Sleep deprivation is a useful tool in torture. You can reduce even the most resilient and most mild-mannered individuals to a ravening mass of nerves if you deprive them of enough sleep.

If one gets their heads out of their arses long enough to observe the patterns of life, one tends to notice when Fate gives you a little fair warning that the road ahead might prove a little bumpy and sometimes it's best not to tempt Her by ignoring Her helpful little clues. And Lady Luck is not always there to save you.

Three weeks ago I get a phone call from the Auld Dear. She's in tears because her next-door neighbour had died and she went to the funeral and oh, wasn't the Mass just lovely, with the singing choirs and the entire community showing up to pay their respects. I felt a grain of sympathy so I asked Husband to call her and think about going to see her to spend some time with his mammy.

Next thing I know, I'm being lampooned onto joining him on a whirlwind two-day trip back to Dublin, which included a shopping trip around the Quays for tiles and fixtures and a meeting with the Architect on Wednesday morning.

From the moment we were packing, I knew I should have stayed in bed and let Husband go to this one alone. I asked Husband about baggage requirements and next thing I know, he threw a Strop. Ah, you think, Fate's first Clue. Did I heed Her? Did I bollocks. We already spent thirty sodding quid on the flight, so why stay back at the last minute? Waste of money, that is. And anyway, I had a Plan. And with a little help from Lady Luck, my Plan would go well. It would be a pleasant trip.

My Plan, as I related to Husband, was that I would stay under her cold and miserable roof, under the strict condition that I not eat or socialise there. Husband, of course, is free to spend as much time with her as he wishes.

The Plan, of course, backfired. That's what you get for calling on Lady Luck, eh?

We arrived on Monday night and Ken and I were exhausted from the trip so we went straight to bed. The Auld Dear remained in the sitting room to watch her programmes and we settled to sleep. Early next morning I got up, had a quick wash, and shot off before anyone else was awake to have a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast and fruit at the Cafe Java and then going off for a long overdue shopping spree.

So it was a good day for me, really, by the time I met up with Husband, armed with new purchases and we spent a good few hours ooohing and aaahing at the lovely baths and fixtures and glass tiles and tiles imported from Italy.

We had a leisurely supper at a new-ish Italian restaurant about ten-minutes' walk from his mammy's. We got back, in good humour but I was completely exhausted, so I made my excuses and went upstairs for an early night. Ken opted to stay downstairs with his mam until whenever they decided it was time to call it quits.

I collapsed onto the bed and tried to sleep. But the Auld Dear decided that the TV was simply not loud enough for the pair of them and turned the volume up. I was tossing and turning in bed for a good couple of hours, putting pillows over my head and trying my best to block out the strains of RTE through ten acres of pillow and duvet piled over my head.

Now you know what I am like when I am deprived of sleep. Since I am a guest (and I use the term loosely, since I've never really felt like a guest in that house, only someone whose presence is merely tolerated) I couldn't really make any demands, after all, we are staying there for free. So I simply put on my pyjamas and robe, marched downstairs and stormed into the sitting room and sat at the chair opposite the Auld Dear's to watch television.

"Oh," she smarms, "I thought you were going to sleep."

"I was," I gritted through my teeth. "But now that I am up, why don't we discuss the house? Isn't this an excellent opportunity? Husband, darling, in your opinion, should we board up the chimney in our room? I fear that even with the best floor insulation, the sound in the new living room will leak up to the room."

After a few measly (but very insincere, as far as I can tell) apologies from her and the TV turned off at 11:30 PM, we sat in the room in awkward silence and Husband just glared at me. A half hour after I settled back into bed, Husband creeps in, still angry with me that I "caused a fuss".

The next morning, it was Husband who went out first for breakfast and then I later joined him at the cafe but I really didn't want to. We hardly spoke to each other but that wasn't a patch on the atmosphere in the breakfast room when I arrived a few minutes late for the meeting with Eugene. The Auld Dear was there, lips purses, dandelion hair in full frizz with a look that would curdle milk. The room was filled with what can only euphemistically called Atmosphere. You could have sliced the air with a rusty butter knife.

After a harrowing three hours discussing the building work in every detail and walking around the house(interspersed with the light aural warfare going on between me and the Auld Dear "Oh. So many needs for sockets for appliances, eh? she sniffs, "No mention if any of them will be a hoover." to which I retort "So where *would* you like your washer/dryer or are you thinking of hiring the live-in maid you keep referring to for cleaning your clothes?"), with Husband sitting on either side of us pretending not to hear or pay attention to the building catfight. Oh, and the Auld Dear

It was already two in the afternoon by the time Eugene left, which left us not much time to do much else but beggar off but that still didn't prevent the Auld Dear from turning on the water-works in a last ditch effort to get us to listen to her blubbing. I fell for it, of course, because I'm an old softy and helpless in the face of sadness in anyone, scheming old wenches included, but the tears quickly turned to meandering talks about Mr and Mrs-So-and-So and it was time to beggar off. We had to leave town by five and we only had time to eat something light and I was damned if it wa going to be cold ham and more bullshit conversation from her. Besides, Husband always ignores her and it's always me who has to play the game-show host and after the night before, I was simply not in the mood. So I got up and started walking out of the house.

I really hate going to Dublin, now....