Blog: Asleep on the compost heap

We used to go to Mayo to visit granny four or five times in the year. That was some long journey from Kells, cooped up in the back of a Nissan Bluebird with my brother and sister, watching half-lit midlands towns streak past the window at forty miles per hour (this was the speed at which my Dad drove) while something maudlin warbled on the radio - "I wonder if it's raining back home in Donegal". We used to fight in the back of the car too. Terribly. I remember elbowing my sister's nose near Strokestown once and the blood [...]

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