Tramore. Beach, sand, sun and arcade machines – any child’s paradise. We went down last week and it made me wish I was a child again. It’s a no-frills spot but fits the bill if you are aged from about seven to 15.

Having absorbed the thrill of the Red Arrows on the Bray seafront at lunchtime, we took off down the spine of the east coast, zigzagging through the three Ws of Wicklow, Wexford and Waterford (with a little bit of Kilkenny sandwiched in between).

It rained but then the sun shone, reminding us that it was indeed summer in Ireland as we listened to the hurling drama from Thurles. Davy Fitz and Micheál Donoghue squaring up along the line as we jaunted along behind a tractor hurrying home the hay before the next downpour.

Next stop

Ferns. Stop for ice-cream and the ambience of weather, hurling on the radio, slow tractors, round bales and a dripping cone combined to create a summer Sunday afternoon unique to rural Ireland. Timeless. We all remember those summer Sunday drives. And the magic of the seaside.

On a cloudy cool Monday afternoon, following three competitive rounds of crazy golf, as the tide moved out, we dashed into the water up to our waists. What seemed like daylight madness turned into a trick. Jumping salty waves with trousers twisted to above the knee, the awkwardness of having not only soaking trousers but a soaking T-shirt above the naval turned into the best 20 minutes’ fun you could have on any holiday. We feel like new pins since.

Family day out

Proud parents are 10 a penny. And I am one of them. My two are wonderful scholars, God bless them. “You can be anybody you want if you stick to the books” is an old fashioned mantra they are sick of hearing from me. But I sighed and they giggled when we played one of these “waiting” games. To pass the time waiting for our hot chocolates outside a café on the prom, I conducted a quiz. I name the town, they name the county. The answers were hilarious. “Where is Ballyshannon?” “Eh, Cork,” says one; “Louth!” shouts the other.

What has happened to geography in school, I ask? “It’s all stalactites and stalagmites Dad,” came the reply. But you can’t blame them. When I was their age, I knew every town in every county. I suppose that’s because on those summer Sunday drives, we actually drove through these places. Now you can drive from Belfast to Cork and Dublin to Tramore without seeing a main street, turning routine knowledge of towns and villages into a nerdy pastime.

Still, after a fun-filled three days enjoying a simple old -fashioned Irish holiday, they won’t forget Tramore in a hurry I hope.

Is criticism fair game when it comes to the GAA?

Ger Loughnane has come in for a lot of abuse because of the comments regarding the Galway team. Joe Canning reminded us after they beat Clare that hurling is a hobby and about the more important things in life. True for him. Colm O’Rourke and Joe Brolly also got a rollicking from a Tipp footballer upset and offended by something they said.

It seems that sporting criticism is OK if you are Wayne Rooney but not if you are an inter-county hurler or footballer who “has to go to work on Monday”. Sorry, lads. You might not be getting paid but many of you enjoy fame, adulation and respect for life as a result of your talents and the golden opportunity to represent your county. If these lads want to be really offended, maybe they should spend an hour or two on Twitter.