SAINT PATRICKS WEEKEND.

My car engine died three times on the way to Limerick. The third time being two minutes from my sisters house. We laughed with relief as the car free wheeled down the road and into the driveway of her house. We ate sandwiches and drank tea and caught up on the gossip while the kids played "Lets Thrash The House". I noticed my sister had a large plant in the corner of her kitchen and one on the counter the exact same as mine. I was more surprised to find that we were both wearing the exact same pair of jeans but then we are sisters and people have often remarked on how similar we look and how hard it is to tell us apart when speaking to us on the telephone. And I would agree. But there is one thing different about us. She owns this.



While we live here



We stayed in her hotel which is fabulous. Everything, from the food, to the rooms, to the staff. The barman won "Barman of the Year" and the Chefs cooking was out of this world. What more could you ask for.

We went to the Parade on Saturday and arrived 45 minutes early to ensure a good viewing spot up front for the kids. A couple of times during the actual parade we had to defend our position by bashing our unberellas hard on the heads of over eager parents, who, having just arrived, wanted pole position for their children.

























































After visiting Bunratty Castle and a delicious lunch we said our goodbyes and left our kind host and hostess with much regret and dread of a life without room service. We headed for the motorway.

Every time the car engine heated up even the tiniest bit past the centre mark on the thermostat the revs dropped and the engine died along with our hopes of ever making it home. We limped along the motorway, sweating, with the heater on full blast to divert the heat from the engine and arrived at my friend S's house where we dropped Rachel off to stay with her son Liberty Spike and rehydrate from the Sahara like winds and seven pit stops we had endured along the way. After wine, water and a wait of a couple of hours in their good company we headed for round two, only stopping twice before pulling into our driveway. Home at last.

Things I have learnt this weekend.

Just because your husband is an engineer doesn't mean you have to believe him when he says he has "fixed" the car.

I want an Hotel, preferably one in the same colour as my sisters.

Driving 170km, in the front seat of a car, with the heater on full blast makes you look sunburnt.

A two and a half hour journey can, on occasion, take eight hours

When you pull into your driveway after a stressful journey and find a newly deceased pigeon lying there, this is an omen.

When another child tries to rob your childs spot at the Paddys Day Parade you ARE allowed to move them gently out of the way with your elbow.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS