Living in spotlight was one reason actor and father of Cherie Blair, Tony Booth, moved to Cavan with his wife Steph Booth. But cold reality is forcing them to return to the UK
Tony and I arrived in Ireland on February 12th, 2004. It was the start of our amazing Irish adventure. We had talked for years about moving here, but we never found the right time. It took a serious accident in the summer of 2003 (I fractured my skull) to make us pause and seriously discuss what kind of future we wanted. Sometimes it takes something like this to make you realise that if you always put off making life changes and decisions, tomorrow may never come.
Our life in England was unbelievably hectic. Tony is well known as an actor and also for his political activism within the Labour Party and it was not unusual to find the tabloid press camping out on our doorstep.
Of course after May 1997, when his daughter, Cherie, and son-in-law, Tony Blair, became the occupants of 10 Downing Street, the media glare became even more intense and stressful. In the end the decision to move here was not a difficult one.
We bought a house in west Co Cavan, making the decision to buy as we walked in through the back door. The house just felt right and the views across the mountains are breathtaking.
Although we wanted to downsize from our house in England, this cottage was too small, but as we had every intention of living out our lives here we put our capital into renovating and extending it.
There is a huge kitchen because I love cooking. There is a garden room with a passion flower and jasmine beginning to rampage around the room, and my orchids (I'm an obsessive collector) love all the light in there. The sun streams in from the east in the morning and the room is full of light all day from the south-facing windows. We can hardly bear to think of leaving. It is a lovely home - everything we wanted.
UNFORTUNATELY, WHEN WE were making excited plans to move here we failed to factor in just how difficult it might be for me to find a job. Like most other households we need a regular income and we've delayed making the decision to leave as long as we possibly can. We have taken turns convincing each other that perhaps if we waited another month, a job might come up. Cold reality and pragmatism have finally won out and this week our house has gone on the market prior to our return to England.
I have been trying for well over a year to find employment. The first and obvious strategy was to search for jobs in this area. I've managed just one interview - the post of arts officer for Cavan County Council. I knew the interview wasn't going particularly well when the representative from the council prefaced virtually every question with "I know you understand what happens in England, but do you have any idea of the systems we use in Ireland?" The fact my interview lasted a little over 15 minutes was perhaps another tiny clue to the way the interview panel was thinking. My lack of success locally forced me to reconsider my options and I decided I would apply for jobs in Dublin and, if successful, live there during the week and return home at weekends.
Given my political background it seemed a good idea either to apply for advertised jobs with the political parties, or to send them a speculative CV. This proved a spectacularly unsuccessful strategy. I have to admit the greatest blow to my sensibilities was not being called for an interview by the Labour Party for a post as political analyst.
This was the point I gave up on Irish politics. A job in the area of debt and development came up and in my new non-political persona, I applied and was relieved to get an interview.
I THOUGHT THE interview was going quite well until the moment I was asked about development issues. I paused to gather my thoughts and happened to glance out the window behind the interviewers at what looked like an empty building. There was a man in one of the windows who, catching my eye, waved to me. That was it. All focus and concentration went with that wave.
By now the three-person interview panel were looking at me with increasing consternation waiting for my response. I told them about the man, but of course by the time they turned round he had disappeared. Was I hallucinating? I really don't think so, but I found myself making increasingly daft responses to questions and was completely unable to stop myself. I just kept on digging that hole. I was as glad to get out of that room as I suspect they were to see me go. I will shudder with embarrassment until my dying breath about that experience.
Finally realising my job hunt was a lost cause, Tony and I discussed the zero option. Selling our house and moving back to England. The profound irony of my great-grandparents and Tony's grandparents making the same journey for the same reasons is not lost on us, but in the end it was the most simple and the most stupid of reasons that finally nailed our hopes of staying in Ireland. Both our cars broke down and it is just impossible to live in a rural area without a car. Quite honestly, in our desire to stay here, we have run through our savings and are in no position to deal with this problem. Thank goodness I have a bicycle - although Tony refuses to ride on the handlebars.
OF COURSE, WE have had bad moments here. The eejit who sprayed our car with anti-British graffiti in summer 2004 did not make us feel exactly welcome. But our overwhelming experience has been positive. Our neighbours are fantastic and one of the high points of our life here was when they all came to our party last summer. Austin McManus brought his fiddle, John James his guitar and Sonja, my son Sam's girlfriend, brought her flute. We danced for hours, stamping down our new tiled floor.
There is so much we're going to miss, but I remember my grandmother saying "it is a wise person who knows when to quit". So, with enormous regret, that's what we've decided to do - quit while we're still just about ahead of the game.
Tony and I will always be glad we followed our dream and moved to Ireland. We don't have to wonder what might have been, or live with the regret of not trying.
So, thanks for the memories.