I know you’re bursting to know how our romantic night away went, and more importantly did he make it back on time for his
feckin important championship match?
Well not wishing to upset you but after 25 years we may differ in how we define ‘romantic’. Secondly, kind and all as you are to have read this far, no one really wants to know how wonderful a night was, so not to disappoint you here are a few snippets of our night away, warts and all.
Friday 12.30pm. We’re off.
Himself, at the bottom of the road: Which way?
Me: Ha I knew you’d ask me that you eejit. I downloaded google maps. Listen to this woman and she’ll tell us exactly where to go.
Himself: Really? Great stuff.
Fifteen minutes later.
Miss Google maps: Take the next exit.
Me: Ignore her, she’s wrong, we don’t get off until exit 9.
Himself: She must know something we don’t. The traffic is very bad. I’m going to do what she suggests.
Twenty minutes later, or less than one kilometre up the road.
1.30pm (one hour after leaving)
Miss Google map: Take the next left.
Himself, exasperated and cross: I will when I can!
Me (for the 100th time): I can’t believe that stupid cow made us go through the busiest part of the city on a Friday. For fecks sake.
Miss Google Map: Take the next left.
Himself:I’m taking it, would she ever shut up.
Me:where are you going? Don’t go off here.
Himself: She told me to take the next left.
Me: Yes but now you have taken another left because you were shouting at her when she said to take second exit.
Miss Google map: Continue two kilometres (in the wrong direction)
Himself: Jesus can we not turn for two kilometres? Ah she is really annoying me now.
Miss Google map: Take the next left.
Himself: I am!
Me: Shut up and listen to her.
Eventually we left the bumper to bumper traffic and began to imagine the luxury that lay ahead. Thankfully the phone went out of battery and Miss Google maps left us to find our own way. Life was good. Things were looking up.
On arrival three hours later.
Man wearing fancy suit, waiting at door of hotel: Madam may I take your bags?
Me, mortified: Ah no I’m grand thanks.
Man in fancy suit: It’s quite alright madam I’ll take your bag (while wrestling it away from me).
Having checked in we ran to the mega posh golf course. I was beautifully decked out in my one and only Tommy Hilfiger top while OH discovers he’s forgotten his ‘golf’ trousers and will have to golf in the not exactly perfect trousers he is wearing. I am pulling my reasonably respectable clubs. He is carrying his thirty year old second hand ones, within a banjaxed, not the cleanest bag with one leg of it sticking out unless he holds it.
Slightly mortified we enter the golf shop where a lovely golf pro greets us, immediately getting the measure of the two of us. Thankfully she liked us (my OH has a way with people, don’t ask me how) and instantly took pity on us. Having suggested numerous times we take a buggy and us rejecting her she eventually tells us she’ll let us have one for nothing. We jump at it and head off feeling like millionaires.
For the next four hours we walk alone, surrounded by the most beautiful of views, looking out over Lough Erne, with the sun shining. It has got to rate up there with one of the best afternoon/evenings of my life.
Our dinner was booked for nine, so with time running out we raced back to our room at 8.15pm. I managed a bath, a shower and time to wear my fancy hotel bath robe while drinking wine. My OH watched the golf on sky before going for a bath.
Me, shouting as he gets into his bath:Isn’t it lovely?
Himself: Yes, this is the life.
One minute later,
Me shouting again: Oh no it’s 9.15pm, last orders at 9.30pm.
Thankfully we were both dressed and sitting in the dining room less than fifteen minutes later.
The following day we enjoyed an enormous breakfast. Well I had breakfast, my other half had breakfast, elevenses and possibly lunch, before I pulled him away. Unfortunately it was raining so we decided to leave earlier than planned. No pressure to get us back for the big match at 5pm as we had plenty time.
We decided we would never again trust Miss Google maps so wrote out the directions in case my battery didn’t make it home. We were reliably informed the journey time was four hours and nineteen minutes.
Two and a half hours later.
Himself: Do we turn off for the N52?
Me:I’ve told you a million times, yes, but not for ages.
Three minutes later. Himself: Is this the N52?
Me:No, stop asking me every five minutes.
Eventually we make it onto the N52.
Me: now we must look for R435
We drive around numerous roundabouts at breakneck speed having the same conversation over and over.
Me: Will you slow down I can’t read the signs.
Himself: Tell me what exit
Me: I can’t you’re going too fast for me to read where to go.
Himself: ah here’s the N52
Me: Why are we going down here
Himself: It says N52
Me: But we might have missed the right exit back there. For Gods sake, you drive too fast around the roundabouts.
Himself, with a touch of sarcasm: Ok, we’ll drive a full circle in future so you can read.
Silence for a while, might have been a bit frosty.
Me: I don’t think we should still be on the N52.
Himself: It seems a bit long doesn’t it?
Me: I think we went wrong at one of the roundabouts.
Himself: So where are we going?
Me: God knows, I’ll google it.
Himself, two seconds later: Well?
Me: It’s loading, give me a minute.
Himself, three seconds later: Well?
Me: it’s still trying to load. I’ve no connection.
Himself: Right that does it. I’ll stop at the next garage.
Silence for another five minutes as we drive on in the wrong direction looking for a garage.
We arrived into a very small towns garage and soon had a number of people interested in our plight. Interested perhaps but of no use to us whatsoever.
Us: Could you tell us the quickest way to Cork?
All of them: ‘Cork? Oh God no’ or,’Cork. That’s a fair distance away I’ve no clue’,
Then, most Irish of all was the reply,
‘Cork did you say? Well you’re definitely on the wrong road’.
Eventually we got the loan of a phone and consulted the AA map which told us we were very wrong, but in another three quarters of an hour we’d be back on the right road. We drove away, with our many new friends waving us off and wishing us well.
The atmosphere was tense in the car. Tired and fed up we hadn’t a lot to say. However just as in life, time passes as do moods and by the time we arrived home after our mere five and a half hour journey, we were once more able to speak to each other without a minor or major explosion.
Thankfully he made his match and they won, making this the perfect weekend for him.
As we reflect on our fantastic night away and our twenty five years together,I suspect both of us would be in agreement, we could do the twenty five years marriage again in a heartbeat, but the five and a half hours to Enniskillen I’m not so sure!