A couple of weeks ago, we took the O’Shea circus on the road. Five days, five stops, one family car, and the faint smell of crisps that’s now part of its DNA.
Along the way, we managed to combine science, superheroes, Vikings, world heritage, and camping disasters.
If I’m being completely honest, my role in planning this “O’Shea family road trip” was… limited. My wife organised everything. She booked the tickets, mapped the routes, packed the snacks, and somehow predicted how many socks each child would lose. I, on the other hand, made two key contributions:
1. I charged the shared phone so the kids could watch a movie in the car.
2. I went to the shop once.
That was it. That was my holiday prep résumé.
It’s not that I didn’t want to help — it’s just that my wife has a system. She’s the sort of person who can hold an entire week’s itinerary in her head and still remember that our youngest left his water bottle in the kitchen. I’m the sort of person who considers finding a half-eaten bag of Haribo a small victory.
Here’s where we went — and what happened.
If Willy Wonka did science instead of chocolate, it would look a lot like Explorium. The youngest went straight for the Dino VR experience, where he got so into it I thought he was going to apply for a part-time job as a prehistoric tour guide.
My wife, proving once again that her pain threshold is higher than mine, lay on a bed of nails like it was no big deal. My daughter clocked ten metres in two seconds on the indoor track — which is both impressive and terrifying. Meanwhile, the middle fella drove an F1 car simulator with such confidence I briefly considered remortgaging the house for karting lessons.
The middle fella (our eldest son) found his tribe at Comic Con. With his Pokémon folder tucked under his arm like it was the Book of Kells, he beamed from the minute we walked in until the minute we left.
The sheer scale of the place was staggering — rows of stalls selling everything from vintage comics to swords you can’t legally bring through customs, and an army of cosplayers who’d clearly been planning their outfits since last year’s event.
The atmosphere was warm, inclusive, and entirely audience-led — like Glastonbury, but with more Star Wars. By the time we left, we’d agreed to come back next year. His only condition? I have to grow my beard out and go as Chewbacca. I’m not ruling it out.
For years, the kids — and let’s be honest, me — had been wondering what it would be like to ride a World War II amphibious vehicle around Dublin wearing a Viking helmet. It was as brilliant as you’d hope. Our guide was hilarious, the tour was genuinely fascinating, and it’s hands-down one of the most child-friendly activities we’ve done.
The best part? Getting to roar at random unsuspecting Dubliners from the safety of the vehicle. It’s the most socially acceptable form of shouting at strangers you’ll ever experience.
This was our first time at the Giant’s Causeway, and it’s one of those bucket list places that lives up to the hype. Yes, it was busy. Yes, you have to jostle a little for the good photo angles. But the moment you see those interlocking stones and realise nature did that without a single instruction manual… It’s magical.
From there, we made our way to the Titanic Museum in Belfast. People rave about it for a reason. The design, storytelling, and atmosphere of the place had all of us hooked. The kids were moved, engaged, and “emotional” by the end — and rightly so. There’s something special about a museum that can hit both the “wow” and “whoa” buttons at the same time.
Our grand camping plan in Westport House was for two nights, but my back staged a rebellion after the first one. The kids, of course, were thriving — apparently sleeping in a tent is thrilling when you don’t have a spine that clicks. Westport itself was a gem — cafés, restaurants, and facilities that made the whole experience feel like camping with benefits.
Then we made the short trip to Achill Island, where we were blessed with great weather. Keem Bay and Keel Beach were, as always, jaw-dropping. I braved the cold Atlantic water (just so I could say I did it), and it was spectacularly clear.
Achill’s the kind of place where you run out of words to describe it, so you just stand there nodding at strangers going, “Yeah… unreal.” So five days, five stops, and one bad back later (I’m going to save up for the clamping next year), we came home with a phone full of photos, a car boot full of sandy shoes, and memories that will keep us going until next summer.
We didn’t fight as much as I feared, we laughed more than I expected, and we’ve already started planning the next one. All I have to do is grow a Chewbacca beard, lose four and a half stone, and maybe start training for that F1 career my son’s now expecting.
