I walked up to the front door of our lovely house the other day and a smarting wind had me hurrying for the key when I had a bright, clear memory of the night we moved in.

It was February 2023, and as we inched up the lane in the Hyundai, the weather moody, dark and blustery, I saw a murder of crows overhead making their way sullenly to wherever their roost was.

February is an awful month to do anything, never mind move home.

We lugged the stuff in from the car and the children huddled round us like frightened chicks.

Brian Feeney: Why one Irish granny now beats eight years of paying taxes

Patrick Murphy: Irish unity, but at what price?

Remembering that the last time I was in the house was in the company of Fionnuala’s dead aunt – her wake – certainly didn’t add to the cosiness, and even though someone had left a box with essentials including sticks and firelighters, we all went to sleep that night with our eyes wide open.

The windows had no curtains for a start – apparently her aunt eschewed........

© The Irish News