Steph Booth moved to Ireland to escape the tabloids, which loved trying to make her husband embarrass his daughter, Cherie Blair. She explains how they found their home

When Tony Blair became Britain's prime minister, in May 1997, few were prouder of his achievement than my husband, and Blair's father-in-law, Tony Booth. He understood the level of commitment and hard work that had propelled Tony and Cherie through the door of 10 Downing Street. Of course, my Tony was already a well-known actor, famous - or notorious, depending on your point of view - for his outspoken political opinions.

As Tony Blair's premiership has gone on, some sections of the British press have thought it reasonable to pursue a deeply unpleasant and personal campaign against his family. This has included door-stepping my husband on the flimsiest of excuses, in the hope that he can be tricked or goaded into saying anything that might embarrass his daughter. Anyone who has opened the door to find a tabloid journalist standing there knows what an extremely unpleasant experience it is, and I certainly never got used to it.

This situation, combined with other personal pressures, meant that, for Tony and me, moving to Ireland became one of those ideas married couples begin to kick around in the lull between episodes of real life, when it's possible to pause for a moment and ponder what you want from the future - if you ever get there. We have always loved Ireland - the people, the coast, the countryside, all of it - and as we have friends here any excuse was good enough to visit. The space, both personal and physical, along with a gentler pace of life, is also enormously attractive.

Then, in June last year, I fell headlong down a flight of stone steps and fractured my skull. Near fatal accidents do not in general hold many bonuses, but they certainly pull you up short and force you to think about what is important. That's when we decided we were going to stop talking about it and actually do it, move to Ireland. To firm our resolve we started telling friends of our intention.

There was then a glorious period when we could feel very brave and adventurous, because our friends were impressed with our decisiveness, without actually having to do anything like put our house on the market or start the search for a house in Ireland.

We might have continued in that happy mode for quite some time, but one morning in late October we received a telephone call from some friends, the actors Julie Hesmondhalgh (who plays Hayley in Coronation Street) and Ian Kershaw, who were on holiday in Crete. Ian asked if our house was really for sale; Tony told him it was. "Can me and Julie buy it, then?" Tony was stunned, delighted and panic-stricken all in the same moment. Of course he said yes to Ian, before rushing out into the garden to tell me we had to get over to Ireland and find a new home - quickly.

Having visited Ireland many times we knew where we wanted to live: the north-west. We arranged to fly to Dublin and hire a car. It was at this point that fate, in the shape of the Guardian newspaper, intervened. That weekend it named the best gastro-pubs in Britain and Ireland. The Oarsman, in Carrick-on-Shannon, was listed, so we decided to head there. Our good luck continued when we chose Hollywell, also in Carrick-on-Shannon, for bed and breakfast.

Our first full day house hunting was a nightmare. In the pouring rain we viewed some absolute wrecks and horrors. By the end of the day we were both tired, grumpy and starting to squabble, but worse was to come. It was just starting to go dark as we walked into the last house of the day. The house, at the end of a tree-lined lane, was a little spooky in the twilight. As we went in the smell of damp was overpowering, despite the fire roaring in the grate, but it was the old lady by the fire who gave me an awful shock.

At first glance I thought she had a terrible fungal growth on her head. Gathering my wits, I realised it was one of those nylon fur hats I remember old ladies wearing when I was a child. Then they were usually a very bright pink. This hat, however, was old, grey and matted. It was horrible; it looked as if it had grown into her skull. Maybe moving to Ireland was not going to be such a great idea: it was making me hysterical.

Returning to Hollywell, our spirits were revived - in my case with the help of several large gin and tonics - by our lovely hosts, Rosie and Tom Maher, who managed to make us laugh about our experiences. On a more practical level they dispatched us the next morning to Manorhamilton, and we found our house, out in the wonderful, wild and moody mountains of west Co Cavan.

The next three months were manic, as we conducted our house purchase, organised a survey, instructed solicitors and sought a reliable builder. All this with the Irish Sea between us and the people we were depending on. Tony and Ian agreed that February 14th would be a good date for completion - being romantics, they felt it was unlikely they would ever forget the date.

Christmas and New Year were more than usually hectic, but despite the pressure Tony and I decided we had to have a Christmas party, our last one in that house in Cheshire. Lots of friends came, and it was a great party. My pink satin shoes with an attractive kitten heel were much commented on. I saw them in a shop in Manchester and just had to have them. As they were in a sale I felt the purchase was perfectly justified on the grounds that they were a bargain. My friend Edith was stunned, however, and demanded to know why anyone in their right mind would buy pink satin shoes when they were moving to Cavan.

I have to admit that, so far, she was right and I was wrong; perhaps stockpiling wellington boots would have been more sensible, but I was not known by my friends as the Imelda Marcos of Broadbottom without good cause.

We also went to Chequers just before Christmas to see Tony, Cherie and the children and exchange presents. Tony and Cherie have been supportive of our decision to move to Ireland, but what we did not realise when we bought the house was that the prime minister's late mother, Hazel, was born in Ballyshannon, in Co Donegal, so he knows the area well, having spent childhood summers here.

Cherie was concerned to find out what her father's plans for the future were. Like me, she understands it is much better for everyone, including himself, to keep him gainfully employed and busy. Tony was able to reassure her he has no intention of retiring - and, in fact, had already lined up several acting projects.

As we have a house needing renovating and extending, and an acre of ground I want to transform into a garden, his continuing enthusiasm and commitment to acting are very good things.

• Next Monday: Steph Booth's diary of their move to Co Cavan