Orna Mulcahy on people we all know.
Laura has called ahead to remind them that five-year-old Finn is vegetarian but that he will eat anything really - hummus, ratatouille, beans - if they have any polenta that would do him fine. Darina, staring into the depths of her Bolognese sauce, isn't sure where one might get polenta at 5.30 in the evening in Dunmore East, but there's half a bag of carrots somewhere, and surely he'll like plain pasta.
She does try hard to be nice to Gerry's old college friends who have come all the way from Germany to visit but they're definitely high-maintenance. Paul was much more fun before he moved to Dusseldorf and gave up the drink and Laura is always exhausted and looking for a herbal tea. Then Finn is such an intense little boy who stays up until midnight and wakes at six, and now they have Iona who, on arrival, appears to be running a high temperature and producing astonishing quantities of snot.
Darina fears for her soft furnishings as Laura, waving off offers of Calpol as though it was arsenic, rocks Iona to sleep on the sofa while Finn lurks. He won't go out to play with the children in the dunes, and he has already nearly finished off the French stick that was to have gone with the pâté. When he takes to running round and round the room like a spinning top, emitting high-pitched noises, Laura administers the Rescue Remedy, explaining to Darina that he is having a difficult time settling into his new Steiner school, but that his educational psychologist says he will be fine.
Much later, when the men have come back from the pub and Darina has heard more than enough from Laura about how water bottles are killing the planet, it's time to eat at last. The salad, served from Laura's gift, a very ugly greeny, bluey, browny bowl, handthrown by Finn at his Saturday art class, leads to a long and lively discussion about the outrageous cost of vegetables - in fact everything - in Irish supermarkets. Why at home, they eat very well on €32 a week.
By bedtime, Darina can't help agreeing with whoever said that the ideal guest room does not have a guest in it. She's rather put out that typically, Laura hasn't noticed that it has all been redecorated and that she has left out all the right things for them - fluffy towels, soap, water and a jar of handmade biscuits, which even now Finn has his fist jammed into.
"Actually, we'll just put these away, shall we?" Laura says brightly, whispering "sugar drives him mad" under her breath to Darina. There's one last request - would there be a dehumidifier in the house in case Paul's chest flares up again, the way it did the time they stayed last summer?
Darina thinks that this is a bit Irish, as Paul's flared-up chest is entirely do with the weedy little roll-ups he's always sucking on to save money. Nothing for it but to make one last pot of green tea for everyone, and give Gerry hell later about his neurotic, tight-wad friends.