Mr. Waffle

May Bank Holiday Round Up

3 May, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Travel

I have been absent. My blog has been unwell but now, I think, I hope, that all is well. I have paid a man money and he has resolved matters. It was pleasing that even the tech expert was baffled by what had happened and had to himself engage with my webhost with various questions I could in no way understand.

You find me languishing at home with a slight head cold after a very busy time. Thrills.

First up, I have attended my last parent council meeting. Eight years of indentured servitude over. Lord, I found it tedious, though occasionally useful. For reasons that are too dull to explain I got a hamper at our last meeting and it contained a lifetime’s worth of chocolate and a presentation box of Teeling’s whiskey which I was planning to give away as a present but before I could do so, Michael broke it. Win some, lose some.

I went to the pastels exhibition in the National Gallery which I would really recommend. Who did I see there only Elizabeth Farren, later Countess of Derby? You will recall that I saw a beautiful full length portrait of her with a muff in New York. Let me remind you.

The one in the National Gallery was much less flattering but it disclosed the vital information, inexplicably ignored by the Met curators, that she was originally from Cork. Good girl yourself, Elizabeth.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see an amateur production of “The Importance of Being Earnest”. Not too bad actually and we had dinner after in our friends’ house. Our hospitality debt is currently of almost unfeasible proportions.

Last Friday, we had a woman who used to mind the children when they were small around for tea. She was super-nice and always adored the children and they were very fond of her too. She was delighted to see the boys and they were saintly and talked to her for ages, particularly Michael who stayed for her full two and a half hour visit (Dan had training). Her health has not been great and I think she’s quite lonely. She looked amazingly well though. We had a long chat and one of the things she said was that her first language was Alsacienne (sp?) but none of the young people speak it now which is a shame. I am a big Francophile but I think their attitude to minority languages leaves a lot to be desired. Obviously Alsace is a very contested part of France and she talked a bit about her parents’ hair raising experiences during the second world war. And also her own hair raising experiences of trying to get a new flat in Dublin when her landlord sold up. She’s in housing for older people now and she has a nice small apartment and she can stay there indefinitely. She’s very pleased but as it only came through a fortnight before she had to vacate her previous accommodation, it took a lot out of her.

On Saturday night, the boys and I went to see Foil, Arms and Hog in Vicar Street. Honestly, they’re hilarious.

A couple of weeks ago, a guy I had gone out with in Rome in 1993 contacted me. We hadn’t totally lost contact after I left Rome and we’d been to each other’s weddings in 2000 and 2001 respectively but we basically hadn’t seen each other since. His youngest daughter was doing an English course in Dublin and he and his wife were visiting, could we meet up? I invited them to dinner on the bank holiday Sunday (I thought we might have a barbecue, pause for laughter). He sent me a photo of his family, I sent him a photo of mine. None of us have got any younger but we have produced 6 beautiful children between us.

Anyway on the Sunday they arrived. I nearly lost my life not only were the parents and the English learning child in Dublin there but also the other two children. We had enough food but it was touch and go and only my ludicrous over-buying saved us from disaster. On the plus side, all the children got on like a house on fire. Their eldest (20) who looks like a sporty cool dude was a complete nerd on the inside and he and Michael really bonded. Almost the first words out of his mouth when he came into the house were “You have Risk Game of Thrones”. Sadly, this is true. It’s so strange – but really nice – to see people again after such a long time and their children who you never knew existed. The parents work in Geneva and they seem to have three Swiss children even though she is Spanish and he’s Italian. The children’s Spanish and Italian is perfect as is their French, obviously, and I can tell you their English is pretty good too.

On Monday, exhausted from our day of hosting, the boys stayed home to swot for the Leaving Cert which (terrifyingly) is now next month (they were pretty impressed by the more relaxed system that appears to apply in Switzerland and the Swiss kids were equally horrified by the ides of everything hanging on one exam). Mr. Waffle and I went to Kilkenny for a day out. Mr. Waffle’s great grandfather was a fireman in Kilkenny (thank you 1911 census records) and we went and inspected his house which was a solid brick built construction. And we also visited Kilkenny Castle – finally value for my OPW family card – and did the tour. I was, yet again, so impressed by the quality of the OPW tour guides. One of the first inhabitants of the castle in the early 1200s was Isabel de Clare who said the guide, inherited a lot of her land from her grandfather who was a king. Could this be the daughter of Richard de Clare or Strongbow who basically started the 800 years of oppression? It could indeed and the guide threw in for free that Isabel and her mother Aoife are buried in Tintern Abbey in Wales which I am now keen to visit.

And my brother pitched up at our house on Monday with all his worldly belongings. He has got the ferry home from France and is on his way back to Cork but working from Dublin for the week. He likes to keep us all on our toes.

And how was your own bank holiday weekend?

Easter Round-Up

21 April, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

I came home from America on Wednesday morning, March 29 so I did not totally welcome that it was school quiz night on Thursday evening March 30. I will not miss being on the school parents’ council. However, it all passed off peacefully enough. Because Ireland is small, the son of my mother’s best friend from college has a child in our school. I was chatting to him on the night and we were exchanging reminiscences from our childhood. I recalled that his mother had mentioned to me that he always went to Cheltenham. “How did you get on?” I asked. “I’m not telling you because you’ll tell my mother,” said he. Badly, I surmise. That’s what she thought too when I told her.

Months ago, I booked the play “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” for myself, Mr. Waffle and the boys. It was on the Friday night (March 31) at the start of the school holidays. What could go wrong? Little did I think that the school would completely scupper us by scheduling Leaving Cert orals – German on Saturday, Irish orals for the Sunday and French orals for the Monday. “Leaving Cert Irish orals on Palm Sunday in a catholic school?!” said my sister. You betcha. Anyway, Daniel decided he was too busy/nervous to go to the play but Michael came with us and enjoyed it.

The orals were stressful and Daniel, who is really good felt that he did not totally do himself justice but I am sure he will be fine. Michael was happy enough. My dentist told me that his son got to re-schedule his orals because he was playing rugby for the Ireland U-19s. No such facility was offered for the theatre going public, I fear.

To celebrate the end of the orals and the proper start of their Easter holidays I offered to take the guys to the Dungeons and Dragons flick, Dan refused but Michael and I had a good time. It was funny, even if you knew absolutely nothing like me but, of course, Michael got lots more of the in-jokes.

Herself came home for the Easter holidays on Saturday April 1, having raided the second-hand shops in Sofia to good effect. Her friend’s mother in London washed the haul she and her friend acquired. Twice. Then she said, “Come into my laundry room and smell.” Apparently it still smelt of cigarettes. Alas.

Anyway it was nice to have her home. We saw lots of her. Mr. Waffle’s sister and family were over from London and we had everyone to Easter lunch at our house. It was lovely to see everyone. I think we all had a good time.

The youngest cousin brought bunny ears that she had got for Easter. We all got to try them. Big hit.

Herself turned 20 during her time at home (full post to follow eventually) and she and I went out to spend the voucher for afternoon tea in the Shelbourne that my brother had given me for my birthday. Really very pleasant.

We had a small birthday tea at home as well. I have some lessons to learn about large numbers of candles on cakes.

But we got there just in time.

Joe Biden came to visit and I had to travel through the city in the face of many warnings. I gambled and won as Joe and I had the city to ourselves all the other Dublin denizens having bailed out. I felt very much a part of the visit as helicopters hovered over my home making Dublin safe.

For our farewell dinner before herself went back to England, I booked an Ethiopian supper club. A set menu and a lot of eating with your hands. Latter was difficult but overall interesting. Something that looks a bit like a Breton pancake is the base layer of Ethiopian food and then various stews and dips are arranged on top. The Ethiopian national dish – the name of which eludes me – was the success of the evening.

The next day, we took herself to the airport to go back to England. She checked in on the drive to the airport. When we got there, the luggage machine told her that she was at the wrong airport. Further inspection revealed that instead of booking a Dublin to Gatwick flight she had in fact booked and checked into a Gatwick to Dublin flight. Miraculously a woman at the ticket desk was able to change her to a later flight that day to Gatwick for a change fee of €50 and no further cost. A triumph for Aer Lingus. We went off to Malahide for a breakfast celebration and then went home where her brothers were pretty surprised to see her back. She said that she had left home a couple of hours previously as a fully functioning adult but she had come back as a small child. In fairness, it was a most unlikely lapse. Her father went into work and I drove her out to the airport again. I felt like I spent the day on the road to the airport. And all for the purpose of sending away my beloved firstborn. Sigh. I hope your own Easter holidays were satisfactory.

New York

22 March, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Mr. Waffle, Travel

Sunday was Motherâ€™s Day and Mr. Waffleâ€™s birthday – a conjunction which neither of us particularly enjoyed. To compound matters we ended up going for a long cycle in the lashing rain (dull story which I will spare you). Not entirely recommended.

Last night Dan was at a GAA appeal. He was a witness to an on pitch incident. This was the appeal. While a long way short of the formality of actual court proceedings, it was pretty unnerving and intimidating for him and I felt for him. He did fine. But it was a long old evening for him with after school physics (you will recall our school has lost its physics teacher and he has to do physics classes over zoom once a week after school, hardly ideal) then straight to the hearing which was long and not home until 8.30. Ravenous, poor child.

And this morning, I am writing this live from Dublin airport where I am waiting to board a flight to New York. Very exciting! As always when I travel, I completely failed to charge my phone and am currently hogging a workstation at the airport. A full debrief will follow on my return from NY. I havenâ€™t been in America since 2007 and havenâ€™t been to New York since 1999. Hold on to your hats. Weather will be familiar if nothing else.

Random St Patrick’s Week Round Up

14 March, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

I have had a busy week. I was in Kildare Village during the week. I find this very difficult. It’s an out of town shopping centre in thrall to the car. A completely privatised space with the shopping area unrelated to Ireland and more American architecturally than anything else. It reminds me most of Disneyland Paris. You could be anywhere really. However, it is spotless and it has a Villeroy and Boch shop. And it is handy. I bought new luggage. And while I sneered, I also loved the pristine streets – there was a woman walking around with a dustpan and brush even though smoking is prohibited so less of a problem with the ubiquitous cigarette butts than on the public street – and the “public” toilets were spotless. I bought a jacket. Made in North Macedonia. Surprising.

I was amused by their choice of poetry in the flowerbeds. It just seemed an odd choice for somewhere so privatised and controlled. Kind of the opposite of woodland paths.

The play area had signs in a combination of languages I have not previously seen together.

Mr. Waffle was away during the week so the children and I had to struggle on alone. On seeing the table laid for dinner for three, Daniel commented, “It’s fewer all the time, someday it will just be for one, huh?”. Thank you Daniel. The fact that this thought had already occurred to me did not make his remarks any more welcome.

On Wednesday afternoon every socket in the house went. I consulted the internet, I rang Mr. Waffle abroad, I put a pathetic message out on the neighbourhood whatsapp group and I called three electricians to no avail. The fridge was gone, the heating was gone, the internet was gone. I was slightly despairing. Then I rang my sister who is handy. She suggested a number of solutions and we tried them all. Ultimately, we were able to get the downstairs sockets and the heating working. I have never been so grateful to her in my life. Then an electrician rang back and agreed to come the next day.

When the electrician arrived he discovered that the problem was the immersion. I didn’t even know the immersion switch existed (we have a boiler and I have poked at its control panel but I didn’t really know we had an immersion). “How long has this been on for?” the electrician asked sternly. I had to confess that since I had never known of its existence, possibly since we moved into the house 10 years ago. “Have you never heard of turning off the immersion?” he asked sternly. I have, of course I have, I just didn’t understand we had one. The immersion has a totemic importance in Irish lives and if you have no idea what I am talking about, I suggest that you watch this comedy routine through to the end to see what I mean. Now reflect on the fact that our immersion has been on for 10 years.

The electrician doesn’t even reckon we need it with the boiler. He left with the sockets restored, â‚¬140 and my conviction that he inadvertently took my phone charger as well (he denies same but where is it otherwise?). The savings we will make on our electricity bill, particularly in the current climate, will more than pay for a new charger, I suppose.

I have learnt all Duolingo has to teach me in Ukrainian, so I had a first lesson. Much work to be done.

I heard a funny story that tells you a bit about Ireland. Because of the way entry to our higher education system works, in the past, certainly, and possibly still today, many high achievers put both medicine and law on their application forms. The logic was that you didn’t want to let your “points” for university entrance go to waste. Medicine was always – and remains – the hardest course to get into and law was the next hardest (though I think this is now less true than it used to be). Although these are very different disciplines, I suppose they do have in common that they are the gateways to the traditional professions. Anyway, this story is about a woman who was managing partner in a big law firm and went home to the west of Ireland for a funeral. One of the elderly mourners met her and trying to place her asked, “Are you the girl who didnâ€™t get into medicine?” She was.

Herself is in Sofia. I am still scarred by my last time in Sofia but she was not deterred. She has confirmed that she is alive and it is snowing.

At mass this morning, the parish priest in his sermon said that after escaping from slavery in Ireland and before coming back to convert us all, St. Patrick went to Tours. Surprising. Apparently he was a first cousin of St Martin of Tours on his mother’s side (this is what the priest said). Can this be true? Having been to both Tours (you will recall herself spent some time there a number of years ago) and the St. Patrick museum in Downpatrick, I cannot say that I am familiar with this story. We live and learn.

My sister and her partner are coming to visit us this afternoon. I was beyond appalled to get this message from her.

Herself had expressed an interest in a small, uncomfortable (though not unattractive) sofa which used to belong to my parents. I thought confidently that it could stay in my sister’s house until herself was ready to take it into her own home (ten years? never? who knows?). I reckoned without my sister. It is on its way. I suppose it can go into the Princess’s bedroom which is already host to two armchairs and a gossip chair and is rapidly turning into a lumber room. Sigh.

In any event, a very happy St. Patrick’s Day to you.

54

9 March, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

I was in Cork during the week with my bike. God, it absolutely lashed, it also snowed and hailed. And it was uncharacteristically chilly. I had kind of forgotten the intensity of Cork rain, cosseted as I am in Dublin where it never rains much. My rain gear which is fine in Dublin proved inadequate for Cork. I was out and about a bit so it was put under some strain. Inter alia, I went to see Reggie in the Everyman – funny in places but pretty site specific as they say, can’t see it travelling outside Cork – Reggie was in Elec Eng the year ahead of me in college and I’d say that he has more lucrative ways to make a buck so he must really love it. He was a brilliant debater in college and the best bits of the show are when he interacts with the audience, he’s very fast on his feet. Something about his accent and some of his expressions really remind me of the Cork of my youth and my parents’ friends so I have a bit of a soft spot for him.

The purpose of my visit was to keep an eye on my aunt as my sister was away. To be honest she seemed pretty well minded without me and I was quite impressed by the trail of people in and out every day which my sister masterminds from her fastness next door. Still, my aunt was very glad to see me which was pleasing.

I found a box of my mother’s old papers from before she was married. There were loads of old letters and her diary from the year she spent in England. I had a quick look through it pending a more thorough perusal in due course and many days are marked in capital letters NO POST. My poor mother. That said, the box is full of letters sent to her in England so there must have been some post.

I came back on the train on Thursday. My rain gear completely gave up the ghost on the cycle to the station. My boots (still drying as I type) were super saturated as were my socks. My rain jacket and trousers leaked at cuffs, joints and hems soaking through all the layers I was wearing. I was, foolishly, not wearing waterproof gloves but my nice Paula Rowan ones that Mr. Waffle bought me one Christmas. I literally had to wring them out in the station. They will never be the same again. I was frozen and damp on the train home. Sigh. Don’t give me this “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing” guff.

I derived mild pleasure from sending my brother this picture from the train showing snow in Tipperary as he is in Morzine next week and rain is forecast. Rain!

I arrived home safely in time for my birthday celebrations. Mr. Waffle had made superhuman efforts as had all of the children. I got messages from all and sundry (why would you keep your birthday a secret? why?) and lovely flowers from a former colleague as well as great presents from Mr. Waffle, the children and my siblings. A triumph overall.

Sadly Mr. Waffle was up to his tonsils at work and couldn’t take the day off. It was snowy but bright and sunny (Dublin weather) so I went to the park and took some pictures for myself. Sadly, I also got a puncture but into every birthday some rain must fall (though not, generally, in Dublin).

We were invited to dinner at my oldest friend’s house. I have known her since I was born (our parents were friends). On the way over to her house I explained to Mr. Waffle how this was an important time as until April 20 (her birthday) we were the same age and she could no longer tell me what to do. Mr. Waffle said, “I think that was understandable when you were children but it’s a bit weird that you are still talking about it now.” I was extremely pleased that her birthday card adverted to this very fact.

I must say being 54 is not at all as I anticipated when I was 24. I am beginning to realise that everyone is still 24 on the inside.

Up, Up and Away

6 March, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Travel

Mr. Waffle and I were in Northern Ireland for the weekend and we had an excellent time. I had already drafted an exciting post on this which wordpress in its wisdom made disappear completely. If my tone is less effusive than you might expect then attribute it to this very annoying technical glitch. On the other hand there was someone (Evelyn Waugh? Henry James?) who used to improve his writing by tearing up his first draft and throwing it in the bin and then re-writing from scratch. I suppose I can only be grateful to wordpress for giving me the opportunity to test this myself. However, if the post turns up again (as they sometimes do – technology, a mystery), I will be incandescent.

Friday, March 3

We left after lunch leaving the guys home alone for the first time ever. You might say that they are 17 but we felt quite daring. As we were leaving, Dan was going into town to meet a friend and Michael was disporting himself home alone. The journey up was quite short and uneventful. We stopped for a cup of tea in Hillsborough which was about 15 minutes from our destination. There continues to be a significant dearth of nice places to get a cup of tea at 4 in the afternoon, North and South. Sadly, Hillsborough is no exception to this general rule though a pretty little spot. I always find it slightly strange to see school children in Northern Ireland. Whereas school uniforms in the South are now mostly slightly vile nylon tracksuity things, the school blazer is very much alive and well in the North and in Hillsborough I saw boys in short pants which, honestly, I thought had disappeared in the 60s.

The place we were staying – which I would truly recommend – was delightful. It’s a bit in the middle of nowhere but everywhere is pretty close in Northern Ireland, so I wouldn’t let that put you off. It’s a country house and the owner does the cooking himself. The food was really superb and the place was lovely. We had booked in for two dinners which I had had some reservations about but I needn’t have worried. Breakfast was amazing also. The place was full of Dubliners cackling with glee at the great value they had unearthed. It compares extremely favourably with the South and, honestly, the food was as good as I’ve had anywhere.

Dinner was not, however, the unmitigated delight we had expected. Michael was home alone at 9, no sign of Dan and Michael was waiting for him to order pizza. I immediately began to picture him dead on the roads (default mode) but honestly he had met his friend at 2, why wasn’t he home by 9? In fact, he had been home and gone out again. I had completely forgotten that he had GAA training later and that was where he was. Everyone was a bit grumpy on the home front.

Saturday, March 4

We were up with the lark. After a very hefty and delicious breakfast, we took ourselves to Carrickfergus where we inspected the impressive Norman castle. It’s, I think, the best preserved Norman castle in Ireland and has a dramatic setting right on the sea.

We went for the guided tour. It was not great, I honestly didn’t know a lot more about the history of the castle after than before. There was a bit of generic stuff about how people lived in a castle in the middle ages but nothing more really. I am not one to praise the OPW (which inter alia manages national monuments in the South) unneccesarily, however, their guides are truly excellent. There seems to be a culture of local experts taking on the roles as seasonal jobs and they know the history of the monuments inside out and you always get the sense when you ask them a question that in giving the tour you are only skimming the surface of their detailed knowledge. This is not the case for Carrickfergus. It would probably have been grand for a school group or if there were kids on the tour, in fairness. But as the only people on the tour were four grown-up southerners standing freezing in the keep, I thought it wasn’t optimal.

Mr. Waffle has a colleague who is married to someone from Carrickfergus and he asked him for lunch tips but the bleak reply came back, “There is nowhere.” Slightly disheartening.

We pushed on to the Gobbins cliff walk which I booked ages ago. I don’t want to diss the Gobbins but it is a bit “health and safety gone mad”. It is a walk along the cliffs which you might easily do unaccompanied in about an hour. We were fitted with helmets, told not to bring rucksacks, only allowed to go out in walking boots and ushered very slowly along the walk. In fairness the guide was good and there was one exciting tunnel but it felt like complete overkill. It was designed by a railway engineer in 1902 as a tourist attraction and the shop is full of pictures of Edwardian ladies in long skirts trotting happily along the path (not wearing hiking shoes or helmets – although I think the helmets are to deal with frequent rock falls so, maybe a good idea). I had thought it was bolted on to the cliffs and there are bits where that is the case but mostly it’s just along the side of the cliffs. I mean absolutely fine but did it need 3 hours? That’s a firm no. In fairness, the slightly dawdling pace might have been better if it had been a bit less chilly.

I suggested that we stop in Carrickfergus on the way back so that I could buy socks (packing catastrophe). We drove into the centre of town but everything seemed to be closed at 4.40 on a Saturday which seemed extraordinary. We parked back in the harbour and began explorations on foot. There was an absolutely enormous Tesco but I have rarely met an approach quite so pedestrian hostile. I was genuinely unnerved by the murals on the way. I have spent quite a bit of time in Northern Ireland but I have never before felt nervous or unwelcome but I could not in all conscience recommend Carrickfergus which is a real shame. The castle is superb and the town itself could be lovely – some great buildings, a pedestrianised centre and only 10 miles from Belfast but the atmosphere is very unnerving. I must say the planning genius who put the main road between the town and the sea front didn’t help matters either. We pushed on back to lovely Moira which is definitely where we should have gone to buy socks. When we told our hosts about our trip, they all said variants of “Carrickfergus, Carrickfergus, you idiot Southerners, thank God you made it out alive.” It was more coded than that, “Oh Carrickfergus, that is a very…strange place.”

Anyway, dinner was again, a triumph but also yet again, slightly plagued by difficulties on the domestic front.

You will be pleased to hear that the house did not go up in flames though the soft fwump from inside the Aga gave everyone pause.

Sunday, March 5

Another superb breakfast and we waddled to the car and headed home. We stopped off in Strandfield outside Carlingford for lunch on the way home (recommended). I bought yet more flowers to supplement my very inadequate home grown spring flower showing. I said to Mr. Waffle, “I think I know what I would do differently next time we go up North”. “Well, we’d better get a move on to sort it out before it’s too late, we’re already so old that we are spending our Sunday afternoons in the garden centre,” he said gloomily. My garden centre attendance was definitely taken out of context but yet.

For your information, here is our “before” pots picture:

And now look!

I trust your own weekend was satisfactory.

Updated to add: filled with rage as former draft of this post has reappeared in my drafts looking like butter wouldnâ€™t melt in its mouth. If youâ€™re curious, yes, this version is better.