I spent the weekend on the island, and it was marvellous. The folks even came to meet me at the airport for the first time in several years. Much more Prodigal than Wannabe-German Ingrate, how lovely.

There were heavy doses of family time. I think the three of us were suffering from withdrawal - my sister usually pops home every couple of weeks, but less often when she is on the other side of the planet. Having not spend Christmas together, we were making up for lost time. There were a couple of rambles through the fields with the new dogs, who delighted in floundering through all the mud drains they could find and then greeting my dad or I in much more enthusiastic fashion than usual. There is nothing as as friendly as a wet dog, he wisely informed me. They are greyhounds, and will need racing names as soon as they depart the muddy joys of puppydom. My mother, as this blog's newest fan, suggested Rampage. Such an honour.

There was also the aforeblogged christening of Baby Charlie, which was a good deal more fun than I had expected. I had forgotten that all Irish social gatherings involve copious amounts of booze, but was only too pleased to adhere to tradition. Tradition which also included lots and lots of food, which I happily piled in on top of the day's hangover, full Irish breakfast and steak for lunch. My mother alleges that I am too skinny, and is on a one-woman crusade to fatten me up. There's even another picture of yours truly with a baby. How shocking.

Yes, I think last weekend, despite my sister's absence, was one of my most enjoyable in Ireland for quite a few years.