Rare moments can be magic, romantic or just miserable!

Looking at the number plates of the cars outside Rosleague Manor Hotel, I’ve a secret window into Ireland’s economic recovery.

In the past there used to be only spanky new rental cars, Beemers and Mercs parked here; now ‘06’ Dublin plates sit, attached to Toyotas and Fords.

No surprise that fortune has hit Ireland’s capital city quicker than Connemara, but during the 16 years the Snapper and I have been visiting Rosleague, I’ve taken a perverse pride in owning the oldest car in the place.

I still do, but it’s good that more people can afford to come here. We don’t live under any such delusion. We know we can’t afford it, yet that never stops us.

To be fair, the rates are very reasonable given what you receive in return, but we never let tiny details like fiscal responsibility get in the way of our time away together.

If we did, we’d never leave the house.

Instead we glean from a night at Rosleague as much rest, recuperation and guilt-free self-indulgent consumption as we can.

This year we’ve only managed one night in the spring and this September night, when heavy rain is falling on the pink Georgian mansion, as if Noah was out collecting wood.

The mountains of Connemara have dissolved into cloud, and despite the ferocity of the downpour the midges are enjoying their own Electric Picnic on my neck, so I venture inside, knowing that all will be well.

That’s what you want from a hotel. Whether staying for pleasure or business, you want a sanctuary; a place where you feel cared for and about, where regulars are treated as old friends.

Settling my voluminous frame into a wicker chair in the conservatory bar, I sip my whiskey and become hypnotised by the rain, cascading in waves down the glass roof.

My mind drifts off to the recent trip the Snapper and I made to London for my niece’s wedding.

During precious moments when we step off our daily treadmill and take a moment to look life - and each other - in the eye, the Snapper and I dream of being made to feel a little special. Living far from our families in England, trips away together are rare.

This one offered the chance to dance and celebrate a marriage, so I booked us a suite at the Grim’s Dyke Hotel, where the Snapper and I tied the knot.

A beautiful Victorian pile, Grim’s Dyke was home to W.S. Gilbert, of Gilbert and Sullivan fame. The house is grand and stately, its gardens stunning and elegant. Given that my family has had a relationship with the hotel for decades, you might think we’d love the place, but there’s the rub.

To read Charlie's column in full, please see this week's Galway City Tribune.