Emma is ready for eight glorious weeks, with her flask and the bumper Things to See and Do.
THE school holidays have arrived, and to say we’re ready for them is an understatement. There’s always something so incredibly exhilarating about the half-day you get when the holidays begin, when spirits are sky-high as you look ahead to eight glorious weeks ‘off’, from making school lunches at least, and when everything and anything seems possible.
There was that one year alright when it started raining on the day of the school holidays, and it just never stopped. That one was a real challenge, but with more glorious weather forecast to start from this week, my hopes are high, so now it’s just about managing the rest of the family’s expectations. I read an article on the topic the other day when some expert or other said it was not just fine, but actually recommended, to allow your kids feel bored during the summer holidays. Apparently that’s when the real fun, adventure and creativity happens … or maybe it was the inter-sibling bickering? One or the other, definitely!
At least we’ve got camps and playdates to fall back on. Neither were a ‘thing’ when I was a kid and I was going to feel sorry for our mothers, but to be honest they ran their own camp called ‘no nonsense will be tolerated around here so don’t even try it’ and from what I can recall, it worked out pretty well. Here’s how it went: we were ushered towards the door in the morning, and in the absence of any ‘laid on’ entertainment were told to make our own, and not to come back until dinner time.
I remember one summer, we got a few weeks fun out of what sounds like a slightly dangerous activity in hindsight, but was actually pretty harmless: we’d gather piles of that green sticky wildflower (which Google tells me is officially called Cleavers) and every time a vehicle would pass our house, we’d run out and launch a load at it. The thing is that this was the 80s, we lived in the country, and we were lucky if a milk lorry and a handful of cars passed in a day and we were probably related to all of the drivers in any case.
We had originally set up a ‘lemonade’ stand (it was probably diluted orange) outside the driveway, but in the absence of any passing trade at all, had resorted to the cleavers. Another time we made a camp out of white fertiliser bags and twigs. You might call it basic, and it was. It rained and it leaked but we still spent hours there. I suppose the fact that I remember these things at all suggest that they were memorable. Maybe the experts are on to something after all, so when you’re being pestered for the millionth time about ‘what are we doing today?’, open the back door and shoo them out to a world of possibilities. It’s worth a shot, and in any case, there’s always Cúl Camp.
To kick the holidays off I’ve promised my smallie a trip to one of the country’s most revered landmarks, a place where people come from far and wide and never leave disappointed, and return to time and time again. Yup, Penneys. With age comes some wisdom, mainly the realisation that 23 lip glosses are more than enough for any individual, but she needs to learn this for herself and some of her Communion money will no doubt be spent adding to the already vast collection. For the rest of the summer, I’m going to be taking all my inspiration from the bumper magazine that comes free with this week’s Southern Star which is packed with ideas and inspiration on places to visit, and things to do. I’m a local and there’s loads of stuff included that, to my shame but also to my excitement, I had never heard about.
So armed with my magazine, I’m touring deep into West Cork for Summer ’25. Among other things I’m going to walk the 99 steps down to the Mizen Head, dive off Canty’s Cove, and spend an entire day in Ballydehob. Everyone wants ‘in’ on Ballydehob now but I’ve been a fan long before it became cool. One of my oldest pals (she’s not old, but we’ve been pals for over 30 years) is from there, and good chunk of my teens was spent hanging around the 12 Arch Bridge. We weren’t smoking, of course - who said we were? We were definitely not! In her family’s general store which to this day is the most enchanting emporium I’ve ever stepped foot in. Back then we used to call the village Bally-go-backwards. Who is having the last laugh now!
All I’ll need is a decent flask and a good raincoat. Actually, forget the raincoat. We’re Irish, which means we’re hardwired to express absolute surprise every time it rains as if it’s a rare, once-a-year occurrence. Let’s leave the proper outdoor gear to the mainland Europeans and make do with some dodgy wind cheater that will leave you sodden in even a light drizzle, but will enhance the experience. I’m even getting nostalgic for the days you’d have the map of Ireland in the glove compartment, but having said that, I’m very glad of Google Maps, as I’m the type that loses her bearing coming out of a shopping centre.
Now in other news, Billy (the six-month old retriever) is shedding. I’m only mentioning it as it’s happening on such a mindblowing scale that it has to be seen to be believed; there’s tufts of hair absolutely everywhere. The other day I opened a new pot of jam, and there were even a few hairs inside already, I swear to God. I could be in another room entirely to him and still come out covered in his little fine hairs. I mean, I’m totally envious of his lustrous locks, but it does mean I have to brush the floor around 17 times a day. I wonder am I missing a trick and if there’s a cottage industry in it? Should I be stuffing little cushions or crafting little mini-Billys with the hair? I could set up a stall selling them outside the driveway to occupy the smallie for the summer. There might be something in that.
Anyway, it’s the holiday season (so hoop-de-do and dickory dock) and final word goes to our what’s on in West Cork guide. Make it your summer Bible, and hit the road. Best of all, it includes plenty of dog-friendly attractions in the region. I must just remember to bring the cordless hoover with me.
