Him­self and his mad­cap schemes, Elec­tric Pic­nic - not on your nelly!

Wicklow People (West Edition) - - LIFESTYLE - Jus­tine O’Ma­hony

I think Him­self may be hav­ing some­thing of a mid-life cri­sis. It’s as if he’s sud­denly re­alised his own mor­tal­ity and de­cided he wants to pack as many stupid things as he can into how­ever long he has left. Which is prob­a­bly about 40 years.

40 years is a long time when he wants you to do mad stuff like moun­tain climb­ing, bike rid­ing and take up con­ver­sa­tional Span­ish classes!

I’ve told him I don’t need con­ver­sa­tional Span­ish classes

– I know the essentials – how to ask for a G&T, a ham and cheese sand­wich and the toi­lets. But he says when we go back­pack­ing in re­mote re­gions of Spain, we will need to be flu­ent. Back­pack­ing at 50?! He’s hav­ing a laugh.

Speak­ing of hav­ing a laugh, his lat­est mad­cap scheme is to try and get me to go to Elec­tric Pic­nic. I have told him it’s not go­ing to hap­pen but he won’t take no for an an­swer. I googled the line-up. The only bands I’ve heard of are Florence and the Ma­chine and Hozier, nei­ther of which I’d cross the road to go see. I can guar­an­tee you he hasn’t even heard of them although he did say The Strokes rang a bell.

A friend of his, ap­par­ently, who had tick­ets, couldn’t go and would give us a loan of a camper van aswell. ‘And you can sleep in the lap of lux­ury,’ he smiles. I doubt that some­how. I don’t mean to be a killjoy but I would rather do a pil­grim­age to Lough Derg than traipse through a muddy field lis­ten­ing to shite mu­sic for two days. Even the idea of drink­ing with wild aban­don for a whole week­end doesn’t ap­peal to me. I must be fi­nally grow­ing up, or else I’m just not able for the hang­overs any­more.

Then just as he al­most has me guilted into it, we meet friends of his who went last year. The wife is more bo­hemian than me, which wouldn’t re­ally be hard, but also made of sterner stuff – she has lived on a boat and cy­cled a 100k in one day, Elec­tric Pic­nic would be a….well pic­nic to her.

‘Never again!’ she de­clares. She pro­ceeds to tell me about the queues for the loos and how all you have is hand san­i­tizer to wash your hands. How she had ev­ery in­ten­tion of show­er­ing ev­ery day but again the queues were so long that ev­ery­body makes do with wipes.

‘And then there’s the drink. I love a drink but not at 10 in the morn­ing and that’s what most peo­ple do. If you stop, ev­ery­body else car­ries on…….all night so don’t ex­pect to get any sleep!’

And that was the fi­nal straw! Sleep. If I don’t get ad­e­quate amounts of sleep I turn into a can­tan­ker­ous mon­ster who would eat her own young. I turn to Him­self ex­pect­ing de­spon­dency. No. he’s grin­ning.

‘Will I tell Sean we want the Camper then?’

IT’S AS IF HE’S SUD­DENLY DE­CIDED HE WANTS TO PACK AS MANY STUPID THINGS AS HE CAN INTO HOW­EVER LONG HE HAS LEFT TO LIVE

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