What Christmas means to me
AS the cool winter sun sank low in the Solstice sky, we crossed the Shannon.Enclosed by their ancient stone walls, the fields shimmered with frosty dew. Our convey of cars, stuffed to the gunnels with children, Christmas paraphernalia and presents was heading west towards the village of Rosscahill in Co Galway.
We arrived and set about making the beautiful barn conversion we had booked feel festive and cosy. We unpacked our homemade mince pies and cakes, chocolate and sweets. We had extra blankets and hot water bottles for fear of the cold, books and music and wine and beer. We created a long line of wellington boots in the porch by the door. My mother heated the oven and soon the house was filled with the smell of her Shepherd’s Pie which had survived the journey from Dublin. The children colonised the games room downstairs and the house soaked up the sound of The Snowman. Later we discovered that the beds were soft and cosy. We slept well.
