Thelma and Louise go to the Country

I'm in a Downton moment, sitting with my needlework beneath the richly stuccoed Rococo ceiling, coved and embellished with flourishes of exuberant flora and fauna, while my companion peruses the periodicals. I'm customising a Zara blazer, I've removed the blingtastic buttons and brought a random selection of mud-coloured ones with me, knowing that never in my lifetime would I sit down to do this in landlady house.

Countess and Earl at Castlemartyr

Our trip is very 'Thelma and Louise go to the Country' in as far as we are two girls in a car driving a long distance, escaping our families, for an idle weekend in a 5-star country house. Courtesy of, let's call her, Mariella as she's very bookish, who's reviewing the hotel for her newspaper.

The day before, having filled the fridge for the Cost Centres, I removed helmets, boots, petrol cans and other paraphernalia from the boot of my car, and strew the mats on the driveway. 'CCNo2' I call, 'it's ready to hoover.' I think it's only right that we travel in pristine comfort and I know just the man for the job.

'Too bad,' he says as  he waves goodbye and heads to college.
'No more muller corners for you,' I grumble.
I've got this far, I think, how hard can it be? I summon that mindfulness thing and get stuck into cleaning, going as far as using cotton buds on the fluff and sand around the gear stick. And then it's the car wash, I understand why men like cleaning their cars now, it's like de-cluttering your mind, even though it's thirteen years old, it'll take us to Cork and back in style. I  pack a picnic of fruit, chocolate and, of course, wine for our midnight feasts.

I haven't seen Gentleman Lodger No.1 for a week and I've resisted the temptation to tidy his room every time he's away, heeding Cost Centre No.2's advice, 'give the guy some space Mom.' I tend to forget G.L. No.1 is coming home on Fridays. We meet in the hall, we cheerfully greet each other, then he puts on a cross face and asks 'can I have a word.'
'Oh, no' something is up, maybe he's discovered CC no2 has been wearing his socks, worse, maybe he's going to leave, maybe, maybe... I feel 'in trouble' like when you've been called to the school principal's office.
He looks around to see if anyone is about, 'The overnight guest rule,' he whispers, 'is that still on?'
Ouch, caught me on the hop there.
'Em,' I hesitate, 'well I'll be away for the weekend so I suppose that would be ok.' I'm bearing in mind he's hardly ever home and is such a good tenant, I feel a hot pink spot growing on each cheek.
'I'll be away too,' he says, 'typical,' he laughs.
The only way out of this is humour, I guess. I tell him it's just that I don't want to find another woman in MY kitchen in the morning. Ha ha ha.
'Oh, no nothing like that,' he says.
So, I'm left wondering, just as much as you are, what's his plan?

As I once read, worry is like paying interest on a loan you haven't taken out yet. So I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Meanwhile, I'm even more delighted to be leaving for the weekend.

Three hours later we arrive at the handsome Castlemartyr hotel. I stayed there for a night last year and my room was a good twenty minutes round trip to the drawing room or restaurant, if you forgot something, you were done for. I mentioned to Mariella on the way down, that we might ask if there is something nearer the main house. The problem with adapting an 18th century house, like Carton in Kildare, is that you can't build a tall bedroom wing next to it, so you tend to be in the next county by the time you get to your room.

We're designated a twin room 'half-way' says the manager. That'll be half-way to the next county then. Seeing as she's doing a review, I'm surprised they're not trying to impress Mariella. I mentioned I found the room very distant last time I stayed and also pointed to wobbly ski injury. 'We don't have anything nearer ready,' he explained.

As we're off to Ballymaloe for lunch, we tell him we'll be happy with anything nearer when we get back.

I've never been to Ballymaloe in daytime, it's quite a commercial enterprise, every conceivable corner is put to good use. The shop is stuffed with quaint things you'd love if you were setting up home. On further inspection, their aprons are 22 euro, a piece of cloth with a string and a pocket, I don't think we need one. The cafe is very disappointing, small, tables huddled close and people huddled even closer. Lunch is finished at the big house, though we're not planning that kind of lunch on our budget. We're sent to the cookery school in Shanagarry as an alternative.

The school must have been really ahead of its time, especially its fees. The only thing on offer is the home-made  pizza by the students. We are grateful to get anything at all at this stage. The marinara is delicious as is the glass of very nice white. The cafe is in a huge room which doubles as a demonstration kitchen and is furnished with gigantic nursery chairs, in primary-coloured, circus patterns.

When we return to the hotel it's still afternoon, sun has been shining all day and we're exhausted. The manager greets us and hands our room keys. Two  rooms, we enquire? Yes, he says and apologises they're a bit far apart. We go to Mariella's first, a sumptuous suite in the main house overlooking the Capability Brown (apparently) designed garden. Remaining calm, I am lead to the other side of the main house, not far at all, to a... suite fit for a duchess.

Thelma and Louise have arrived.