Whatever that means
At the time, deciding to catch the ferry back at 7.30pm seemed like a good idea. We could drive north, bum around somewhere around Belfast and then the kids could sleep in the car on the way home. The plan was to find somewhere to do some more fishing: we’d bought more lures and some of them looked like they’d be lost within seconds. And Ewan had a new knife – Mon Premier Opinal. If he caught something he could gut it himself but only after he’d spent an hour tapping it to death like he did the last time he caught one.
Turned out not so good. The weather was iffy, the tide was out and Newcastle (Ireland) was a bit of a dump with nowhere to park and only Barney for entertainment (and I promptly upset Ellen by suggesting the deal that she could cuddle Barney only if I could punch him in the face. I hate Barney).
Instead we drove through Belfast to Belfast Castle, which is less castle and more large castellated house with pretensions. Nice gardens with a cat hunt. Very good adventurous (sic) playground (though £2.30 per child) and a wee badly signed walk around the estate.
We got home at about 1am to find that the electricity at the back of the house was off, meaning two warm and mouldy fridges and two tepid freezers with puddles of coloured liquid at the bottom. Something for the morning.