The luck of the Irish

The luck of the Irish

Tl;dr: Easter holiday in Ireland. I got sick. O got sick. It rained every day. Sweet liquor didn’t ease the pain.

I write this lying in bed at 12.30am on the eve of our trip home from our family getaway in Ireland. I really want to be home right now.

The plan was to spend some time with Dan’s family in a small town about a mile out of Galway called Portumna. Then, once everyone had met and thoroughly made a fuss over O, we’d head down to Galway itself for a couple of days of coastal walks, buckets and spades, twinkly eyes and happy memories etc.

We made it to both destinations, in body, if not in spirit.

O got sick the day before the trip and I, in true British style, got the dreaded ‘scratchy throat’ on the plane over.

Add to the mix bucketloads of Guinness and red wine once we arrived, and a sicker set of people you could not have hoped to meet.

We limped through the first day in Portumna in reasonable spirits, and the family even laid-on an Easter egg hunt for O. We all gamely trooped to the local park and shivered through the mizzle, while O foraged for chocolate treats hidden in a ruined gatehouse.

At this point, I was very much at the ‘just soldier on’ phase and didn’t want to moan, so I just took lots of drugs and slept whenever I could sneak a nap in.

Cut to the end of the holiday and my tether-end has been well and truly reached.

Four days of cold, rainy and ill Ireland have done for me.

I had practically no holiday days to take from January until the new financial year, so this week off was much needed and anticipated.

And that’s where I went wrong. I put all my eggs in one Easter-shaped basket and soldiered through three months without time off.

Then I inevitably got sick. We all got sick. And the holiday was a wash-out.

A few people have taken the trouble to sagely warn me that “this is it now” as far as ill-health goes, until O goes to school. So I’m not planning any more holidays that require months of anticipation.

I’ve got a long weekend booked for next week and it feels so close already, my body won’t have time to lay a new illness on me (please god).

Bring on the mini-breaks, crank down the vacation expectations, and pass the penicillin.

I’m staying home.

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