Lent feels like a long time, but nothing compared to the years Emma’s devoted to RTÉ’s prancing

HOW are we all getting on with Lent? I have to admit the novelty has completely gone for me already and it’s looking like a very long 40 days and nights.

When the 9pm munchies hit (as they do most nights) you’ll find me opening and closing the kitchen presses hoping to spot something that’s allowed that will hit the mark but all I see gazing out at me is Ryvita that’s probably been there since last Lent (and besides celery, is there anything more depressing?).

Of course, the insanely huge displays of Easter eggs and other confectionary at every turn in the supermarkets isn’t helping me one bit. Is it just me or has it gone a bit ga ga. Like, how many eggs can a nation eat, especially when it seems almost everyone is on the weight-loss drug Mounjaro anyway? Who even knows, but what I do know is that I’d kill for even a little mini egg or two right now.

The problem is that I was a bit too hasty in my declaration that, that ‘was it,’ I was giving up all sweet things (including biscuits) for Lent. I made my bold announcement right after I’d eaten around 12 pancakes and I felt a bit on the queasy side. Of course now I’m regretful that I didn’t take the time to insert a few clauses and sub-clauses here and there such as quitting all biscuits except biscuit bars which would allow me to have the very tasty purple Snack bar, or a humble flapjack. Or all crisps but not popcorn or salted pretzels and perhaps also allow dessert on a Sunday? It’s too late
now.

Fortunately, my sidekick celebrates her birthday during Lent so that’s a day of exemption to look forward to. I’ll be first in the queue for the jelly snakes!

Growing up we were also allowed to break our fast on St Patrick’s Day, although no one wanted to be the first to cave so we rarely did. I’m going to see how I’m getting on. In the meantime I think I’ll have to buy the fancy Ryvita with the sesame seeds if I’m to go the distance.

I have mentioned here a few times how we’re ‘fans’ of Dancing With the Stars in our household. Well the youngest member is, and I’m ‘encouraged’ (you could say forced) to join her on the couch for the show every week, all two hours and 68 ad breaks of it. Last Sunday’s show marked the 100th episode and I can honestly say I’ve been there for 99% of them. I clearly remember the first season in 2017, giving her the night-time bottle and seeing Kerry GAA star Aidan O’Mahony win the title. And while there may have been a few seasons that followed when I didn’t tune in, certainly for the past few years we’ve assumed our positions every Sunday from January to March showing commitment I didn’t think I possessed, and I’m not even that mad about the programme. It got me thinking how it’s a pity I can’t show the same devotion to other areas of my life. If I gave the same amount of time to other pursuits, I could have trained for a marathon (and ran one), learned a new language, or at the very least sorted the Tupperware drawer and the
hot press.

Lent is a long, long time when you’ve made some overenthusiastic promises about cutting out the junk. However, there is the mid-season promise of respite in the form of St Patrick’s Day.

God forbid, I could even have mastered the paso doble myself! A gas sidebar is a few years back we met a chap who is involved in doing the lighting for the show on holidays. Our girls became playground pals for the week and we got chatting as we wiled away the torturous hours while they played.

On the last night, as we dragged our respective kids from the trampolines he said we should get in touch if we ever fancied tickets. That was easily around five years ago but do you think I could? Or would it be too weird? Think about it, there’s a few weeks to go before this season’s finale still, I think I have his number saved somewhere.

Anyway, I said I wouldn’t talk about the weather but I’m still around 500 words short here and lord knows there’s little else going on, except rain, rain and still more rain, damp, drizzle, green sludge, mist, the sky down on top of us, dreariness, potholes. And to make things even worse, a blast of mildness. The few hours of blue sky we had at one point was insanely good for the soul but it was only a brief reprieve. I’m officially over it, as is my lawn, so if you were away in the sun for mid-term please, spare me. I don’t want to know!

It’s desperate weather for dogs as well and especially for a dog with a cone like my Billy. He is a week past his little procedure and I can safely say that except for one day when he seemed a little bit down,  it doesn’t seem to have knocked the taspy out of him one bit. So far he’s bitten his way through three plastic cones and is currently sporting one held together by layers of duct tape but still manages to look ridiculously cute.

The only downside is that his spatial awareness is worse than ever and he’d take the legs from under you in a second as he thunders past. It’s also a bit unpleasant having to clean his cow-dung covered cone after a visit to the farm and he’s destroyed every door and window in the place rubbing up against them, but I’ll offer it all up for the greater good. God, you’d miss the bit of chocolate though. Wait a second: chocolate covered peanuts! I never said anything about them. Bingo!