Julie Jay: The old múinteoir trick I use on Fred in emergency situations that works every time

Because the house-move has dragged on a bit, this was the week I rolled up my sleeves, channelled my latent múinteoir and told Fred we are getting the last bits done if it kills us

Fred is always nervous when I’m armed with Domestos and a mop

In the last couple of weeks, husband (Fred), toddler (Ted), and wifey/mammy (mise) made the big move from a mountainside in Brandon to Dingle city centre.

Ted and I currently spend most of our time staring at the tall buildings (some even have two stories) and waving at cars going by. Generally speaking, the transition from mountain boy to urbanite has been smooth for Ted, who refers to our new gaff as ‘Ted’s house’, but like many a man I lived with over the years, he still refuses to sign his name to the lease. (I once lived with four men from Monaghan, but their aversion to drawing the eye of local government meant that if my Sydney landlord ever asked, I was living alone in my sprawling three-bed apartment).