And in seven years they have brought, in total: two bottles of wine, one bag of ice, and a box of crackers that Roisin brought in 2022 and then opened herself.
That’s it. That is the complete list.
Everything else — the meat, the buns, the salads, the drinks, the ice, the gas, the paper plates, the bin bags, the extra loo roll — comes out of this house.
I am not stingy. I want that established, because when you tell this story people assume you are.
I love feeding people. I have fed the entire silage crew for four Septembers running and enjoyed every minute of it.
What I object to is not the cost. It is the arrangement.
Because here is what actually happens when Solange Halloran arrives at Tullamane.
She walks in without knocking, which is fine, it’s a farmhouse.
Then she moves things.
She moves the kitchen table. Every time. It is a nine-foot oak table and she cannot lift it, so what she does is get one of her daughters and the two of them shove it about three feet toward the window “so there’s more room.”
