We agree on White Rock and I rather fancy a swim now that the very notion is in my head. Mikey and Joey want to join us and I make a pathetic way-hay sound that causes me to flinch and I high-five them because I am a cool dad. The only one left is Jenny. I find myself promising her that I’ll entertain the kids at White Rock and that she will be able to sketch in peace. I just want her to be with us, I tell her. It must be great to be told that you don’t really have to do anything beyond a bit of light sketching, it must be bloody great. If only my life could be like that, if I had the time, I too could be a creative type.

We reach the beach and we walk down towards the Tea Rooms. I walk over to the outcrop of rocks which shows both the granite of Killiney Hill and the adjacent Ordovician schists of mica. The granite is so beautiful and I point out to the children the quartz schist which is a glossy grey and the white feldspar and the little pieces of mica which cause the granite to glint in the sunshine.

Look how it glints, I say to them.

I notice how the sun changes the hue of the water, it is that wonderful turquoise that fills you with an energy that feels urgent somehow, as if it is irrepressible and the sun is magical and enveloping. The workmen at the Tea Rooms heave with the effort of hoisting up a long plank of wood on to the roof beams that they have carried all the way from the jeep, which the new owner has parked illegally on the beach, but I am in no mind to mention legalities to anyone. I nod to the workmen and I holler to my family that the tide is coming in and that in order to reach White Rock we need to think fast and to act accordingly.

We go on my count, I roar and even though the air is calm and collected I still feel the need to raise my voice. That’s what comes with trying to compete with the swish of the sea and I feel very lucky to be alive.

We go when the seventh significant wave is receding, I say, every seventh one is the big one.