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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
