Protect mothers by rewriting the Constitution and turning the tide

I HAVE fallen in love with my children and my grandchildren all over again in the last fortnight. Of course, they’ve always meant the world to me, but, suddenly — I’m talking about the grandchildren — they’re personalities in their own right.

And what personalities: A six-year-old boy, full of excitement and potential, inventing games all the time and constantly challenging the older folk to keep up with him;a three-year-old girl, a genuine princess who can wrap you around her little finger; a 15-month-old, intrepid little boy, ready for any adventure, without a fear in the world.

For two weeks on Sherkin Island, as removed as we wanted to be from the cares of the world, I rediscovered, through their eyes, what it’s like to be a child. And through the eyes of my daughters, who are all grown-up now, but who all fell in love with the ruggedness and the beauty of an island where growing up must have been tough in the old days, but which could hardly be more idyllic in an Irish August.