Cavan Calling: We have lived in Ireland for just over six months and the time has flown by. I remember when I was a child a week seemed like forever - sometimes a day, even an hour, would seem like an eternity. I could never understand what my grandmother meant when she remarked to her friends about the swift passage of time. Now I understand perfectly.

I shall be 50 at the beginning of next year and I find myself critically analysing my face and neck for signs of ageing in a way I never did before, because of course I was never going to get old. That was for other people, not for me.

Now when I go shopping, I no longer just grab the first hand cream or moisturiser off the shelf. I take my glasses out of my handbag and carefully read the anti-ageing promises. It was while I was engaged in this particular activity the other day that I suffered my first real bout of homesickness. Thankfully, it was a fleeting sensation, but for a moment I desperately wanted my close friend Jean to be stood next to me so we could laugh at my foolishness before deciding that all these products are somewhat creative in their claims.

Anyhow, I've decided to follow the example of my husband (not too closely, mind) and grow old disgracefully. I've informed my sons of my intention to buy a motorbike for my 50th birthday and take a trip around the Continent with Tony riding pillion. I think they may well have believed their mother was mad enough to do this until the detail about Tony. That bit defied imagination and they decided I was just winding them up. I may surprise them yet. I think I might look quite fetching in black leather.

In the short term I have acquired a bicycle. It's shocking pink and has so many gears that at first it was confusing. I couldn't figure out why it would need so many but, having launched myself at a few of the hills around here, the reason is becoming clear. Some of the ups are a bit tough on the leg muscles, but freewheeling the downs is a glorious experience. Our three dogs love tearing along the road after me, barking madly with excitement and getting in my way. The King Charles spaniel, Bella, is also finding the hills a little taxing, and so a friend has offered to make a wooden box to fit on the back of the bicycle for her to ride in. I just hope my legs are up to the challenge.

I have done quite a lot of walking since we moved here, but the bike will allow me to get further, under my own steam. One of the many glories of this area are the hedgerows. I have never seen anything like them. They are almost Shakespearian in their abundance - columbine, honeysuckle, Jacob's ladder, wild orchids, primroses, violets and many others. A little while ago I picked wonderfully sweet, wild strawberries. Sore legs are a small price to pay for all of this.

Getting out on foot, or on the bicycle, has been a good way to meet our neighbours who are always willing to stop and chat. They have also been a good source of help and advice as we have begun to settle into our new life.

We were recently invited to a social gathering at the home of a neighbour, and it was quite intriguing to finally work out some family groups. I had no idea Tom the postman is the brother of Philip who works in Blacklion filling station, or that their cousin is the very jolly man who works at the NCT centre in Cavan, or that Moira (who was our host that day) is a cousin to them all.

I also found myself, for the first time in my life, but probably not the last, having a lengthy conversation about turf rights and the man who turns up once a year to cut the turf. Tony and I will need to be initiated into this process next year, as we have an open fire in our house and we can't wait to experience the wonderful smells of a turf fire.

We are now, after much searching, the proud owners of a toasting fork, and have become addicted to toast done over the fire. Why does it taste so different done this way to when it's made in a toaster? And would someone please tell me why you can't buy crumpets in Ireland?