For three years of my college life in Galway, I had a bus
journey from hell from Navan, via Delvin, Mullingar, a change over at the bus
station in Athlone, then on to Ballinasloe, Loughrea and Galway, stopping at
every hole in the hedge along the way. I
can still feel nausea if I see that familiar bus with, the red setter mutt
sprinting, marked ‘Gallaimh’. I had no
ambition to ever stop off in Ballinasloe again, but last week I did a Google,
looking for a hotel and came across the Shearwater Hotel there. The swimming pool looked the business for
little people and family suites were available at a very reasonable price. And better still, it was a half way point for
myself and my stepdaughter and her daughter who lives in Sligo – a rare
opportunity for my two to catch up with their big sis and their niece (who is
only 8 months younger than them – don’t ya just love blended families ?)
I made the reservation and patted myself on the back for
being a genius. I may have checked the
sleeping capacity, the mileage, etc, but did I check the weather forecast
? Hell no. It was only on Saturday morning, as we were
preparing to leave, that I realised that there was a proper storm
a’brewing. But, the pair were beating
the heads off each other in the house, the rooms were reserved, so it was To
(stay at home in) Hell or To Connaught.
I chose Connaught.
As I drove through the increasing gales towards Athlone, I
nervously laughed to myself, that while looking for temporary solstice from my
personal storm, I was driving in the direction of a particularly nasty one
called Desmond (my boys' middle name). Should we have
turned back ? In my defence, this was
hours before Teresa Mannion’s heartfelt plea on RTE to stay away from
‘treacherous roads’. How was I to know ?
Besides, I’m the type of girl who ignores the fire alarm and waits til I smell
smoke before shifting, so a yellow/red alert doesn’t mean a whole lot to me.
The biggest trauma on my journey was an emergency pee stop
at a filling station. Little woman was
‘bursting’. The toilet was quite frankly
minging and Mya suddenly lost the urge to pee, insisting that she could wait
until we got to the hotel. Little man,
on the other hand, needed to pee now.
The previous occupant must have used the toilet seat for target practice
and had left all of the evidence behind.
‘Clean it Mam’, he insisted, his OCD tendencies coming to the fore. ‘But you only need to pee !’ I retorted, ‘you
don’t need to sit on it’. There was no
getting out of it, as he hopped from one leg to the other. Cleaning your own child’s pee is one thing,
wiping up someone else’s required a whole other level of love. I scrubbed most of the skin off my hands and
knocked back a shot of coffee to recover.
We found the hotel with ease. It looked as good as the website. A Lidl was located straight across the
road. ‘What’s not to love about this
place ?’ I thought. My stepdaughter and
her daughter were diverted along their journey from Sligo by floods and I was a
little bit anxious that they would arrive safely. Thankfully they did.
The children were beyond excitement to be staying in a hotel
‘suite’, complete with its’ own hallway and adjoining bathroom. The look on their little faces at the
schmanciness of it all made the precarious journey worthwhile. We all roared with laughter at poor Teresa
Mannion on the news. I’m really
enjoying that the children are at an age now where they ‘get stuff’. I got a fright all the same, looking at the
weather report, realising that it REALLY was BAD. I vowed to leave the building the next time a
fire alarm goes off.
The day after the night before, the planned leisurely
breakfast was gulped down by little people who couldn’t wait to get to the
swimming pool. We should have had a splash first : Note for
future reference. Bless my innocence, I
had a notion that I would have a relaxing R&R time in the sauna/steam room,
with their big sister acting as the responsible adult, but my two wanted me to
stay close and definitely in full view.
I did get a go in the Jacuzzi, while waving like a mad yoke to reassure
lil people everyone that I hadn’t run away. We stayed until we are wrinkled and I was
foundered with the cold. I looked
forward to a long, hot soak in the bathtub before we checked out, but my boy
used the occasion as an opportunity to 1. carry out an audit on all of the
plumbing in the bathroom, 2. interrogate me on what age various people would be
when he would be 21, 40 etc.
When I made the hotel booking, I didn’t realise that Santa
Claus was making an entrance on the Sunday.
There was a craft fair, bouncy castle, a dance show, the works. One of those days when your children think
that you are a genius for planning it all so well. Despite myself, I couldn’t but feel
festive.
I felt a bit lonesome heading home and wished that the girls
didn’t live so far away. We both vowed to make a return visit to Ballinasloe,
although next time, we might check the weather forecast.
We hit Athy just as the Christmas lights were being turned
on. We parked up, dandered amongst the
crowds and soaked up the atmosphere. The light projection on the heritage centre was enchanting. We
stopped to look in Bradbury’s DEADLY Christmas window display. We hunched in together and picked out our
favourite moving parts – small magnetic figures on a pond, a see-saw, nodding
animals. One thing more magical that the
other.
I bought the pair a bag of chips, split between two bags. ‘Can we not get milkshakes too ?’
‘No !’,
sez I firmly, thinking of the sugar fest the previous night in the hotel.
‘You are a big meanie Mam. You never give us ANYTHING’.
'Except memories', I retorted, 'I'm good at making them'.
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