A foreign break allowed our columnist make a clean break of it ... but she was still flying the flag for West Cork 

• IT all came out in the wash on holidays! 

On our family summer break ‘out foreign’, all people wanted to talk about was how fabulous West Cork is, and all I wanted to do was make the most of the tumble dryer in our holiday home. Let’s just say it was a high-energy seven days ….

So, while most people are either on holidays, or are packing up for their break, we’re already back. As D’Unbelievables might say, we wanted to go nice and early and have a good run at the summer. And there was the small fact that prices ramp up significantly once the schools close. Anyway, it was the first foreign family holiday since pre-Covid and here’s how it went. And yes, of course I’m going to give you the un-edited version.

• Right, so straight up, I’ll admit to being a bit nervous about flying. It had been a while and some jitters had surprisingly set in. But like all good Irish mammies, mine had given me well-travelled rosary beads to keep us safe while we were away, and while the rest of the family were smirking at my newfound religious zest, I was glad I had them tucked away in my handbag just in case. I was thinking to myself that if the plane did go down, I’d have the last laugh by refusing to let them join in as I led survivors in the sorrowful mysteries. The mind goes to crazy places when you’re whizzing through the clouds (after a nice little G&T). 

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that and we landed and arrived safely at our destination (with the usual domestic at the rental car desk, I mean that’s a given, right?). First impressions were that there was a fierce ‘Rich-Mom Energy’ vibe going on in the resort, particularly poolside. You were absolutely nothing without your Hunza G bikini and Anine Bing baseball hat (unfortunately I had, eh, left both mine at home), as well as a D4 accent. Lunch was less BLT and more poke bowls if you get my drift. Everyone seemed to spend a lot of time talking about getting into gaelscoils. Funnily enough, no one was at all interested if it had rained back home for the sake of the silage, or what Cork’s chances were in this year’s championships. 

• Anyway, as someone who is naturally curious (and yes, that’s different to being nosey), I was in my element sitting back on my lounger, sipping my Aperol and taking it all in. It was better than anything I’ve seen lately on Netflix! There was one awkward moment where I was having a good old gawk and I thought I was wearing my sunglasses, but I was in fact wearing my spectacles, but besides that it was entertainment gold. 

At the start of the week I was constantly telling my husband to keep his voice down as our rural intonation didn’t quite fit in with our fellow holidaymakers’ more clipped tones. Then our daughter reported back that word had gone out that we were from Kerry so we there was nothing for it: we had to set the record straight. And get this, once our West Cork credentials were established, we were part of the inner circle, welcomed into the area with the best sunloungers with open arms. They all loved West Cork, want to retire, or get a holiday home here, having visited during the pandemic. I admit that I couldn’t resist hamming things up a bit (sure where was the harm?) so I reinvented the family as living right by the sea, with views of the Fastnet, said that we liked to swim daily (around the Fastnet), take beach yoga classes, said that I make cheese (or maybe I said keifir … the rosé was talking at that stage), and that I was eh, a novelist. I was going to say I was pals with Graham Norton but I thought that might be pushing it, so I went with Gary and Paul O’Donovan instead. 

Seriously, though, I will admit to being a bit judgy at the start of the week, and one couple I thought who were really snooty ended up being lovely, and a girl I thought was a little bit ‘up herself’ ended up admiring my dress one night. If we had been staying for another week, we’d definitely have been besties. 

Note to self about books and covers etc! The seven-year-old made two new ‘BFFs’ and that was lovely. The hugs and swapping of addresses between them on the last night was pretty cute. 

Anyway, there were some fancy day beds by one of the pools that screamed ‘Instagram’ so one day when it was a little quiet I asked my husband to take some photos of me ‘casually’ lounging on one. 

Naturally, I wasn’t going to actually post them on Instagram, people would think I had notions about myself. It is a platform where I spend 98% of my waking hours, but it’s purely for snooping purposes. That’s just as well, really, as in all the photos my husband took I look like a dead person, an actual corpse. All I was missing was a little sign that said ‘RIP.’ It was hard to believe the angles he captured. And the chins. I’m going to have to train the seven-year-old in for the next holiday. 

How do the influencers do it? The only half decent photo of us on the holiday is from a water park where we’re holding a parrot each (don’t ask), even if we all look a bit … bewildered (you could also say delirious but to be fair it was almost 40C). We could probably have got that shot in Fota, but sure look it. 

• Speaking of the water park visit, I’m still not right after it.  I’m not a fan of heights or speed and get shaky driving on the motorway. So by the time I’d even get to the top of the various slides, I was already in a state (and looking for the rosary beads). Then there was the considerable challenge of climbing into various plastic rings to get back down, while trying to maintain some dignity and not put your bum in the face of the poor attendant chap trying to help you. 

At one point I wondered if there was any way I could recommend he get a pay rise, or leave him a tip, my husband was complaining about his knees while the smallie was already figuring out what we’d go on next. I’m giving it a few weeks until we all develop verrucas. 

• A big highlight of the week was the fact our holiday home had a washing machine and, wait for it, tumble dryer. Lads! The excitement. I got as far as day two before I gave in and put a wash on. The joy at being able to pop clothes in the dryer, regardless of the time of day, and not worry about the energy bill was epic! I was constantly whipping clothes off my family to indulge my passion, and nearly asking the people next door if they had anything that needed a quick rinse. I did manage to resist going to the supermarket to do a shop, but it was hard. 

One thing that passed through my mind constantly while away was how I wished I had shares in Birkenstocks. It’s unreal how the sandals, once worn by the slightly hippyish crew, are now completely mainstream and the favoured footwear of almost everyone. It’s especially gas as they sort of make your feet look like big boats, but they’re just so. Also a word of advice to anyone yet to depart, the pink and white M&S beach dress is very well represented (everyone has it) on the continent right now.  So in case this sentiment got lost along the way, it was lovely to get away from the daily distractions for a while, recharge, take photos with parrots, make new friends and … come home with a suitcase full of clean clothes.