THE strange thing about raising children in Britain is realising they experience Ireland completely differently from you.

To me, Ireland is ordinary life. Or at least it was once. Rain threatening the hay. Small-town gossip spreading faster than broadband. It’s where people I loved lived entire uncomplicated lives.

To my children, however, Ireland was essentially a themed experience involving cousins, crisps and unrestricted dessert access.

They spoke about going “to Ireland” the way Victorian........

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