Colm O’Regan: January days out to make you feel like you’re in a Scandi drama

Colm O’Regan: January days out to make you feel like you’re in a Scandi drama

There was crankiness on the road. Ever have one of those days where it feels like the world has shifted slightly on its axis and everyone’s a bit off?

Was there a full/new/blue/gibbous moon last night? Did everyone have an annoying morning that day? A broken shoelace? A split teabag? A paper jam in Zone 3?

Whatever it was, there was an edge to the traffic. Arm and finger gestures out the window. Crashing of lights. (Seriously, unless we put cameras on the traffic lights, we’re going to need a new Safe Cross Code in Ireland. Steps 1-6 are not enough. We need 7, 8, and 9 just to watch out for those who go through the Green Man like he was only acting in an advisory capacity, while staring straight ahead, knowing what they’ve done. The scuts.)

I let someone go out in front of me AND THEY DIDN’T PUT ON THE HAZARDS TO SAY THANK YOU.

In those moments, I’ve learned it’s best to just take a deep breath. To whisper my main positive affirmation — that everyone else is an asshole except me — and just get through this.

Anyway, with the daylight ebbing through the hourglass, that we weren’t going to be wasting the rest of it swapping insurance details.

“CMON, WOULD YE! THE DAY’LL BE GONE!” The anxious cry this time of year of a cooped-up family just Trying To Get Out The Door Of A Weekend.

The morning had been flittered away in pyjamas and slow dishwasher unloading. The day was on the slippery slope. There was no plan.

Without a plan, we were rudderless. Both children seemed to be eating two meals at three different times in four different locations. Parents lurked in small corners on their phones. Eventually my wife punctured the inertia and shouted: “SO WHAT ARE WE DOING WITH THE DAY?”

The problem with this time of year, when it comes to outside outings — especially with children — is if you don’t strike early, it’s tempting to believe your chance is gone.

But the good thing about this time of year — and this time of the century — is that expectations of what constitutes an outing are low, and any time outside at all is precious.

We eventually hauled our disorganised arses out the door at half three and landed at our destination: Bohernabreena Reservoir in the Dublin Mountains, just as dusk was dusking.

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