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| The Mustard Seed at Echo Lodge |
Sometimes I grasp those opportunities just a little too firmly,
which is why I’m now lying in a bath, laughing out loud to myself as I look
over at a wall-length mirror covered with a million drops of water.
A couple of weeks ago the Snapper's parents called from England to
say that they had to cancel their trip to Ireland, as her mum was not well. We
were gutted, mostly because her mum was not well, but also because we’d been
looking forward to their visit.
She has 8 days booked off work, and I’m ahead of my deadlines.
What will we do? It’s the middle of August, the airports are crammed, southern
Europe is way too hot and anyway, we haven’t the dosh for a trip abroad.
Time to return to La La Land: not so much a place as a state of
mind. Over the years we’ve perfected the art of cramming the maximum relaxation
into 3 days. Staying in luxurious country house hotels, we work together as a
tight-knit team against the forces of sensible thinking, financial
responsibility and any kind of moderation.
We’re not in denial. We know we can’t afford it, yet rather than
worrying about the bills, we embrace two or three days with a mutual enthusiasm
that allows us to enjoy every exquisite second.
From her glass of bubbles before dinner to the Remy Martin that
eases yet another gargantuan dinner down my inner tubes, we go for it large.
Liberated from Ryanair baggage restrictions, we get completely
carried away with the packing, laughing smugly as we look forward to the trip
ahead. Much as it felt fun at the time, I later regret this packing madness,
because I book hotel rooms on the top floor.
You see, many years ago, I lived
in a flat below a German woman who had an enthusiastic way with her kitchen
knife. Sitting underneath her kitchen, I felt under bombardment as she chopped
veggies for what felt like hours on end. Years later, I still dread noise from
above.
So this bull-headed overweight scribbler is lugging ridiculously
heavy suitcases up steep elegant staircases, designed long ago for gracious
ladies to glide down.
But I don’t care. La La land is worth it. Usually we experience La
La Land at Mark Foyle’s wonderful Rosleague Manor Hotel, near Letterfrack, but
we decide to wait until her parents are able to join us there.
Instead, we head south to Echo Lodge in Co. Limerick. After Dan
Mullane’s ‘Mustard Seed’ restaurant proved such a success in nearby Adare, he
relocated down the road to this beautiful country house, where his love of
growing vegetables and supreme chefly skills combine with his warmth, style and
professionalism, in a small hotel that perfectly reflects his charming
personality.
The Snapper says her concrete overcoat is starting to crack. I’m
know I’m on holiday, as it’s becoming difficult to finish sentences. I start to
say something and then trail off. Can't be bothered. Is it siesta time yet?
Two splendidly relaxing days later, we’re driving our
over-indulged bellies off the Tarbert ferry, returning to the rolling hills of
Co. Clare. Stopping in Milltown Malbay, I sate my need for a pub and a pint of
Guinness. Much as I appreciate the fancy accoutrements of La La Land, I’ll
always love most the simple pleasures.
All over Lisdoonvarna banners advertise their world-famous
Matchmaking Festival, which this year is launched by what they’re calling ‘The
Outing’, an LGBT Matchmaking Weekend, running from August 30th-September 1st.
We both laugh at the morphed ‘Little Britain’ tagline:
‘You’ll Not Be The Only Gay In This
Village!’
Fantastic! Never mind that they’re evidently unaware that ‘Outing’
has an aggressive inference within the Gay community. In a marriage of strong
marketing and modern thinking that would have been impossible when I arrived in
Ireland in 1992, these Clare people are trying to make a living by welcoming
the Pink Economy. (Straight or Gay, enjoy Ireland’s longest-running Pride
Festival in Galway this week. The parade starts on Saturday August 24th at 2.30
in Eyre Square.)
Checking into Sheedy’s Hotel in Lisdoonvarna is a delight. Martina
and her staff are incredibly welcoming. Our relaxation levels have hit critical
mass. Muscles no longer work. Brains gone bye-byes.The Snapper collapses onto
the luxurious bed. I aim for a steaming hot bath.
Sheedy’s cover every detail with care. There are fluffy towels the
size of small continents, two basins, posh soaps and oh blast and dammit! I’ve
dropped my whole box of Q-tips all over the floor. Groaning and moaning like an
old elephant, I lower my exhausted aching body to the floor, but in my
über-relaxed mental state, my fingers completely fail me. Fumbling like a
useless eedjit, it takes me ages to grasp all the little buggers off the shiny
surface. Struggling to my feet, I turn on the bathwater.
Unfortunately I’m unaware it’s switched to shower mode, and
stumble backwards in horror as the shower hand-piece rises from its resting
place like a demented cobra, dancing and swaying several feet in the air,
delivering a high-powered soaking of hot water all over me, the bathroom floor
and walls.
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| The bathroom at Sheedy's - scene of drenching behaviour.... |
Naked, crazed and bemused, I laugh out loud at my pathetic failure
to simply have a bath.
After wiping down the mess, I finally slide into the hot water ...
oooh luvverleee ... and am just about to doze off when I look over to the
wall-length mirror.
It is a splattered mosaic; a drenched Jackson Pollock of water
droplets. Clearly this scribbler is a disaster zone on legs right now, but who
cares? On this last night of my tiny holiday, all I have to do is drink
whiskey, wine and eat an absolutely spectacular dinner at Sheedy’s Hotel.
La La Land: it's not about feeling smug - just enjoying the absurdity of life. I start to giggle out loud to myself, and then find it hard to
stop.
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