Well, we spoke to my Dad over the weekend. He seems to be in fine fettle despite several titanium body parts (RoboGrandad) that occasionally give him a bit of trouble. As usual, he was up to a bit of mischief-making when talking to the boys on the phone. He was telling them that he’d try to get over and see them before Christmas to see them in the new house, and although I wasn’t really listening, I did notice that there was much ‘whoo hoo!’ing and hopping about going on. When they’d said goodbye, I asked what had caused all the excitement, only to be told that Grandad was bringing them a horse each for Christmas. Luckily, they saw the funny side when I explained that Ryanair didn’t allow horses to be carried as hand luggage and that Grandad was having a laugh at their expense.

This is the same Grandad, by the way, that last Christmas (during our previous, somewhat short, attempt at living in Ireland) brought two (toy, but frighteningly realistic) rifles wrapped in Christmas paper through customs for them. He’s naughtier than both the boys put together.

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