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.

The Rocky Road Stops Here – Winter Is Over

 

Carrick-On-Shannon Marina at sunset

The island of Ireland is the westernmost country of the European Union (for now), and politics aside, its location in the eastern Atlantic makes it simultaneously the safest place in the northern hemisphere in the event of a new world war, and the most dangerous place to go outside when there is an R in the month.

The howling wind that blows off the Atlantic combined with the endless cloud, horizontal rain and short daylight hours made the winter a particularly cheerless time, but most importantly, it didn’t feel at all like we were going to die: a stark contrast from the devastation wrought on the Valencians back in 2024.

For the most part, the children got up, went to school, came home, ate, watched TV and went to bed. But in all that, Things Were Actually Happening. For example, Livia had some life-defining tests that confirmed – officially – that she has a light form of autism.

What happened next was a complete breath of fresh air compared to the treatment she received elsewhere: she can be assigned a qualified Special Educational Needs professional in the classroom, who will support her, give her moral guidance, and crucially help her learn at her own pace.

Livia’s school is located in a tiny town in rural Ireland, but the staff have made her feel at home – she no longer stays in bed as long as possible in the mornings trying to avoid the inevitable: she doesn’t relish school, but she isn’t having mini panic attacks at the thought of spending the day there.

What’s more, Livia has actually started applying the things she has learned: she even wrote a full sentence without any help, which caused me to spontaneously stand up in surprise and sheer wonderment at how far she has come in such a short time. She is expressing herself fully, making fewer monosyllabic noises when she wants something, and answering questions, albeit often after having repeated them.

She has always had a mischievous sense of humour, verging on the slapstick with a side-order of absurdism, and this has developed a great deal in the meantime. She can be either great company or a total blight on the experience, but this is the very essence of her versatile character.

Dainoris has flourished at school. He has developed a keen interest in the animal world, and can tell us facts about all sorts of creatures that we have never heard of. He will often watch a full Attenborough documentary, pausing only to blink or occasionally breathe. His room is full of animal figurines he has collected – some from the German Schleich brand, which are anatomically extremely accurate.

He also likes to play board games, as does his mother, so they spent the dark winter evenings bonding a lot playing mainly Frustration and Snakes and Ladders. I occasionally joined them, but it was mostly their thing. Besides, I am more into Scrabble and 15-ball pool.

On top of all this, he has a close relationship with a young lady from his class, that we shall call Manon. Her mother is coincidentally Belgian (Walloon this time) and father British, both with hints of German. The mirroring to our family history is quite uncanny. They hang around in school a lot and also after school on Fridays at the playground. Manon has a younger sister, Marie, who likes to play with Livia and Milda: she also has spectrum-like overtones, which puts her in pole position to make Livia a perfect playmate.

As for Milda, she is going places. She pays attention to everything going on around her; she listens to adults’ advice and tries to apply her new-found wisdom; she is super easy to tend to, and she’ll eat what you put in front of her, although less so these days than she used to.

Despite being the youngest, she is also the most articulate and erudite – she loves a good chat on anything, no matter its nature, and has a penchant for making complicated phrases out of straightforward explanations, much like this sentence. I am surprised she stops for air sometimes. Her brain is so methodical and rational, that she gets angry with herself for making mistakes. Methinks we have a perfectionist in the household – I am going to try to teach her to understand that mistakes are good ways of learning and remembering better ways to accomplish things.

Bonny Bee has been very busy this winter with her translations – she has a great number of things on the go at the same time, and relishes her daily activities. I have been doing the auxiliary tasks, like driving everyone around, shopping, cooking, and developing the garden. Now that spring has arrived, I have started on the project of landscaping the grounds, including putting in two ponds, five trees (to start with), and some decent paths, rocks, flowerbeds, and seating areas.

As well as this, I have almost totally completed my pivot from adult language training to writing and my debut novel made it to the shelves in February. It’s been a difficult birth, but finally it saw the light: I wrote it back in Luxembourg in 2022, and after a year getting the illustrations right, I found myself in Spain. So I had to coordinate that as well as our integration into Spanish society. By the time it was finally published, we had moved to Ireland.

So what’s next? Well… we are getting on with the house renovation, slowly but there are signs of progress – we hope to have a bathroom and utility room fitted by the end of spring, then we will move on to the roof and ceilings before tackling the bedrooms. Once they are properly installed and equipped, the central room will need attention, and then I think we can move in. I’m hoping by this time next year.

Imagine: if it weren’t for a group of defeatist boardroom directors in a private school in Luxembourg, we would probably never have had these experiences. I love to turn adversity into positivity.

On 22 January, Milda turned 6. We decided from now on, every child will have a party for their birthday and a cake. This particular one was made by Anna Kaczmarek, owner of Cake Me Away in Carrick, and it was better than some people's wedding cakes.

Full moon, 3 March - it was so bright, I could even leave the flash off my camera.

Dainoris and Manon on the Boardwalk at Drumshanbo, a popular place to go for a walk.

The gawdy lettering in Dunnes Bar, Carrick.

Going for a magic walk at the fairy trail in Slatta, County Roscommon.

The bank of the River Erne at Enniskillen is a fabulous place to go for a walk.

St Patrick's Day is a proper community event.

Even the coffee is green!

They threw sweets from the procession floats - needless to say, the children reached quite a hoard...

Swans glide under the bridge at Carrick-On-Shannon connecting Leitrim with Roscommon. 

Signing books at Fenagh Community Centre.

Meeting our friend Basel in Dublin. He left Gaza and now he is saving lives in a busy hospital

The magnificent Rye River Café in Kilcock, County Kildare.

A spectacular view north from County Westmeath graced further by the appearance of a rainbow.

Back To The Rocky Road – December Started In November

On Wednesday 5 November, we found ourselves surrounded by employees dressed as elves, holly draped from poles, tinsel hanging off ceilings, while a young man with an electric organ and a Santa jumper sang songs made famous by Slade, Wizzard, Michael Bublé, Dean Martin and the Pogues.

The festering corpse of Halloween was still fresh in our memory. As I had mentioned in a previous post, just a week and a half earlier, we had taken the children to the annual spook fest organised by the good people of Cloone, a pretty lively village 10 minutes up the road. In the Bóthar na Naomh forest park and bridle circuit, the members of the local Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA), of which there is one in nearly every parish, put on an uproarious nighttime Halloween Walk under the trees.

The whole thing was a magnificent testimony to the vivid imagination and quirky humour of the people here: there were mummies coming alive in coffins, smoky fires with witches chanting incantations, imprisoned zombies trying to grab you from a wooden cage as you went past, an upturned car (I kid you not) where children dressed as ghouls opened the doors upwards and screamed at you, a maniac with a chainsaw, and even a bloke dressed as the Grim Reaper on a real horse.

Hundreds of people flocked to the event, one of the most famous in the north-west. And it’s easy to see why: it was so well thought-out and immaculately organised. You had to reserve your places on a bus that took you to the other end of the village and dropped you at the entrance to the forest park. They went every ten minutes so that the previous busload will have made some headway along the five-hundred-metre trail.

The children were completely taken in by it all, and I have to say, it was the most fun I’ve had at Halloween in many, many years. I hope we’ll all be able to do it again next year.

That’s why it was such a jolt for us to find ourselves on a Wednesday evening when the leaves were still green in places standing in The Shed Distillery of PJ Rigney, purveyor of some of Ireland’s finest spirits, in Drumshanbo, immersed in tinsel and dodging the ubiquitous antlers.

If you ever have the fortune to stumble on a pub that sells Drumshanbo whiskey, please try it. It is one of the smoothest, creamiest and tastiest drinks of its kind, and the number of awards it receives bears witness to that. They also make a gin and a vodka, and they too are incredibly popular. In fact, I was introduced to Drumshanbo whiskey when I was in the famous Cobblestone pub in Dublin in December 2024. When I heard the house we have bought was only 20 minutes from the distillery, I felt a pang of excitement.

So the distillery was trying to milk the post-Halloween off-season for as much Christmas traffic as it could muster. But boy, was this a really good introduction to Christmas in Ireland. It really set the ball rolling, and I also managed to buy all the presents not destined for family in there, so that was something.

Mid-November was chilly. We were told by MetEireann, the Irish weather bureau, that we would see temperatures below zero and some biting northerly winds. This would also be good news for us as it meant we could plant the hedge we had planned for. Earlier on, our neighbours had some work done on their driveway, and we asked the man with the digger if he’d trundle over to our field and make a ditch and a raised bed for a hedge. It took all of half an hour to do, and a week later we bought some native hedgerow shrubs from a small garden centre in Roscommon.

We went out there one afternoon while the sun was setting to plant them. There are hawthorn, blackthorn, hazel, elder, willow, all native, and a few hornbeams for a little variety. At the top is a spindle as a focus point. In a short while, this will provide some very special foliage for wildlife. We also planted some raspberry shrubs to give a little bit of sustenance to the wildlife, and maybe a few jams for us.

Beyond that, it’s quite damp ground so I want to put in some huge stones to make a menhir and plant native trees like willow, ash, hazel, alder, elder and maybe yew around the outside to create a sort of grove, interspersed with some proper native bushes like cornus, forsythia, holly, hawthorn, and mountain-ash. Some of them are very thirsty, and I’m hoping they’ll help harden the ground a little and attract birds and small wild animals. I’m not getting any younger, so I’m hoping to have all this done before the end of this decade. I think it’s ambitious but achievable. If my plan works, it will have taken seven years to regain the semblance of a garden we had before.

On Friday 5 December, after school, we took a drive to County Sligo and the village of Ballymote. There is an Art Deco theatre that has recently been refurbished after a hiatus of a couple of decades. It was going to be turned into a library, but the residents kicked up a fuss and the council got in touch with the main theatre in Sligo town asking if they’d want a provincial branch. They accepted, and we were there to watch one of the first performances: a good old-fashioned seasonal pantomime.

The drive there, accompanied by the first airing of the Christmas playlist, was uneventful in the driving rain, but it cleared up and by the time we arrived, it was mild and calm. The local theatrical group had gathered to put on Alice in Wonderland, complete with a dame played by a bearded rugby-type fellow, a couple of youthful women playing the traditional role of boys, and a lot of dancers from a youth dance troupe in Sligo.

We were the first to arrive, and the jolly woman at the box office bleeped our digital tickets. The children were giddy with expectation and in exceptionally high spirits for a Friday after school. The story was punctuated by the usual mixture of soppy songs, knavish tricks, valiant endeavours, audience participation, wacky chases around the auditorium (twice!), and cheesy jokes, with the usual happy ending and collective closing song by the whole cast.

Nobody went home disappointed after two hours and forty-five minutes. In fact, the place was buzzing, as were many members of the lovely cast, who we found outside at the front of the theatre to cool off and chat to audience members. We were hungry by this point, so we took a stroll through Ballymote looking for somewhere to eat. The only place open was a pizza-and-fry-up place a couple of hundred metres up the main street, which made a nice change.

I have been affected by the dying of the light in November-December for many years. I haven’t been diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I’m sure I have it. One of the main worries I had moving to Ireland was how this would affect me, especially considering my already fragile emotional state from all the recent upheaval. 

And yes, the two weeks before Christmas were nasty. But before anyone crows “you shouldn’t have left Spain!” I had it there too, and it was just as bad, if not worse. Last year, I barely left my bed from the moment I got home. At the office, I was frequently in the relax area because I knew I wouldn’t be able to cope staying awake.

However, this year, I didn’t need to spend half as long in bed, but I did have some dark moments. I was a lot in my own thoughts and didn’t do much interacting, which I look back on with some regret, as I don’t want to miss out on enjoying my family’s childhood years.

On Tuesday 23 December, Bonny Bee and I dropped the kids at Aoife’s house for the day so that we could do the Christmas shopping in Enniskillen, Northern Ireland. The principal reason for choosing to go there is they have a Marks and Spencer Food Hall. Some will say “how posh!” but actually, compared to our local supermarket in the Republic of Ireland it’s a bargain, believe me. I trundled round the aisles, jaw slackened, ogling at the potted porchetta, the petits fours, the varieties of cheese, the wines, the huge selection of seafood platters, biscuits, cashews, macadamia, almonds, pistachios, walnuts, dried apricots, raisins and sultanas, the list goes on…

The town of Enniskillen is a pleasant place with properly down-to-earth inhabitants, but even I was expecting a hellish shopping experience. I was wrong. Although there were hundreds more people out shopping than usual and the shopping centre car park had a queue to enter, there was a lot of excuse me and oops, sorry about that, which was a real breath of fresh air.

I hadn’t had such a carefree Christmas shopping experience since London in 1999. I remember Auchan in Luxembourg, even a few days before Christmas, was a miserable experience. There would be queues to the cheese counter, to the deli, to the butcher, to the chocolatier, to the cashier, to the wrapping stall, to the escalator or lift to get to the car, to the parking machine, and to drive out through one of the three exits.

We went to Metz one year and it was a living hell from start to finish. It put me in such a stressful mood, this was the review I left the parking garage in the St Jacques shopping centre:

What sadist thought it would be a good idea to build an underground multi-storey car park where the spaces are so tiny and the driveways so narrow, you need to make a sixteen-point turn to squeeze a modestly-sized car in; you need to get everyone out before you park; some lifts are out of order, and the others are mostly full from the lower floors, so you need to take your double pushchair up the staircase; the travelator is very difficult to find; you have to drive round the perimeter of each and every floor in order to get to the exit, and the exit itself spews you onto a street so narrow, you have to mount the pavement to pass any errantly parked vehicles? I have seen a vision of hell today, and it is under the St Jacques shopping centre. What's worst, is you have to pay for this humiliation. The greatest advertisement for public transport I have ever seen, if only the public transport workers weren't perpetually on strike. Avoid at all costs.

So this was quite a change. I do like living in less densely populated areas for the simplicity and anxiety-free lifestyle. And Enniskillen is a thriving market town with a lot of terrific places to shop, eat and drink. We visited the Gourmet Grocer, a fabulous shop with everything from Swedish gingerbread houses to Italian cheeses. Then there was Gillen’s Greengrocers, selling Brussels sprouts on the stalk, cherry tomatoes on the vine, rhubarb and ginger jam, and seven different types of potatoes.

We went to Granny Annie’s for lunch, a place that was cosy and warm, as was its menu. I often don’t like being in dark places when it’s still light outside, but this lovely space gave off really welcoming vibes. The wait staff were also very confident, chatty and sociable, which was the sure sign that the management looked after them well. I ordered a steak in Guinness pie and Bonny Bee settled for a chicken curry. When it came, my pie was as big as a brick, the mashed potato it came with creamy and succulent, and the mixed vegetables sweet and tender, making it a very easy dish to love.

We left Enniskillen with full boot, full stomachs and full moods. I hadn’t felt as Christmassy as this for years. The day after, we were invited to our neighbours Becky and Sam’s house for Christmas Eve drinks and nibbles. They are YouTubers with their own channel and a host of viewers, so some of you might have come across them before. They had invited the entire neighbourhood and nearly everyone showed up.

I played my part by making a few snacks too, and I read out a couple of my comedy poems. Although it started at 1pm, we were still there at 8pm – and again, I thought, it hasn’t felt this Christmassy in years. The conversation flowed, the drinks too, and virtually all the food got eaten. Even the children said they enjoyed it, which is a proper test, as they can be very discerning.

At some point in mid-December, we had taken a trip to Sligo where there is a massive toy shop, and we bought all the children’s presents, but we hadn’t had time to wrap them. We put them in the house in one of the empty rooms and in the morning when the children couldn’t find their presents in our digs, there was just a little map left by “Santa” with an arrow pointing to the room where the presents were. From the map, Milda knew exactly where to find them, as she’s a really astute girl and always has been.

On Christmas morning, the children took their gifts back to the temporary lodgings and opened them all up. We had got them some model houses: a school, a playground and a family home, to do some roleplaying together. We also got a few other things, and of course, some bits were lost by the end of the morning. In Mohill town centre is a butcher’s shop; a very good one. I go there five or six days a week, and I had ordered some venison for us.

Now I needed to prepare Christmas lunch. I chopped the sprouts off their stalk, cut up some carrots and potatoes, and cooked them in butter and olive oil on the stove until they were tender. I cut the venison into steaks, lightly seasoned and seared them for 6 minutes each side, and also cooked some homemade stuffing. Needless to say, there were complaints about the quality of the food – far too healthy, not beige enough – but I keep doggedly forcing healthy food on them, and slowly they’re accepting this is what they will always receive at home.

The end of the year is approaching rapidly, and all I can think of are my resolutions for 2026:

1. Begin renovating the house

2. Take the children individually on a short trip somewhere to a place they’ll be inspired

3. Organise some good launch events for my book, scheduled for publication in February

4. Lose more weight and get fitter

5. Complete my second book and send it to the publisher 

EXTRA PHOTOS: