I lay there staring at the ceiling. They should have told me, should have warned me. I felt a ping in my back and I wince in pain. There should be some kind of documentary they make you watch before sending you out to bring in turf. You are bent double at a 985 degree angle for what seems like a decade. Well at least it’s over for today.

When the alarm goes off I almost piss myself. You have got be kidding me. I hear the pat patting on the stair as the others rush down to breakfast. Right body, up. Should I be worried my body isn’t reacting. I grab onto the bedside locker somehow managing to pull myself up out of my gran’s downy duck feather’s. I peer out through small bleary bloodshot eyes trying to focus on the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. 4.30, that can’t be right surely? It was. I trudge down the stairs vertically, my back completely locked. When I get to the kitchen everyone is sitting at the big oak table that my grandfather carved himself. 75 hours it took. All the Hartnett kids knew the story. It’s drilled into them from a really young age. Sitting at the table I realize all the cousins are staring at me. How did you sleep asks Joe? Like a baby replies Alice. Yea and the baby only cried for parts of the night. They all laugh. I roll my eyes at them as they leave all singing I’ll see you, if you get there, if you ever get there!

It’s cold out there today, Gran says, make sure you wrap up well ok Peter. Yes Gran. And make sure you but on a bit of lippy, you don’t want to chap those nice kissing lips now do you. No gran. Here bring this chapstick with you and remember to bend your knees when your picking up the turf. Yes gran. You better get out there. Your grandfather has been out there since 3.30. That’s crazy doesn’t…