The weekend that stands out in my mind as being as close to perfect as you could ever want
was one my wife Angela and I spent in Castle Leslie in Co. Monaghan towards the end of last year. Although it is run as a commercial entity, the Castle is still very much a family home occupied by the wonderfully eccentric Sir John Leslie, while his niece, Sammy Leslie, manages it.

It's just like a very grand home from home, with books that have been read and current magazines scattered all around. The food was really excellent, and I remember having some of the finest fresh fish I've ever had.

We love the hotel, which looks out on a gorgeous lake that's famous for it's pike, and is surrounded by 1,000 acres of an estate which is really unspoiled countryside full of woods with brilliant walks.

There are lots of things to do - we went boating on the lake a couple of times. We both love horse riding, though I'm not very good at it and have been "thrown" - the technical term for falling off - a couple of times. There's a great equestrian centre on the estate, so we used that a bit.

What's really wonderful about Castle Leslie is that everything is left up to yourself. The place is utterly casual in the best sense of that word - nobody forces you to do anything. One of the things we loved was that there were two dogs, a cocker and a retriever, who sort of lie around outside the front door.

We didn't select Castle Leslie willy nilly. I had an added reason for going there because my grandfather came from a little place called Sheetrim on the outskirts of Monaghan town. It's a bit of a love story, because he was a Presbyterian and my grandmother, Mary Kelly, was a Catholic from Kinsale who went tyo work in Monaghan in the early 1900's.

My grandfather, who was only 19 at the time, was the hackney driver who picked her up from the train, and they fell in love. He became a Catholic to marry her and they returned to Kinsale where they settled the rest of their lives.

I had always wanted to see where my grandfather had come from. He was a very private man who never talked much about his youth. We nosed around a bit and managed to find the Presbyterian Church where my grandfather's grave was situated.

We actually met the present Minister, and he was able to show me the church register in which my grandfather's birth and baptism was recorded. That made my weekend.

Incidentally, his register recorded all sorts of unusual things, including the record of a very odd death, where an unfortunate parishoner expired from the injuries he received when a box of matches he had in his pocket went on fire!