The Last Straw: It's not that easy bein' green. I've been reflecting on this a lot these past few days because, having listened to Kermit the Frog singing it 27 times during a trip to Cork last weekend, I can't get the damn thing out of my head, writes Frank McNally.
The song is playing on a continuous memory-loop, along with the Cookie Monster's C Is For Cookie, Happy Tappin' With Elmo, and the rest of Sesame Street's All-Time Favourites.
From hard experience, I've found that a tiring aspect of driving long distances with children is being asked "Are we there yet?" every 200 yards. And despite its enormous success with rail passengers (comments on a postcard, please) the Íarnród Éireann slogan: "We're not there yet, but we're getting there" doesn't seem to work with my kids.
So on this trip I attempted to distract the back-seat passengers with their own cassette player, plus a selection of tapes. And the tactic was painfully successful.
As seasoned parents will probably guess, they didn't use all the tapes. One of the defining differences between small children and adults is that, where we tend to dislike mind-numbing repetition, they can't get enough of it. So the Sesame Street Collection went straight on to the cassette player, and it was still there when we got back to Dublin two days later. As early as the seventh or eighth performance of Kermit's theme-song (in a traffic jam in Cashel), I experienced a desperate craving to hear Goldilocks and the Three Bears instead. But when I suggested to Roisín (age 5) that it was time to change the cassette, she was genuinely perplexed. "Why?" she asked. "We like it."
We were still two or three Kermits from our destination in north Cork. But long drives are the price you pay to experience the wilder Ireland, and at last we arrived at our accommodation near Kanturk. It was what's known in the brochures as a "country house", but a lot bigger than the country houses you and I grew up in. And one look at the idyllic setting, along a river, surrounded by trees, was enough for the stresses of Good Friday traffic - bumper-to-bumper from the Mad Cow Roundabout to Mallow (via Sesame Street) - to fall away.
Staying in a place like this was also a chance for our kids to get in touch with the countryside. But as it happened, the countryside got in touch with us first. No sooner had we headed for the river than we discovered it was patrolled by a neurotic swan. His partner died several years ago, apparently, but he was still protecting the empty nest. And everywhere we went near the river, the tragic bird followed. Even after we'd made it clear we would not be using the boat supplied for guests, the swan stalked us. Finally, pressing home his advantage, he emerged from the river to go after me. I fended him off more in sadness than anger: he clearly needed counselling.
In between swan attacks, the weekend was very relaxing. We were even more in touch with the countryside after an outing to Killarney (only two Kermit songs away) on Saturday, and a horse-drawn trip through the Gap of Dunloe. I negotiated a fare with the jarveys by affecting to be uninterested in their services - not easy when your kids are pulling you by the trouser leg and saying: "C'mon Daddy - you told us we could go by horse." But the tourist season is only beginning and the pony was still shedding his winter coat. By the time we got back, we were covered in horse-hair (for which the jarveys, generously, didn't charge).
It was the start of the season back in Kanturk too, so we had dinner largely to ourselves. First there was "high tea" for the children, complete with candlelight, napkins, and references to "sir" and "madam". Treated like lords of the manor, the kids responded by behaving impeccably. But we watched them carefully, nonetheless, just in case Patrick (4) got bored with the formalities and tried to put a candle to the lace curtains.
Then a babysitter took over and we could unwind completely, over a delicious, home-grown dinner. Afterwards, the woman of the house - Hazel - explained about the swan, and her doomed attempts to find him a new mate. She also described how a fox recently killed all her hens. And mentioning that she sold surplus produce locally, she regretted that, unlike in west Cork, food markets hadn't taken off in the north of the county. "There's only so many times you want to bring your stuff home with you," she said.
We nodded sympathetically. It's not that easy being green, I thought, pouring another glass of wine.