IT’S not that the boys weren’t sympathetic when their dad ended up his hospital with a broken leg after coming off his mountain bike last Sunday.

But, while 11-year-old Albert wanted to know if his dad would still be able to take him on that big bike ride he’d promised him on Friday, the others couldn’t help wondering if we’d all still be able to go on our family holiday to Spain in two weeks’ time.

If you’re a mum or a dad and you break a leg, you really do mess up everybody’s plans.

After a few days, when it became clear their dad wasn’t going anywhere on a plane and that he wasn’t going anywhere at all without their mum to look after him, they came up with a solution.

The older three may as well go on their own and make full use of the villa and pool we’d already paid for, they reasoned. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste, they argued.

Much as I hated to shatter their dreams of a holiday-in-a-lifetime, I had to break it to them: “First the bad news, we’re going to cancel.

That’s what we paid our holiday insurance for.”

Then the good news: “I’m going to see if we can get one of those holiday cottages in Ireland that we used to go to, as long as your dad’s up to it. We can travel by ferry and I’ll do all the driving,” I said, beaming.

Their faces fell. When they were all little, we used to rent a cottage on this remote little island, just off the west coast of Ireland, every year.

We’d swim in giant rock pools, body board in the sea, jump into plunge pools and go fishing and crabbing in the little harbour.

The boys loved it. Even when it rained and the wind howled, we’d light the turf fire, get out the board games and watch out the window, transfixed, as the sea raged, just yards from our front door.

We had to play board games, of course, because there was no TV.

Neither is there any mobile phone signal, or any sort of internet connection.

Unlike the Spanish villa-withwifi holiday we were planning, this trip to Ireland would involve them all being “unplugged”. No iPads, smartphones, Google, Twitter or Facebook. But the very thought of this enforced digital detox was giving them premature withdrawal symptoms.

“I know we used to love it, but it’s a holiday for little boys,” moaned 18-year-old Patrick. “I’ve just remembered, I’ve got some work I have to do for my dissertation over the next two weeks, and I need access to the internet to do it,” announced 23-year-old William. “I might have job interviews coming up over the next two weeks,” 21-year-old Charlie suddenly announced.

Funnily enough, when they thought they might be lazing by a pool in the hills of Andalucia, none of this was mentioned: “That was before we realised you were going to force us to live like the Amish in the middle of nowhere,” Charlie pointed out.

But the two younger boys were thrilled. “Ireland? Brilliant!” squealed 11-year-old Albert. “Are we bringing the wet suits and fishing rods?”

“Can we jump into the plunge pools and leap off the harbour like we used to?” said 15-year-old Roscoe.

Given the wide age range it’s difficult to find a holiday that suits everyone and we haven’t been to this remote spot for a while now. A sudden lack of access to smartphones and iPads might prove something of a challenge for me and their dad too. But, then again, “unplugging”

the whole family could prove to be a revelation.

“We’ll bring Scrabble, a pack of cards and Frustration. Remember how you used to love doing jigsaws?

And make sure you all bring plenty of books.”

This could be one of the best holidays we’ve ever had. Or the worst.