Learner Dad: I hate nostalgia, I think it’s mawkish and sentimental

My seven-year-old stood tall, whispered “bravery” to herself and stepped into the pitch-black dungeon. I stood there and watched her disappear.

It was more of a storeroom really, underneath one of the giant bastions in Charles Fort in Kinsale, down a narrow damp stone pathway that stank of the sea.