Julie Jay: Dunnes wellies are cheaper than a work visa for Australia

Some people say there’s no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes, and to those people I say welcome to West Kerry. Picture: iStock 

My children are experiencing an Angela’s Ashes kind of childhood. Are we in Limerick? Sadly, no. Are we raising them in dire poverty? Thankfully, also no. But when it comes to a rain-soaked childhood, the only thing differentiating my kids from the McCourts is our ability to get new Dunnes wellies delivered to the house at the click of a button.

Has it ever been this wet? The rain feels torrential in that kind of American rainstorm way. While American rain intensity lasts for approximately 10 minutes, in Ireland it lasts for 10 months.

According to Met Éireann, Kerry has yet to see a day without rain so far in 2026. I have the overworked clothes horse to prove it.

In other countries, children play outdoors in the sunshine. In Ireland, children play indoors amid hanging sheets as if they were being raised in a fully immersive art installation.

Irish rainfall has become so intense it is as if the universe itself is laughing in the face of your attempts to get some fresh air into your lungs. This is not the soft rain of rom-coms but rather the torrential downpour in a natural disaster movie. And I am starting to question whether it will ever end, or if we will just have to give in altogether and take up canoeing to the petrol station for supplies.

Some people say there’s no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes, and to those people I say welcome to West Kerry. Dolly Parton would remind us “if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain”, and to the most unproblematic woman in showbiz, I again say, let me remind you of a little place called West Kerry, a place you yourself graced with your singular presence many moons ago.

As the parent of small children, I am no stranger to a soggy bottom. I am getting increasingly resentful of a soggy bottom caused by a wet slide, primarily because I have already soaked my sleeve in an attempt to dry it enough for tiny playground patrons. 

Trudging home with damp joggers, damp sleeves, and an even damper spirit is enough to make even the most positive Peter drop to their sodden knees begging the heavens for mercy.

Finally, I relented last week and purchased new clothes for the kids — despite promising myself I wouldn’t buy winter gear until what has traditionally been considered winter in this country was over. (November, December, and January for those of you not fully convinced Ireland has seasons.)

Instead, I am purchasing more windproof, waterproof, tornado-proof items to welcome in spring, and I can’t say I’m impressed. Still, I do think the new wellies have given me a new fighting spirit in relation to what appears to be relentless rain.

Last weekend, I made a point of getting the boys out to a new playground because variety is the spice of life.

Despite at least one soggy bottom, we continued on to my planned walk along an alternative beach which had sand dunes to offer us some protection from the wind.

Number Two got blown over on numerous occasions, much to his delight, and I had to carry him all the way back to the car when he decided halfway through the walk that he was over it.

I, however, was happy to have braved the weather and powered through. As I battled to open the car doors against the gales, I did feel a couple of judgemental stares from tourists who were no doubt wondering why any parent in their right mind would be taking their kids out in this weather.

Of course, these tourists don’t understand the resilience of Irish parents for whom a sunny day is like Santa as it comes but once a year. For us, a little drizzle is nothing compared to being cooped up all day in a house where there are more clothes horses in active use than there are people.

With my latest delivery of wet-weather clothes for the kids, I have accepted what the universe has been trying to teach me along: There is no fighting the weather and you can get on board with it or spend your life googling ways to get a working visa for Australia. While there are definitely pros to the latter, just relenting and buying the Dunnes wellies is cheaper.

Plus, the only thing worse than being stuck indoors with your kids for 57 days of consecutive rain is being stuck on a plane with your kids for a 24-hour plane ride.

Of course, by my biting the bullet and updating our rain wardrobe at long last, this can surely only mean one thing: That we won’t see another rainy day for weeks. Such is the Law of Murphy, or the Law of Sod, Murphy’s long-lost cousin, for any of our international readers.

In Irish, we have the phrase: ‘Is maith an scéalaí an aimsir,’ (weather is a good storyteller).

It might have some foundation, given the number of incredible storytellers this tiny, rain-battered island has produced. All I know is, if rain generates stories, this generation of West Kerry children will be the biggest literary geniuses since Frank McCourt. With better wellies.