Me: Hell is other people.
Michael: Did Oscar Wilde* say that?
Me: Nope, Sartre, I think.
Mr. Waffle: Yes, “L’enfer, c’est les autres.”
Daniel: L’envers c’est les potes.
*Thus yet again proving the great Dorothy Parker’s line: “If, with the literate, I am/Impelled to try an epigram,/I never seek to take the credit;/We all assume that Oscar said it.
At the crack of dawn on Sunday morning, the boys and I hopped on the ferry to Wales. We were quite tired so it was a shame that we only discovered at the end of the journey that the swift ferry (a catamaran, bumpy but, in fairness, swift) seats recline. Alas.
We arrived at 10ish and then had a long, long drive to go and pick up herself and her belongings. The guys were charmed by the signs in Welsh. They were less delighted by the discovery that England is a quite big country. We only arrived at our destination about 4.30 having briefly stopped in a motorway service station for what, in my view, was a deeply unsatisfactory lunch. Dan had never had Gregg’s before and he thought it was the best thing ever. Honestly, no. He needed filling up as he was sitting up front as my navigator and car DJ – he actually did an excellent job on both fronts. I wouldn’t have minded a paper map as back up to my phone but Mr. Waffle had gone to Eason’s to see if he could pick one up before we left but none were for sale. What is this brave new world?
On arrival we filled the car to the gunnels with stuff. Very tiring but herself was touchingly grateful for our efforts. Actually more her siblings’ efforts than mine. While living on the fourth floor with no lift, I am sure, has advantages, they were not immediately apparent as we toiled up and down the stairs in 30 degree heat.
Unfortunately, herself had an ungettable out of engagement that evening but the rest of us went to Pizza Express and, I’ve had worse. Definitely in Gregg’s.
It was pretty toasty the next day and we met up after breakfast to do various touristy things including a boat trip and a not terribly scary ghost tour but it was quite interesting as a walking tour so there was that. I had hoped to get in a swim but logistics and dreadful traffic prevented it. Still, we had dinner by the river which was lovely.
The following day, I rearranged everything in the car, I wouldn’t say it was comfortable but it was ok. After an elaborate shared breakfast we went to a local art gallery (herself, at work as scheduler extraordinaire again) and then hit the road. It was much less trying than the journey there on Sunday and, in fact, we made far better time. Are all road works in the UK scheduled for Sundays, I wonder. I had thought we would be super speedy on Sunday but in fact it was very slow and busy whereas Tuesday was, by comparison, painless. Michael whiled away the drive by reading Lady Gregory’s Irish Myths and Legends. He kept us updated on new facts. There was a lot about the impressive fighting force that was Na Fianna. “Apparently,” said he, “the old High Kings were a bit nervous about the power of Fionn and the Fianna, a bit like Putin and Prigozhin.” I like to think that this was the first time this comparison has been made.
So speedy was our journey that we were a bit early for the ferry. I wish Holyhead boasted more delights. Inevitably the ferry was then late. The food on the ferry was appalling. Let us not speak of it. We got home about 1.30 in the morning, nearly two hours later than planned, but at least we were home. When we took all of the stuff out of the car, I was amazed that it had all fitted in along with the four of us.
We only had a flying visit from herself as she is off to Italy today but back again in a couple of weeks. It is nice to have her home and her bedroom full of stuff again.
So what have I been up to? I know you are on the edge of your seat out there. I went to the Dalkey book festival last Saturday. I mentioned it to a friend in the context of not being available for something else and he said, “[Snort] the Dalkey book festival, could you be any more middle class?” Well, I could, in fairness. I could actually live in Dalkey which is a lovely sea side village with the most expensive houses in the country.
I enjoyed my trip to Dalkey. Mr. Waffle and I went to see Lea Ypi whose book I recommend. I found her interesting. Quite angry and still, I think, at heart a communist. You can take the child out of Albania etc. The setting was a Protestant church and I found the seats exquisitely uncomfortable. A former colleague of Mr. Waffle’s was there and she asked a hard question. I was suitably impressed but it disappeared in the deluge of other questions.
The parents of a boy who was in Daniel and Michael’s class in primary school had a party to celebrate their third and final child finishing primary school. In a very real way, we helped them to find the school. The mother met the Princess in the park – aged 5- with her minder and cross-questioned her on the school. She liked what the Princess said and the cut of her jib more generally and decided to send her precious first-born there which is how he ended up in Dan and Michael’s class. I have never before considered how much you have in common with parents of children who went to the same primary school as yours. Even if we didn’t know the parents (and we knew lots of them) we mostly knew them to see. We were all able to admire the school class photos which our hosts had dug out. It was a lovely idea and everyone had a great time. There was even dancing.
Sunday was Fathers’ Day – bit of a quiet day but, you know, grand. Mr. Waffle got a card and a present. And I thought a bit about my own father who was always pretty disapproving of Fathers’ Day; a festival designed by Hallmark, in his view.
No idea what happened on Monday but on Tuesday I was up with the lark, out for a swim, then a cycle in, alas, driving rain which I had not at all planned for.
I then had a very satisfactory long lunch with a friend, cycled up to the school for a last engagement (uniform swap, all of the children’s uniforms have been given away, I am a model of efficiency) and on the way home from school I found a swarm of bees in the lane and got a beekeeper to come and take them away. Your correspondent was exhausted but broadly pleased.
Wednesday was June 21 the longest day of the year and also the day of Dan’s last Leaving Cert exam. It was physics and he was pleased with the paper. In the newspaper a teacher was quoted as saying that it was “a very fair paper”. “That’s teacher code for easy,” said Dan. Herself was pleased with results also so it was a good day all round.
Thursday saw me beating the locked doors of the church with a new father to get in for a baptism prep meeting. The house of the Lord is never closed eh? Anyway, in fairness, the parish priest let us in so new father’s trek from the other side of the city was not in vain (he believes our church to be a half way point between his wife’s family and his, I believe he is mistaken).
And today was Michael’s last exam. It was economics. He had a long time to prepare and he was not enjoying working when Dan was finished but at last the day dawned. He did not like the paper, sadly, so has finished on something of a low. However, it is done and as my father used to say, “students are very poor judges of their own performance”. We all went out to lunch to celebrate. That’s really the very, very end of school. How peculiar.
Was it the title lured you in?
Tuesday 23 May
School having been cancelled on the Tuesday, Michael and I went out for an adventure to enjoy the beautiful weather. Daniel sensibly, it subsequently transpired, stayed at home.
We climbed the Sugar Loaf. It was a beautiful, beautiful day for it. I’d told Michael to bring a snack and he had water, a packet of crisps and a packet of water biscuits. He ate the crisps on top of the mountain leaving a whole packet of water biscuits for later.
By the time we got down, it was about 2.30 and we headed to Enniskerry to get lunch. Google Maps, as is sometimes does, sent us by a remote and circuitous route. By 3 we weren’t a lot nearer to Enniskerry and in the middle of nowhere. It was at this moment that we got a puncture.
My brilliant husband had put the emergency number in the glove compartment (you think I can change a tire? think again) and the emergency man when we called explained to us a nifty trick where you can send your exact location via Whatsapp (necessary as we had no real idea where we were). Also I had failed to fully charge my phone in the morning and had only 10% battery which was not charging on the in-car charger. Tense times. I rang Mr. Waffle who was in a foreign airport but able to tell me that the car had a spare tire and where to find it. Not obvious.
Anyway, the car repair man eventually came, fitted the spare tire, pumped it up and set us on our way after a hot, hungry and sweaty 90 minutes in the car. Michael said, “We stress ate those water biscuits like a herd of buffalo”. I ate them like someone starving. Anyway we went straight home. We’d gone off Wicklow in the sunshine.
A busy evening followed collecting my sister from the train station, leaving her with Michael who filled her in on Bulgarian politics (yes, really), deciding it was safe enough to let Daniel cycle into town to meet his friends in the pub and collecting Mr. Waffle from the airport. I was exhausted. That’s what you get for trying to make the most of the fine weather.
Wednesday, 24 May
My sister was up for a project management conference and she sent me the funniest text I’ve received in a while.
Mr. Waffle dropped her to the conference and I collected her. Although the venue is not far from our house, it took forever. I was very glad to get back on my bike to go in to have dinner in town with some old college friends. We are old. Only one of us has any children in school. Surprising.
Thursday, 25 May
We had the school graduation. All things considered a surprisingly good time had by all.
Saturday, 27 May
We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother and the in-laws. I went for a swim afterwards which was lovely. Mr. Waffle was not to be tempted though. We took the boys out for dinner to celebrate the end of school. I am still wrestling with the idea of having no children in school.
Tuesday, May 30
Inspired by my success at the weekend I went for another swim. It was a beautiful day and basically just me and pensioners enjoying it. Hah. Lucky old us, I guess.
I went to a colleague’s mother’s removal. It was in Massey’s funeral home. For years I have wondered what kind of name is “Rom Massey”. I mean is it Ronald? Anyway the removal was advertised as being in Ramon Massey’s funeral home. Ramon? Raises more questions than it answers.
The preliminary census results came out. Michael nearly died of happiness going through them and offering us little insights. It appears that we are now a country of 5 million people having been 3 million for as long as I can remember. The thrill.
Friday, June 2
Mr. Waffle and I went to art school grad show. Yeah, I know, but is it art? And I went out for dinner with a bunch of former colleagues which was very enjoyable indeed.
Saturday, June 3
God, it was baking. Mr. Waffle and I went to a fair of produce from Normandy- I am on the French embassy mailing list and this is the kind of thrill available. Almost all dégustation of French products which, yes, absolutely, I am willing but very little to actually buy. We bought some cheese from Évreux and I told the bored French teenager selling it that Devereux is a common Irish surname and dates back to the Norman conquerers from her town. Was she interested? Are you joking me?
Sunday June 4
In what became a weekend of exploration by public transport, Mr. Waffle and I took the DART to Malahide Castle.
Honestly, can’t really recommend the house tour (the house is mildly interesting but the guides are, more’s the pity, not the super knowledgeable OPW ones) but the gardens are lovely.
Portrait above of one of the Gunning sisters who married two Dukes (consecutively) and about whom our guide, sadly told us nothing. And as you will see, it’s a good story.
Monday, June 5
Mr. Waffle and I took the DART again with our bikes and cycled to Kilruddery. I honestly would have thought it impossible but it’s actually quite close to the DART station. On the other hand, do I recommend taking your bike on the DART on a sunny bank holiday Monday? Probably not. I was, possibly excessively, pleased to see bike stands right by the entrance to Kilruddery where we had a nice lunch and a stroll around the grounds.
Needless, to say while Mr. Waffle and I were out gallivanting in the sunshine, that they had so kindly provided, the boys were at home studying. As everyone said, it was real Leaving Cert weather. A friend sent me this.
Tuesday, June 6
After my weekend of exciting cycling and swimming, I decided to cycle to Sandycove and have a swim. I went off in my light summer dress. I nearly froze. Leaving Cert or no, Irish weather does not reward complacency.
Wednesday, June 7
At last, at last after two tense weeks of swotting with increasing gloom at home, the Leaving Cert started. Day 1 was alright.
Still, much stress.
Thursday, June 8
I managed to give away a box of old cables and a broken printer. To think of these items, utterly useless to me and destined for a life in landfill, being reused warms the cockles of my heart. The man who took the printer further filled me with delight as he was a Dutchman and he took it away on a bike. He works at Drimnagh Castle and they are on a shoestring and he reckons that he can fix the printer and use it there. How truly gratifying.
The guys rescued the Nintendo DS from the box of cables and have been happily playing on it for the first time in about 10 years.
Friday, 9 June
Much like the rest of the nation, Michael did not enjoy Maths paper 1. His brother thought it was fine.
Sunday, 10 June
My friend sent me a flyer about a Finnish choir who were visiting Ireland so Mr. Waffle and I went to the pro-Cathedral (for historic reasons, Dublin has two Protestant Cathedrals and no Catholic Cathedral – this is what it got, known to its friends as “the Pro”).
It was all a bit more elaborate than I had anticipated. Not only was there this Finnish choir but it was also Corpus Christi (had forgotten) and the new Papal Nuncio’s welcome mass to Dublin. Many pews were roped off for the Diplomatic Corps and heads of religious orders and Provincials. There were 3 (count them!) archbishops on the altar and loads of priests. All, except for two younger black men, looking pretty elderly and grey, if sprightly. The church had lots of room notwithstanding the ranked masses of diplomats, provinicials etc. I don’t know, if that mass isn’t going to be full, it really looks like the end. I am old enough to remember when Corpus Christi mass was standing room only and there was a procession and everything.
Anyhow, the newish Archbishop of Dublin did the welcome bit and I was curious to see him in action as I hadn’t seen him before. He commented on the recent census results which show numbers of Catholics had declined by 10 percentage points since the last census (to 69%, I am Michael’s mother, I have these statistics at my finger tips) and how heartened he was by the immigrant communities who are, basically, better Catholics. Certainly more devout. Anyhow, he welcomed the visiting choir who were Lutherans from Helsinki Cathedral and made some noises about ecumenicism. As a friend of mine pointed out this was funny on Corpus Christi which is basically a feast day designed to highlight the differences between Catholic and other faiths but I suppose they were there. The new Papal Nuncio gave the sermon and try as I might, I kept zoning out, so what his views might be and whether he conveyed any special messages, I cannot say.
The choir were superb which was just as well as mass was an extended 90 minutes. What are we, Orthodox? Afterwards, the 86 year old nun who is attached to the children’s school whom all the students adore, came up to us. She only lives around the corner it appears and is a regular attendee at the 11.30 Sunday mass. She had no difficulty recognising us and we had a long old chat where she tried to inveigle me into joining the school’s Board of Management. She is in absolutely terrific shape. The children keep her young, she says.
There was one of the Finnish choir children’s mothers on the door when we went out drumming up business for their concert at 3. She was very cross that it wasn’t advertised and I sympathise but what could we do. I said that I had been notified via WhatsApp and wasn’t it busy this morning? “I gather you went to Cork as well?” I said winningly hoping to divert the conversation into happier channels – who wouldn’t love a trip to Cork in June? Apparently only 12 people came to the concert in Cork. I was mortified. “And it was free, unlike when the Palestrina choir came to Helsinki and you had to pay and I put up two boys from the Palestrina in my own house”. Alas. However, the youngsters in the choir seemed to be having a great time. When we came out they were standing beside their bus singing an incredible version of happy birthday – volume and harmony breathtaking – to one of their number.
Tuesday, June 13
The Leaving Cert continues unabated. Maths Paper 2 yesterday was better than paper 1 on Friday. The nation is convulsed by the trauma of paper 1 – letters to the paper, articles, phone in radio shows (you think I’m joking, I’m not). As I said to Michael, “At least you’re not alone”.
While my poor children laboured today, I took the DART off to Sandycove for a very pleasant swim. Somebody has to do it.
Biology and Irish paper 2 today. Dan not a big fan of the biology paper but look, onwards and upwards.
Daniel sent a message into the family group chat the other morning after going through the back garden to get his bike from the shed. It read: Hodge vom garden
Mr. Waffle took a look and said, “Ah the well-known German count.” Honestly, I thought it was hilarious. This is the kind of content I married him for. Also, he cleaned up the cat vomit.
I have been to the Lavinia Fontana exhibition in the National Gallery and to a talk on her by an interesting English art historian.
Lavinia Fontana is not really a name to conjure with. She’s not particularly well known but the art historian argues that she should be. She’s a mannerist artist from Bologna and the first woman to do a lot of things. The exhibition is terrific and worth your time should you be in Dublin. Sadly, it does not include this picture which I would really like to see in the flesh. Fontana is brilliant at painting children. The art historian said that part of the reason Fontana is not better known is that museums leave her work in storage instead of displaying it and that this is a fate which befalls many female artists which is a depressing thought.
Speaking of unjustly neglected female artists, I also went to a talk by the novelist Mary Morrissy on Una Watters. I had never heard of Watters and her work is lovely. Mary Morrissy has been working to resurrect her from obscurity and has a website championing her work. Apparently one of Watters’s paintings – The People’s Gardens – is in storage in the Hugh Lane gallery and I, for one, will be heading in to see if I can get them to dig it out and let me have a look. You should too.
Mr. Waffle and I did another walking tour with Dublin decoded. These tours are so good – it is pretty unusual to get a tour in the city where you live and learn lots of new things. Did you know that for a while Heuston Station had the largest span of railway sheds in the world? That the crowns were taken off King’s Bridge when it was renamed Heuston bridge but you can still see the cast iron cushions where they used to sit? The tour is full of quirky layers of detail after detail and the guide full of ebullient enthusiasm for his subject. A delight.
