playground is festooned with kids and adults making a lot of happy noises. The ice cream van has a queue of red-faced clients waiting patiently to order their treats from a jolly young lady behind the counter. The colourful terrace of the pub is littered with people enjoying their day off, and dog walkers hurtle past looking fitter than the rest of us. Boats, both big and small, are scattered across the serene surface of the sea-like lake, listing and leaning as they bob above the brilliant blue waters.

This place is magic. It’s as if Someone Upstairs decided to create an impeccable haven of relaxation for members and let the sinners in for a day. I had booked a table for seven a couple of days early, and it didn’t disappoint. The view outwards was a glorious picture of chaos, like an updated L.S. Lowry painting had been given AI treatment.

The menus came up, and the first thing I noticed was the venison burger; the rest was immaterial to me. The cheerful chatter was unrelenting, the food was easy on the eye and easier on the stomach, and the desserts were tasty, but the drinks list could have been better. I hardly drink any more, but I honestly believe a place like that could do better by stocking a few more niche items in their alcohol repertoire.

Afterwards, we went outside to enjoy the scenery and sit by the lake. The children were happily amused in the playground, so we just hung around the area taking in the fantastic scenery and spirited atmosphere. I try to always get it right for visitors, and this time I was definitely vindicated, even if I say so myself. They left quite late in the early evening, and we stayed for one more round of juices and coffees before taking the road home.

The rest of this week, I have been busy working in the garden, cutting the grass, shaping the ponds, and planting a few more shrubs. I am going to make a long, thin mound of topsoil no higher than my foot along one edge of the garden to spread the contents of the box of wild flowers on. I’d love to see them grow and turn the garden into a flying insect’s paradise.

I am by no means a superstitious person, but I am ceaselessly kept in check by a malevolent and openly hostile hobgoblin in a robust and systematic manner. So for that reason, I don’t declare things like “I’m currently contented with life”, or some such statement, because I can guarantee you it will be sabotaged by an unwelcome development that will cause us either to have to set fire to the entire island of Ireland to combat it, or to gouge our eyes out to satisfy its lust for Schadenfreude and the infliction of desolation upon us (again).

Having undergone the equivalent experience of being pulled through a field of electrified gorse while having slate boulders dropped on me, I would like to imagine that this hobgoblin that has plagued my life for at least the last thirty years is finally moving on to some other poor victim.

We can but hope.