We booked in February, just after I got back from Thailand – it was supposed to be our first and last holiday together, to attend my mother’s second wedding and to chill out in Ireland. Me and Sian. But my imminent emigration meant Sian had to find a new home more quickly than we’d planned, and Murphy’s law dictated that she would be moving into her new flat on the day we were supposed to fly.

So on Saturday I travelled alone to glamorous Luton Airport, for a week in rural Ireland when I was due to be emigrating in a little over a fortnight. I’ve always liked leaving things until the last minute though – or preferably later.

So perhaps it was fitting that my 1-hour flight was up on the boards as running two-and-a-half hours late. With a weary sigh, I settled myself into the secret smoking room hidden at Gate 11, and impatiently waited until departure was announced.

Got to Belfast soon enough, and the three hour drive back to Donegal passed without any incident more memorable than my state of utter shock when my mother’s in-car CD player started playing Morrissey. Nice one, Mum!

Sunday was the wedding party, in the pub at Maghery. Live music, dancing, and the chance to catch up with aunts and uncles I hadn’t seen in years. Smoking outside was an odd experience again, I’m glad that (assuming all goes to plan) I won’t be around when the same law comes into force in the UK.

After a heavy session for all involved, we retire to the house and crack open the wine, possibly a mistake in retrospect. I vaguely remember arguing etymology with Jim (my soon-to-be stepdad), smoking a pipe, and rambling incoherently in general.

Monday started a little later than most, and I stayed home while my mother drove to Derry airport to collect my brother, his fiancée and their daughter – Alan, Jess & Chloe.

Chloe’s six months old now, and is a real cutie. She hardly cries, and when she does it’s only briefly until she’s fed or changed. The baby-gurgles are endearing enough – I can only imagine how much fun it’ll be when she start to talk.

It’s funny, I have never been one for babies, never had much in the way of paternal pangs, and at 27 still don’t think I’ll ever really want to have kids, but I surprised myself this week in how well I seemed to connect with my tiny neice.

In the evening, Alan stars in the kitchen (my brother’s a chef) and produces roast lamb with an array of vegetables for thirteen. Exquisite.

Tuesday is the day of the wedding itself – up early, and it’s off with the stubble and on with the suit. Three weeks since I left my last job now, it’s funny seeing myself looking almost professional in the mirror again. The shiny shoes and a rose in the buttonhole finish the job off nicely, and we’re off to Ballybohey for the ceremony.

Mum & Jim are both nervous wrecks, naturally. It takes Jim forever to reverse his Shogun down the drive without veering into a ditch, me patiently directing him from the front. My mother is no better, but somehow we all get there, almost on time.

It’s about now, just as I’m about to walk in and sit down, that it’s sprung on me that I’m going to be walking my mother into the room. Not quite giving her away, but I hadn’t expected to be involved. At least I don’t have to say anything!

Everything goes smoothly, tears are evident in a few eyes, and after Alan and I sign as witnesses, they’re married and we can have lunch.

Fillet mignon is the obvious choice at the hotel restaurant, and alas discretion prevails when I’m asked how I’d like my steak cooked. I’d usually say “just cut its head off and wipe its arse”, but I’m on my best behaviour today, so just ask for it “raw”. It eventually arrives medium-rare, and that’s being generous, but it’s still a very nice steak. Bizarrely, the background music in the restaurant is Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds”, on endless repeat. Until we ask them to turn it off, anyway.

And then it’s goodbye to my aunts, to Jim’s three sisters, and to Mum & Jim, the happy couple. They’re off to Antrim for the honeymoon, so Alan drives Jess, Chloe and me back to the house in Donegal for three days of the wildest entertainment rural Donegal has to offer (ie. walks around the mountains and beaches, alternated with lolling on the sofa watching the snooker).

Wednesday I wake up and Jess makes us all boiled egg & soldiers. The internet access here is offensively slow (20kbps or so), so I wander out to Maghery and wander along the beach looking out over the Atlantic, and explore the rock pools further up the coast. Then it’s Arsenal v Villareal on telly and an early(ish) night.

Thursday brings much of the same, and I’m starting to go insane with worry about the fact that I’m due to be emigrating in ten days and have still managed to organise so little! Still, the snooker is a decent enough distraction. Come on Ronnie.

Friday is time for a mad tidy-up of the house before Mum & Jim arrive back in the afternoon, after which Alan and I play football appallingly in the garden. Roast chicken and veg for dinner with Mum and Jim, then Alan, Jess & I wander down to the pub for the evening. It’s not quite the same as back home – we have to take torches as there are no streetlights here, and we’re so remote that it’s pitch black outside after about 9pm. Still, the Guinness is fantastic and beating my brother at pool for the last time in who knows how long makes it more than worth the inconvenience, which is more like adventure to be honest.

Saturday brings a cooked Irish breakfast, then Mum drives Alan & Jess back to Derry airport to catch their flight back home to Liverpool. I might see Alan when I’m out in Southport just before I leave the UK, but who knows when I’ll see Jess & Chloe again? Probably at their wedding!

Jim argues that football (soccer, not Gaelic or American) is frankly a dull game, and that he doesn’t understand my enthusiasm for it. But as we witness Garcia’s wondergoal and a fraught final half-hour in the Liverpool v Chelsea FA Cup semi-final, even he is getting excited. What a match.

Then steak again, chat by the fire until late, and bed.

Sunday is my final day, so up early for breakfast and then the long drive to Belfast. Something of an emotional goodbye at the airport, who knows when I’ll be back here again? Will I next see Mum & Jim in Ireland? England? Thailand? This year? Next? Who knows…

I end the trip as I started it, with a Burger King meal in a dull airport, but at least I can smoke in the bar here. Eventually onto the plane, then home…

I’d love to expand on this at some point, but with just two whole days remaining now until I leave for Thailand, if I didn’t write this outline I’d forget what happened completely. It will have to stay as it is until I have time to make it a little more verbose. Possibly some time in 2009…