Where were the Swans hangin?

We pass our removal truck at the ferry terminal, the lads’ cab curtains closed as they snooze awaiting the ferry after ours. The crossing was so calm, the sea like a mirror. On our boat there were tired parents carrying shattered children, ready like us for the last part of their journey once they disembarked in Dublin. Irish and second generation Irish heading home to see parents, friends, relatives, endeavouring to keep their connections. We arrive home, the birds getting ready to start the day shift, dawn not yet broken. There was bread in the press (the press, not the cupboard), milk and beer in the fridge and a welcome bunch of flowers. The folks had been out to give the house the once over, what a treat. After our 4 hours kip the removal truck squeezed up the laneway,  the driver and his helper  like long lost members of the family. One of them said he didn’t mind the trips to England and France, said it gets him away from the wife and kids for a while. It's mayhem. The boxes just keep coming. The kids decide to get stuck in, utter bedlam. Dejá vú. Paper, bubble wrap, boxes. In the midst of all of that the Tesco man rings looking for the house and I try to give him directions. He arrives, scratchin his head. ‘Where would you like the groceries, Mrs?’, ‘Anywhere you can find a spot’, I replied. I was delighted with meself, that being the foresight to order the groceries online from England and have them delivered at home in Galway (isn’t the web a mighty yoke) but bewildered at the same time as to why in all that’s good and holy did I order 5 tins of kidneys beans? I also now have enough Flahavans and rice to last the year. Poor Mr Tesco Man struggled to inform me about what was out of stock and replaced over the noise of smashing crockery as the kids did Greek wedding practise. I may never move again. Order needs to be restored.

Outside our back door now resembles a Smurfit packaging warehouse.  All we’re missing are a couple of forklifts and a few clipboards. It’s amazing after you have been away for a while that you see all the things you didn’t see when you lived in a place. I guess it’s selective, you choose what to ignore. Five years ago we laid a patio at the back of the house, all by our ownselves, nothin fancy. It remained unfinished, don’t know why. I think we ran out of something, patience perhaps, that and lack of some class of a tool or another. The slabs had been stacked and remained there in situ for the next 5 years. David Attenborough would have had a field day with all the creepy crawlie squatters. So, with the help of our entomological visitors,  we finally almost finished it. This time we ran out of slabs. Himself asked me why we didn’t complete the project then. That’s us, half a job. Wouldn’t happen in Thame, God no. Meanwhile the curation of the empty walls with the ghostly outlines of our old photos may have to be outsourced. ‘Where were the swans hangin’? Himself asks.  It’s like a jigsaw puzzle and I was never any good at those. Another job left unfinished, for the moment.

It goes without sayin we didn’t return for the weather. The summers are certainly hard work here compared to where we lived in Thame in terms of entertaining the kids. With camps and activities more competitively priced, coupled with sunnier weather, it makes for a less arduous summer for those looking after the ‘I’m-bored’ brigade. Be bored, that’s what I say. It’s your summer holidays, you’re supposed to be and should be bored most of the time. Ironically though, we didn’t have the luxury of popping in for a dip in the sea when most needed. We couldn’t have been more inland. Here, the wonderful grey Atlantic is on our doorstep and the kids for the first time this year (in between showers) braved it, sans wetsuits out in Blackrock. They lasted about 20 mins. I was well impressed with them. I baulked, just too damn cold. Next time I will be braver, treat it like penance.