WHAT’S that ‘they’ say again? ‘Ne'er cast a clout till May is out,’ isn’t that it? The traditional proverb advises against shedding winter clothing  too early, as a cold snap can occur in May.

It encourages waiting until June before you take off your vest, and ‘they’d’ be right.

We chanced the first BBQ of the season last weekend – got the garden furniture out, got the legs out, got the ribs in, and lo and behold we were back inside in less than 20 minutes, everyone carrying a bowl of something and muttering various things like ‘no point catching a chill,’ ‘not as warm as it looks’ and ‘put the kettle on.’ Sure we tried! And at least the BBQ has been cleaned – always one of the worst jobs.

The basking sharks are back with a bang though, putting on impressive displays off our coasts and for me they always herald the start of summer. I’m too nervous to ask if their arrival signals good omens or otherwise for the weather. Should we ask what the Donegal postman makes of it all? Although no, I don’t think I can handle the truth if it’s bad news. Ignorance is bliss for another bit but lash on the SPF regardless. Your future self will be grateful.

Anyway, the only thing I’m currently more terrified of, besides the Hantavirus and opening my energy bill, is getting bitten by a tic. I lost count of how many warnings I saw on line during the week warning vigilance against the nasty hitch-hiker and I’m properly freaked out  to the point that I’m almost considering full PPE if I’m just going as far as the clothes line. Jokes aside it was tick awareness day and there’s no harm at all in familiarising yourself what a bite from one of these critters looks like – that’s if you really, really have to go outdoors, that is. As someone with an insect phobia (strangely with the exception of spiders), this is a hard time of the year! Send prayers or repellents that actually work. 

Speaking of energy bills (when am I not?), according to my husband we consume more than twice the national energy average for a typical family.

And we’re a family of three. He shared that insightful fact over dinner the other evening while pointing out, in a slightly accusatory tone, that I’m the one works from home.

Naturally I had to defend my corner, pointing out that I mainly use the Airfryer  instead of the oven (that’s when I have to cook), that I don’t (usually) watch day time TV and the only reason I boil the kettle on average 15 times is because I keep forgetting to actually make my cuppa.

I also highlighted that I’m  not the one with an electric car that’s always charging, or an electric golf cart. Things got a bit heated! Seems like solar panels are our only solution, but in the meantime I fear there’s a nanny-cam hidden in the utility room to catch me using the dryer. Things are getting dirty, which reminds me I better charge the hoover when no one is looking. 

On a totally different topic, who remembers that TV ad from the 90s with the jingle ‘who feels like chicken tonight?’

Everyone was clucking around the place joyfully in celebration of this pretty nasty looking sauce in a jar (you guessed it, called Chicken Tonight)? Well up until this week it has been chicken in our house every night,  as it’s been the only meat consumed by the youngest family member for around two years. I’m surprised we’re not sprouting feathers. Acceptable forms of  chicken have been goujons, schnitzels, burgers, and strips (same as goujons really). The common theme is home-made, with breadcrumbs and shallow fried. 

And it’s always been a firm ‘no’ to chicken Kiev, curry, Maryland (actually thank god as I don’t know what that is), marry-me chicken, basic chicken and pesto, and even a lovely roast chicken.

I should point out that I’m not a big fan of chicken and handling raw chicken gives me the ‘ick’ so it’s been a hard two years. But anyway for the past week I noticed she was less than enthusiastic than usual at the dinner table. ‘Aren’t you having your chicken?’ I ventured cautiously. ‘I’m getting a bit sick of it,’ she admitted. ‘Will we try something else, just for a change?’ I asked trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Ok so,’ she replied.  I nearly fell off the stool, and inwardly screamed ‘alleluia,’ that we were finally at the end of our chicken era. But as I mentally started meal plans that featured stir fries, stews, and possibly even salads, she added: ‘Just so long as it’s not beef,  bacon, pork. And no fish either.’ Right. What does that leave me with? Omelettes? Maybe I should get myself a few chickens so? Dinner debacles continue.