‘Can we not go there this summer,’ said my daughter. This was less a question and more a protest that she really didn’t want to stay on the same British beach for the third summer on the trot. ‘I’d like to go to Ireland,’ she said firmly. ‘My great-grandmother was from there and I want to see what it’s like.’
Hmmm… the Emerald Isle (which I’m a fan of), an engaged child (always a good holiday omen), a little family history (I could do some last-minute research, perhaps). I booked the flights pronto before she could change her mind. I was taking my girl to Galway and hoping not to hear that irritatingly catchy song by that not Irishman.
