Mud, glorious mud?

CAVAN CALLING: Although it was cold we were blessed with glorious sunshine for our first two weeks in Ireland. Then the weather changed to dense, grey cloud, lashing wind and torrential rain - and that meant mud.

Mud that's a thick, oozing grey, because the earth around our house is mainly clay. The water lies on top rather than sinking.

As you walk, the water around your feet disappears to form vacuums under the soles of your shoes, making walking a Hammer House of Horror experience. It isn't particularly easy to lift your foot, which is slightly unnerving, and then the noise is disgusting - a squelching, sucking and burping as your foot is released with a thick layer of mucous clay attached to it. I could only begin to imagine what it would be like when our building work got under way.

Our neighbours revelled in the opportunity to tell us horror stories about Irish builders, such as jobs that were meant to take only a few months running into years. Other stories centred on workmen disappearing part of the way through projects, never to be seen again.

There was a slight glitch on the first day, when the men digging the foundations cut through the water main. They promised to sort it out quickly, but as we were going out I wasn't too concerned. Tony and I were away for two or three hours; when we got back we saw the machines abandoned and the digger men standing in the front garden. One of them was holding two pieces of wire. They heard the car and turned to look, wearing the sheepish look men assume when they suspect you won't be pleased.

I decided to remain calm no matter what. I asked if the water was back on. "Not quite." Staring at the wire in his hands, and realising what had happened, I asked what else we now did not have. "Telephone." Breathing deeply to stay calm, I asked if I was right in thinking it was my telephone line he was trying to knot together. "Yes, but it will be sorted in a minute."

At any other time this loss would not have been so important, but I and a colleague had a deadline for a book only a couple of weeks away. As she was in Manchester we depended on e-mail. Looking at the broken cable I struggled to maintain my composure. I decided the only solution was to go inside and leave them to it.

Within 10 minutes one of the men knocked on the door to say that everything was fixed and that I could try my e-mail. I went upstairs to turn on the computer. Glancing out of the window, I saw the workmen standing in the garden, looking up to catch my reaction. It worked.

They later admitted that had they been unable to repair the telephone line they would have made a run for their van, to take off - they were not prepared to face my wrath. Tony said disbelievingly: "Thanks, guys. You'd have left me alone to cope with her?" They quickly reassured him he was included in the escape plan.

I was somewhat surprised to note that, far from defending my reputation for calmness in the face of adversity, my husband simply looked relieved. I think I handled the situation with remarkable dignity. (I should add that the water main was also repaired.)

Since then the building and renovation work has progressed extremely well, defying the direst predictions. Seamus Gallagher and his men have created a wonderful house for us.

The next project will be my garden. I had a glorious one in England. With effort I should be able to turn my small front patch here into a cottage garden - I love the colours and perfumes of those wonderful, nostalgia-evoking flowers. The difficult question is what to do with the best part of an acre of clay soil, rocks and a few young trees. It's clearly going to present a very particular challenge.