Exhilaration camp

Another Saturday afternoon scheduled around one of the all-too-frequent social engagements of a 5 to 10 years old...

Another last minute panic to buy a present (you'd think we'd be better organised by now and buy in bulk...), a bit of shouting encouragement to get Finnzy-Bob to finish the birthday girl's card, some screeching of (new) tyres and we made it to Fit Zone just in time (yep, I know, the place where you have to be seriously fit to run around and scream like mad eedjits for two hours solid).

And a rather nasty French mother on the war path over a wrong digit in a contact list.

Compared to all this unpleasantness, the hare casserole and glass of red wine by the turf fire is a welcome change.

I told Mrs Raheny that there was a lot of poaching incidents in the border counties in the eighties, targeting hares.
That there was even a special unit of the Garda Siochana set up to tackle the problem.
She was not convinced.
I told her that they were called Hare Traffic Control.
I got a smile for my effort.
I think she forgot the nasty French mother for about 35 seconds.