So we arrived in Dublin for the weekend by the skin of our teeth. Car packed to the gunnels with scooters, a few million lego bricks (never leave home without them) and a number of kids.
The A55 roadwork planning department (this is more of an imaginary entity living in another dimension) made the whole thing slightly more interesting. Their main game (for it must be a game) is to lay out as many traffic cones as possible on a 3 mile stretch of the carriageway. Any part of the carriageway between Anglesey and Chester will do. Doesn't really matter. They then displace or entice (by means of some nefarious road worker displacement device variously called "a cup of tea / brew / bevvie") all available workmen within a 300 mile radius of Wales. Sometimes, as in this case, they will leave a few mini-diggers besides the side of the road for joy riders to nick. However, the main point of the game is to increase the time taken to get from any point in North Wales to any other point in North Wales. They nearly succeeded but will need to try harder next time.
So we arrive home in Dublin and prepare for an early Halloween horror fest at the McGranes. The whole garden was done up like an interactive horror-fest (and that was before my sister-in-laws had even put on their ghoul make-up!).
Uncle Glenn spent about an hour locked in the outhouse shed dressed as a Mummy just so he could jump out on Caitlin, Declan and Fintan. Karina seemed to have a lost calling as one of those improv mime artists you see on street corners at tourist spots. I have never seen anyone wave a white ghost sheet so creatively above their head for so long. She must have biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger after that work-out! For some reason, Deborah had adopted a strange hybridised German / Russian accent for her Dr Death creation. Grandpa was the only one who got to fulfil a long-term wish by shooting a son-in-law - though he was dressed as a Mummy at the time and the gun wasn't real (I think - possibly need to check on Glenn's where-abouts). I on the other hand mainly sat in the warm, drinking red wine. The evening ended on a high note with Dr Death upstairs in the bathroom for half an hour trying to rub the slightly more permanent than imagined, fake blood from Fintan's face.
Over the weekend, we go for a walk up in the Dublin mountains. Massey's Wood. This is an old school classic woods. No messing around. Proper trees. Mud. A stream. Blue rope tied to huge branches on Oak trees thirty feet in the air with improvised stick wedged through the rope to act as a swing handle. How do people get the rope up there? Does Bear Grylls loiter in these woods, prepping them for ad hoc ninja abseils? Either way - it ends in disaster.
"Mum, Dad - can you hold the rope?" says Fintan. I kind of do - but let go as he flies off. Fintan lands ok. But I notice the big solid stick on the end of the rope hit Sarah in the head full force, before she walks away in silence. Ouch. That's gotta hurt! Whilst we were busy launching ourselves on the rope swing, we became aware that we had by this stage lost a niece, a friend of the niece and a pet dog (Molly). The adults (and Caitlin) are mainly standing in the middle of a gloomy dusky woods like extras in the Blair Witch Project. Randomly shouting "Molly" a lot instead of "Josh". Our order of priority was dog, niece's friend, niece. Eventually - we all herded back to a central point and climbed the best tree I've climbed in years (basically it was like a climbing tree with stabilisers). No-one fell off. This amazed me.
Next day - we became Godparents. So we dressed up proper smart. The kids even wore hats and mainly reminded me of my Grandad. He wore the same style of hat back in the fifties. After the church we headed for a swift Guinness to celebrate, before heading back across Dublin for food and the rugby.
I don't know if it's the "Rambo" effect or possibly "The Deer Hunter" or possibly the red wine and Guinness. But by the end of the night, I was wearing my tie Rambo style (again - this is a common occurrence) and had already accidentally smashed my God child's brick tower down - leading to much serious upset and tears (sorry about that Lisa / Jon - hopefully he will build another tower just as good one day and I will promise not to knock it down). I did pay for it the next day. Enduring a marathon 7 episodes of "Go Diego Go" with Caitlin. God I hate Diego and his bloody Jaguar!
We get home, having encountered a flat tire and a force 8 gale on the sea crossing.
"I feel sick Daddy!" being the most commonly uttered phrase for the entire journey.
Home at last! I turn on the lights in the fish tank. Finn and Ginger the fish are there. But where the hell is Frankie?
"Hello Frankie! Where's Frankie?" Caitlin asks. For she has named the fish in honour of her Grandpa. (She had named her toy pet sheep after Grandpa until quite recently when it underwent a sex change and re-emerged as "Sally" the sheep).
"There's nothing to see here...move along kids..."I utter like a Jedi to a stormtrooper as Sarah and I frantically search the filters and pump intake for a fish corpse. Nothing. Diddly. I take the porcelain unicorn out (spot Caitlin's choice of tank furniture!). Nothing. The glow in the dark plastic pink sea anemone (my choice). Nothing. Sarah begins to worry.
"Oh no - maybe I scooped him out when I was cleaning the tank last week. Try the bin! No - I would have noticed wouldn't I?" she asks. Doubt cast in her face.
I notice Sarah is glaring at the other fish. Do they look somewhat plumper? Fuller round the gills? "Those bastards ate Frankie!" Sarah says. She is convinced. We lift up the final ornament and stuck to the side of the ornament is a fish - hiding in fear.
"Sorry Finn, Sorry Ginger...I never doubted you for a minute..."
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