Mr. Waffle

Late June/Early July Round Up – Bringing you Right Up to Date – Thrills

6 July, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

Friday, June 28, 2024

I was travelling to Cork for the the weekend and began receiving increasingly apocalyptic messages from the train people about how busy it was going to be. There were matches on, and festivals and concerts. As Mr. Waffle put it, “Overcrowding Taylor’s Version”. Honestly possibly followed by “I’m the problem it’s me”. It turns out everyone in the country is a Taylor Swift fan. Anyway, the trains were grand, you will be relieved to hear.

Saturday, June 29, 2024

The reason for my trip to Cork was to visit an old school friend. She has moved to the US and has an American husband and four American children but she bought a house in Kinsale years ago and they come to Ireland for a fortnight every summer. Genius.

I took the bus from Cork to Kinsale to see her. I haven’t been on the bus to Kinsale in years. The last time I took the bus, it was ancient, drafty, irregular and the journey took about an hour. Well, well, well things have changed I can tell you. It was a private operator (yeah, I know, they hoover up the profitable routes etc.) and the bus was convenient, punctual, clean, comfortable and speedy. It only took 25 minutes to get to Kinsale which is faster than I would do it in the car. God I was delighted.

My friend met me in the car park in town. She and her husband had had terrible food poisoning during the week and they were both still feeling a little delicate but definitely on the mend. She and I went out for a walk to the Bulman – a classic adventure – and had lunch. She couldn’t face the mussels – and who could blame her? – but I can confirm that they were very satisfactory.

Then we went back to her house so that I could inspect her children. They get bigger all the time don’t they? Her eldest son has just finished first year in college and her only daughter is starting in the autumn. All three boys still look more of less the same but her daughter has really grown up. She is a very pretty young woman and she made me feel about 102 through no fault of her own; it’s just I remember her aged 3.

While I was there, this super yacht passed by and apparently it belongs to some very rich American family who spent €80 million on it. My friends tell me the super rich Americans have bought the lovely house where my great uncle and aunt lived in the ’50s. I can tell you, the more I hear about this house, the greater my regret that my great aunt decided to sell it and move back to the city after my great uncle died. Oh well. I’m not super rich, but I’m happy.

My friend and I went back into town, explored the shops and had a cup of tea. The rain had held off for our walk in the morning but it made up for it in the afternoon. Still all grand; Kinsale is well supplied with shops worth exploring.

I was really glad I made the trip; my friend has made such an effort to stay in contact with her Irish friends and family and I am always impressed by her dedication. We met in New York last year when I was having my delightful break from work. Possibly there will be more of this kind of thing in our future.

I was staying in my brother’s house as my sister had visitors (she is in my parents’ house and my brother is in my aunt’s house which is next door, I am not sure how any of us feels about this) but I dropped in to see her in the evening. All very pleasant.

My brother had gone up to Dublin that afternoon (it’s like Lannigan’s Ball) so I had the house to myself for the evening.

Sunday, June 30, 2024

While I still bitterly lament the demise of the Crawford Gallery cafe (they have a new tenant, not at all as good), I am becoming very fond of the Good Day Deli which has an strong rus in urbe vibe and very good food.

After a quick breakfast and a farewell to my sister, I hightailed it back to Dublin. Not though before my sister had shown me a big picture of my mother and two of her classmates on the front page of the Irish Times. I can only speculate that the sight of a woman getting a master’s in science snagged the editor’s interest in the 1950s. I would say that was probably the last time a UCC conferring has featured on the front page of the Irish Times as they don’t like to include content from beyond the Pale, if at all possible. I have to say, not a great photo of my mother but there you are, exciting all the same.

Also, at the opposite end of the academic journey, my sister had found my father’s progression card from kindergarten to first grade. Goodness, gracious me, that card has had quite the journey.

Monday, July 1, 2024

Mr. Waffle and I went to see “Inside out”. It’s the kind of film that’s better if you have a young child to hand who can be persuaded to go with you. We did not.

Tuesday, July 2, 2024

Herself returned home. Let joy be unconfined etc. It is nice to have all five of us together.

Friday, July 5, 2024

I worked from home and so was in a position to see two of my three children go out for a morning run around the park. Michael a boy after my own heart, stayed in bed (he was up all night talking to his friends and following the UK general election). Where will it all end?

The Princess, Daniel and I went out for lunch together locally (Mr. Waffle was at a conference and Michael has no interest in food – how can he be my child?) and very pleasant it was too.

We spent the evening with all five of us hunched over the dining room table booking our summer holiday. Not everyone is available at the same time. The logistical challenge has left us all in an enfeebled state.

Saturday, July 6, 2024

I went to the Women Impressionists exhibition in the National Gallery. It was fine and I might go back and have another look but I was not overwhelmed. It had only four women impressionists – are there more? Don’t look at me. Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassat and Eva Gonzalès I had heard of but Marie Bracquemond was new to me. I am scheduled to go to a lecture on the exhibition next week and perhaps I will be in a better position to appreciate it thereafter. It’s one thrill after another here, right?

Mid June Round Up

30 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday, 14 June, 2024

Our next door neighbour turned 60 – honestly looks absolutely amazing, an inspiration to us all -and invited us to a party in Donegal where her mother was from. We decided to proceed slowly (it’s a long way from Dublin) and set off Friday evening after work. We stayed in Monaghan at Castle Leslie about which I have heard plenty. The Castle was full for a wedding so we stayed in the lodge. I guess I must have been through Monaghan before but I’ve never stayed there. It feels very northern (though in the Republic). Castle Leslie is only 20kms from Armagh and it was obviously cut off from it’s natural hinterland by the Border. There used to be a train line but it was shut down, in the 20s I think, following partition. Odd spot.

The lodge was quite pleasant in a Victorian gothic kind of way (it reminded me a bit of UCC) but the rooms, though nice were a bit bland – an interior designer’s country house. But fine and the food was good at breakfast and reasonable at dinner.

We went for a walk up to view the castle. Holy mother of God, it is so ugly. Scottish baronial (not a style I am partial to, I must confess) but an insult to that name. It is the ancestor of a million McMansions. I regret to say that I have no photos but doubtless the website will give you an idea. The older church in the grounds is a much nicer building.

I was a bit confused by the Protestant church, as the guide to the peerage in the main house had the young Leslies attending Downshire and Ampleforth (Catholic boarding schools in England), but apparently one of the baronets married an American (sister to Winston Churchill’s mother) and her son either converted or was always Catholic. Apparently he was a big supporter of independence and while his father (a staunch unionist) was parading the Ulster volunteers at the front of the house, he was sneaking out the back to join the rebels. I think it is to the staunch unionist, or possibly his father, that we owe the insult to Scottish baronial style as the architect (I looked him up) seems otherwise to have produced inoffensive enough buildings albeit in the heavy style of the time. I can imagine him getting directions. There is a loggia round the back. Honestly, not awful but not consistent with the style elsewhere. Inside there is a portrait gallery filled with, I’m sorry, terrible paintings by this 19th century baronet. There are also frescoes, the less said of these the better.

However, overall, it’s actually grand inside with lovely views and the interior is much less bland than the lodge.

I wouldn’t mind staying in the main house some time, if it didn’t beggar us.

The grounds are massive and lovely to stroll around provided you keep your back to the castle (“where every prospect pleases and only man is vile” or words to that effect as someone or other said).

In the car on the way up there, I was congratulating myself on currently having no injuries. Hubris. Alas, I gave my toe an almighty wallop on a hidden step in the very fancy bathroom attached to our room and was convinced I had broken it. However, it was fine in a couple of days so possibly I exaggerated the pain.

Saturday, June 15, 2024

It has been a long held ambition of mine to visit the Ulster American folk park. My children will tell you that I love a folk park. Mr. Waffle said to me, “When will we be this close again?” so rather than go immediately to Donegal as we had originally intended we stopped off. Well, what a treat for folk park lovers. Firstly, it’s pretty empty and secondly, it’s excellent. It’s built around the old Mellon homestead. When Mr. Mellon went to America he became one half of Carnegie Mellon and his descendants bought the house and provided seed funding for the park and possibly still provide money for all I know. My friend from Belfast remembers it opening in 1976 and he says it was such a grim time in the North, its opening was a positively thrilling event. I was thrilled, I can tell you.

There is a slightly dull exhibition which tells you about the lives of three emigrants whose houses you will see in the park; one is, no surprises, young Mellon; another is a Catholic young man whose mother wanted him to be a priest and who ended up as bishop of New York (dream big young man) and is buried under the altar of the cathedral there; and the third is a relatively rich man who went trapping and ended up with a house in the American South (where you ask? You might well ask but I have forgotten. Alas.)

We pushed fairly quickly through this and started in the park proper. You start off in Ulster. They’ve moved buildings into the park from other parts of the North which was something I thought only Americans did. They had people dressed up in old fashioned clothes to tell you about the history of the houses. They also have turf fires going in the houses (very bad for the bogs, I know, but so pleasant) and somehow the smoke coming up from the chimneys made it all seem so authentic (though the spotless nature of everything slightly detracted from that, surely, even in Ulster, labourers’ cottages were never so clean and tidy?). God, I was delighted. When people ask whether I would prefer to have the power to fly or be invisible (more frequent than you might think), I always pick invisible as I just want to see into other people’s houses, so the visit to the park is basically a superhero adventure.

Then having seen old Ulster, you’re brought to a town to get on a ship to the new world. The town is fantastic: shops and pubs brought from all over the place. We were chatting to the man in the draper’s and he told us that it originally came from Derry. This was my favourite part.

I was amused to see this sign which the authorities have obviously not yet removed in their post-Brexit cull.

Then you go into a big shed and you’re on the quays with a ship awaiting your departure and a ticket office on the quayside.

You get on the ship, you come out the far side and, hey presto, you’re in the new world. I thought it was really cleverly done.

Once you clear the town, you’re into all sorts of American homesteads many of them (possibly all of them) brought from America. How extraordinary. One of the guides said that the house brought from Tennessee ran into some difficulties as it was set up in a bog in Northern Ireland but they seem to have addressed this.

After our successful tour of Ulster and the US, we pushed on to Donegal. Although it was alternately overcast and lashing rain in the Ulster American folk park, the sun was splitting the stones in Donegal and we had the most beautiful drive into Falcarragh.

Our hosts had laid on all kinds of trips during the day – a walk up Mount Errigal, a boat ride to Inishbofin – but none of these things would be much fun in the rain. How great was my FOMO when I discovered that the weather had been beautiful all day on the Donegal coast? Very great, I have to tell you. Many of our neighbours were there and if another one told me about the amazing swim they had on Inishbofin, I was not going to be responsible for my actions. You can’t have it all, I suppose.

The party was great, however, with music and dancing and food and cake. I took these, not great, photos from the balcony of the hotel at 22.33 and 00.38. What a glorious day.

Overall, a good day. It was my mother’s anniversary – she died five years ago and I think she would have been delighted to think of me having such an enjoyable day.

Sunday, June 16, 2024

We checked out in the morning and heard the hotel staff speaking fluent Irish to each other; it was so nice to hear Irish being used in that way. Utterly incomprehensible, mind you. Mr. Waffle chatted away as Gaeilge but I could only watch and admire.

We went for a walk on the beach and a bite of lunch before heading back to Dublin. Honestly the weather was much more what I expect from Donegal in June.

The house was empty when we got home which was a bit weird. The guys were in Cork for the weekend helping their aunt empty out the attic before the roofers came. Augean stables spring to mind.

Monday, 17 June 2024

I was up with the lark to get the ferry to Wales.

Then I drove to Oxford – about four and a half hours solid – went into town and helped herself pack up her things. I thought she might be sad about saying goodbye but she was quite cheerful. When we had finished the epic packing task we went out for dinner with her young man. I retired to my bed exhausted about 10.

Tuesday, 18 June 2024

I insisted on us setting off at the crack of dawn as I am always worried something terrible will happen near Birmingham and I am terrified by the prospect of having to overnight in Holyhead due to having missed the ferry.

We had breakfast in Oxford and set off before 10 (ok, technically, possibly not the crack of dawn). Despite the best of intentions to travel along the M6 (tolled) motorway, we failed to find it. The main M6 is exhaustingly busy in my view. Nevertheless, as herself confidently predicted we made good time so I was merciful and we stopped in Conwy (which I find a charming town though a little down on its luck) for lunch.

We made the ferry no problem and were safely home by 7.30 or so. Still and all I was extremely grateful to all the gods that I did not after all have to travel for work the next day.

Herself came home with me but then promptly left two days later to fly to France for a post-college holiday (isn’t it well for them etc.). She will be restored to us on Tuesday, I am pleased to report.

Travel and Culture

3 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Travel

Mr. Waffle went to La Rochelle on a work soccer trip. I begged him not to have a heart attack; he did not and a good time was had by all etc.

Daniel went on a post-exam trip to Sardinia with his fellow students. Hats off to the Airbnb owner who thought it was a good idea to have 14 students in his villa. It took them 45 minutes to walk from the villa to the beach and an hour to walk to the nearest shop. They were car free by necessity. Notwithstanding these significant difficulties, a good time was, almost miraculously, had by all.

At home, rather more prosaically, I went to the RHA annual exhibition. Not too bad. My favourite rotating exhibit is below.

But I liked quite a number of things. It compared favourably with the TUD graduate show (as it ought, I suppose) which I did not hugely enjoy. In previous years there were more paintings, I love a painting. Though I did enjoy talking to the young game designers who, very patiently, talked me through their video games. And I liked the large lego characters so it wasn’t a complete washout.

I also liked the view.

I was at the Hugh Lane gallery recently (where a lot of stuff is in storage as they are about to do a job on the roof) where you can have the impressionists pretty much to yourself which is enjoyable. Hugh Lane who led the campaign for the gallery of modern art – and donated many of its pictures – had a great eye. He loved Mancini though who has not really stood the test of time – I don’t mind him but he’s not exactly a name to conjure with. Lane’s own portrait by Mancini is slightly (presumably unintentionally) hilarious.

I went to hear Olivia Laing talk about her work in a tent (Dublin Literary Festival). The Princess gave me one of Olivia Laing’s books for Christmas and I have not yet read it: on the strength of the talk, I will throw myself into it in due course. I read an interview with Olivia Laing where she said that her mother always says to her “Why don’t you ever tell Irish people that your mother is Irish?” I was quite disappointed that she didn’t follow that advice as we would have loved that in the tent.

I went to a talk in the library about servants in the big house. More interesting than I expected. More Irish people rising up the ranks than I expected; I thought all of the upper servants were imported from England but apparently not. Another day, I tried to go to a consultation in the library but when I got there it was closed and I was directed to another branch. I was filled with rage and fired off an indignant email. Oh God. It wasn’t too bad but I probably would have worded it differently if I knew there had been a death in the service.

Mr. Waffle and I went to the Maritime museum in Dun Laoghaire on a rainy Sunday. It is very much a rainy Sunday activity. However, you see below the highlight, a rotating lighthouse light taken from a real lighthouse (in Howth across the bay) when it was decommissioned. It sits on 14 litres of mercury which feels like a disaster waiting to happen but so far so good.

As part of our going commitment to the art of film, Mr. Waffle and I went to “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga”. A terrible mistake. Some people liked it, I gather. We were not among their number.

Mr. Waffle and I went back to Altamont House. Still lovely. The house is closed but I am now solidly of an age to enjoy gardens. I recommend.

For reasons I won’t bore you with ( you thought there was no editorial function? Think again) Mr. Waffle and I went in to Halford’s in Carlow town to buy a bike rack on the way back. Staff were very pleasant but had no knowledge of bike racks. I really am afraid that disaster will befall me in England as I try to bring home the Princess’s college bike.

My friend had free tickets for Bloom (a garden festival in the Phoenix Park) and asked me whether I would like to go. I had been once before and not enjoyed it much but going with a friend just made it a much better adventure. Had a great time.

Gutted that I have to go back to work tomorrow after the bank holiday weekend. It seems so wrong.

Last, but by no means least, our local film maker is making another documentary which meant that he could not chair the residents’ committee AGM so Mr. Waffle was, slightly to his chagrin, in the chair. The film maker was filming it as part of his film – who is going to buy this documentary we ask ourselves? However, I guess he knows what he’s at as he’s had loads of things in the cinema and on the TV so this could be Mr. Waffle’s ticket to fame. Mr. Waffle is unconvinced.

A Weekend Away

1 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

In early May we went to London. I feel, in a very tempting fate way, that we have mastered our formula for London visits.

Friday 10 May

We flew out of Dublin about midday (very civilised) and were in our hotel in Soho by about 3. I love the Elizabeth line, the existence of which was brought to our attention by the London relatives. It is a short five minute walk from our hotel (Hazlitt’s where I have now decided that we will stay every time we go to London or until we can no longer afford it).

We went for a wander around the city and, as a special treat to Mr. Waffle, went to the London Transport museum. They had this enormously annoying wheeze where you pay for admission and then you can go “anytime you like” for the next 12 months. I mean, this is not great for a visitor. £25 each to get in but more interesting than you might think. But still.

After that heady excitement, we met Mr. Waffle’s sister and her husband for dinner in this old fashioned but charming restaurant called Rules. Apparently, it’s where Edward VII and Lillie Langtry hung out. And, ideally, also very close to our hotel.

We missed the aurora borealis though. A neighbour posted a picture to the group chat.

Saturday, 11 May

I was slightly worried about Michael being home alone. Daniel was off to the darkness into light walk in the Phoenix Park (a 3.30 am start) and then straight on to Donegal for a weekend away with friends. Spoiler alert: Michael was unphased and quite enjoyed being home alone, I mean, really, don’t we all?

After a sustaining breakfast, Mr. Waffle and I took ourselves to the Sargent exhibition in the Tate Britain which was the (ostensible) reason for our trip. I really loved it and would have recommended it to you except that I think it may now be over.

While we were there we had a more general look around which I really enjoyed but Mr. Waffle was wilting slightly.

We texted Mr. Waffle’s sister for advice on where to go next and she suggested that we get the boat to the Oxo Tower. Boat services are a bit irregular on a Saturday but we were leading a charmed life and one just pulled up shortly after we arrived. It was a lovely trip and I found myself reflecting how much more alive the Thames feels than the Liffey – more like a real artery.

We then strolled along the South Bank in the glorious weather – not too hot, not too cold – and went up to the top of the Oxo Tower where we had slightly overpriced cold meat but never mind the width, feel the quality. What a view. We got to sit outside and look out over the river. I don’t have a good photo of that but I do have this from round the back.

Then, feeling extremely daring, we took the bus back to Soho. You know how unnerving it is to try to take buses as a tourist. Anyhow success attended our efforts and I got to sit upstairs which is delightful anywhere.

We recovered for a bit before going out for dinner in the opera house in Covent Garden. This is another of my sister-in-law’s top tips. Great food -loads of restaurants – and a beautiful view.

Sunday May 12

We got up and had breakfast out; Soho abounds in breakfast opportunities. Then we went to mass at 11. Check out from the hotel was at 12 but what mass would last more than 45 minutes? And does St. Patrick’s in Soho (a five minute walk from our hotel) strike you as the kind of place where they would have a long mass? Well, it turns out – as my ultra Catholic friend told me – that it is well known in traditional Catholic circles; that, my friends, means a long mass. The church was beautifully restored, the congregation were very young, multinational and chic and I felt quite elderly (whereas in Dublin I’m generally the youngest person in the church). There were two charming young women giving out hymn books at the door. Mercifully Ascenscion Thursday is celebrated on the day in England (in Ireland it moves to the following Sunday) so it was not a special mass. Nonetheless, everything that could be sung, was sung, we had a good, but long (quelle surprise), sermon, and it was hard to get out of the church without shaking the priest’s hand which led to a press of people like at a wedding when everyone is congratulating the bride and groom. Mr. Waffle slunk out at 12 (before communion) to check us out of the hotel. I stayed to the bitter end which was after 12.30. Even my ultra Catholic friend said, “How did they make a normal mass last 90 minutes?”, he also said, “You always get the best masses.” Depends on your criteria, I guess. Needless to say, the priest said mass with his back to the congregation and sprinkled water on us and made free with the incense. I lit a candle for herself who was beginning her exams, I can only hope that it is a particularly effective candle. A highlight of the service for me was when an elderly, slightly odd soul in a mechanised wheelchair to which were attached many plastic bags, came zooming up the aisle and had to be chased by one of the nice young women and stopped from reaching the altar.

Happily the hotel seemed unconcerned by our late check out and we left our luggage there and went to visit the Handel Hendrix house, yet another recommendation from my sister-in-law and it does what it says on the tin: it’s where both Handel and Jimi Hendrix lived when they were in London. Fun and nearby. What’s not to love? Though I inadvertently took away their bracelet to open the lockers and Mr. Waffle ran back with it through the toasty streets of London while I waited by the window of the Liberty shop. Look, I had a blister.

Then we took ourselves off to the airport where we had a bite to eat in the Perfectionist restaurant (really pretty good). I enquired of Michael how things were at home.

Him: I’m fine. Studying John Stuart Mill.

Me: Enjoy JSM.

Him:He’s absolutely tearing up the idea of first past the post and advocating for (what we now know of as) the dutch model of all country STV, it’s very enjoyable.

I am pleased that he has chosen to study something which fills his heart with joy.

Bank Holiday Round Up

7 May, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc.

I had a bank holiday filled with domestic admin and I now feel filled with virtue but I can’t say that it was my best weekend ever.

We made some effort to tidy the garden (to be honest largely unavailing) in advance of Mr. Waffle’s mother’s cousin coming to fill us in on family history. As befits an engineer, he had a tabbed lever arch file to go through with us. Interesting, in fairness, but a lot of information.

May always reminds me of Marian processions when I was in school as a child and all the Marian hymns which I love. I was not let down at Sunday mass when our (pretty conservative musically) former elderly choir mistress got up at the end of mass and told us all to sing along to “Bring Flowers of the Fairest”. Satisfactory.

In general I believe that May is Ireland’s loveliest month but that has been a challenge to believe so far this year. There has been a surprising amount of rain.

Daniel who finished his end of year exams last week has been out non-stop (sample text received at 5.50 am -“Staying at M’s house, won’t be home” – some of this think that if you’re not in by ten to six, you’re already not home for the night) living his best life undeterred by the rain. He thinks that his exams went ok bar one. We remain optimistic. He said that although the exams may be harder, the stress is far less than the Leaving Cert. This does not reflect well on the Leaving Cert, I feel. God knows, I don’t begrudge him his fun, he has worked like a dog all year.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see “The Fall Guy” on Sunday night. Despite poor reviews (the Irish Times, for example, called it a “tragically unfunny spittoon of bad ideas”), I enjoyed it. I used to love the series with Lee Majors when I was a child (remember, people, we just had one channel and we took what we got and liked it) and mortified Mr. Waffle by singing along to the theme tune when it was played at the end of the film. A win.

On Monday we cycled in the park in the rain (maybe not the outing I was hoping for), I took both boys for driving practice and we spent hours trying to figure out the logistics of our summer holiday and who will be coming and who won’t (herself may have an internship, Daniel may have resits). Preliminary work has been completed. I also booked a ferry to pick up herself in England at the end of term; a hotel for a 60th (I know) we are attending in Donegal; and a flight to go on a weekend away organised for the end of the Princess’s exams (if you were not keeping up, her finals are this year). You think this leisure activity organises itself? #mymiddleclasshell

I now find myself home alone on a Tuesday night because Daniel is out again; Michael is at the cinema (though exams start Thursday, is this wise we ask ourselves?) and Mr. Waffle is off at football. Is this the future? I have to say it has its positives but something will have to give on dinner arrangements.

And how was your own bank holiday weekend?

A Full Programme of Activities

21 April, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Hodge, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc.

I haven’t been on since before Easter. I am sure that levels of concern were high but, fear not, I am back with a detailed and fascinating report.

Holy Saturday, March 30

Herself was back from England for Easter. She pointed out that next door’s daughter was not back from Scotland and that I should rejoice. Herself has got her finals at the start of May and this is making her tense. We did watch “Irish Wish” together during the week which is an insult to the people of Ireland but great fun for spotting the locations, all of which we knew, and mocking the premise. Thrillingly, one of my brother-in-law’s rich friends who has retired and yet is full of energy (he climbed Everest for example) is one of the extras. A very rewarding view. And I cannot recommend highly enough this review of it by Patrick Freyne which is the funniest thing I have read in some time.

We went into town and bought a present for her American friends. She had wrangled money from college to fly to America and meet the subject of her dissertation. Not too shabby. A friend was kindly putting her up in New York as the grant money was not infinite.

We went to Easter mass that evening. I love when the church is in darkness and the congregation are all given candles to light. However, it was an hour and 40 minutes. What are we? Orthodox? As one of the kids said: You know you’re in trouble when they’re on the 7th reading and the next thing is the opening prayer.

Easter Sunday, March 31

We had Mr. Waffle’s siblings and families around for lunch. He cooked. It went pretty well I think and it was great to see everyone. Almost relaxing as Mr. Waffle cooked. I am sorry I forgot to take a picture of our table set for 12 as I was able to deploy a great deal (though by no means all) of my mother’s good ware of which I have now taken ownership. I am putting it in the dishwasher willy-nilly. So far so good.

Monday, 1 April

My sister-in-law was keen that we should all do a walk in Glendalough which her mother’s walking group had said that her mother really enjoyed. We all went except my poor nephew who is doing the Leaving Cert and felt he needed to study. His surprise replacement was his extremely sprightly 85 year old grandfather who had flown in that morning from Palermo (he’s Sicilian). As he trotted up the reasonably steep path beside me, I asked what time he had got up at to catch the flight. He would have had to get up at 4 had he not already risen at midnight to watch some Italian win a tennis match in America or possibly Australia. He tells me he’s writing a book about Irish saints and holy people featuring, inter alia, Blessed Thaddeus McCarthy (a Cork gentleman about whom I know very little) and he will send me the pages to review. He is indefatigable. Both he and my 6 year old niece (the youngest of the party) completed the – slightly curtailed for the capacity of the group – walk without any difficulty. My brother-in-law had got directions from my mother-in-law’s friend and while he was slightly scathing about the “turn right at the big tree” nature of the directions, they turned out to be quite effective.

The weather was a bit drizzly (certainly nothing like the 30 degree weather they had been enjoying in Palermo) but it held off. Given that the walk was short (4-5kms), the views were pretty good.

We all thought fond thoughts about my lovely mother-in-law who enjoyed the walk so much. And it only started to absolutely pour rain as we arrived in the pub for lunch. A definite win.

Saturday April 6

Nothing else happened during the week except that a friend of Michael’s said he would like one of the typewriters I have been collecting from Cork.

Look, in the end, I gave it away but kept all my exercises from the typing course I did in the summer of 1987 when I learnt to touch type – honestly a great investment. To everyone’s relief, including possibly yours, I have just thrown out the sample typed up letters, articles and menus with the errors circled.

Having lost my waterproof trousers during the week – I must have put them down somewhere in their handy bag – I decided it was time to invest in new waterproof gear. I had heard much about “Rains” gear so I invested a spectacular amount. I can attest that it is, so far, waterproof (my old gear let in water at the elbows and knees) but I do not accept that it is fashionable. On the basis that waterproof gear just isn’t.

Sticking to my new year’s resolution, Mr. Waffle and I went to the cinema. We saw “Io Capitano” which is a fictionalised account of two 16 year old boys making their way from Dakar to Sicily as illegal migrants. It is harrowing though I must say beautifully shot and acted. It does not make you feel good about being a European.

Sunday 7 April

I feel very well equipped to write a book called something like “Gentle excursions for the middle aged about an hour’s drive from Dublin”. Mr. Waffle and I made what could be called a research trip.

The paper on Saturday had a list of under-appreciated beauty spots. The article said words to the effect of “Yeah, Glendalough is terrific but it’s full of tourists – try Fore”. Having visited Fore, I would say that Glendalough is safe enough.

Not that Fore is bad. The article recommended that we begin our adventures in the local cafe which has information on Fore and its attractions. We told the lady in the cafe we had come to her on a recommendation from the Irish Times and she was touchingly delighted. Mr. Waffle wrote to her with a copy of the article after we got home and she wrote back to him thanking him for the article and sending him a picture of Fore Abbey. That gentle interaction which almost seems from a former age is a good example of the quiet charms of Fore.

There’s a former hermit’s tower. You get the keys to go in from the local pub.

There is an old church in ruins and beside it the hermit’s hangout which is an older structure on to which the local bigwigs – the Nugents- added a Victorian nave.

It’s surprisingly atmospheric inside. And obviously, you have it to yourself as you are the only one who has the keys from the pub.

Patrick Begley who died in 1616 was the last hermit in occupation.

From the ruined church there’s a good view of the ruined abbey – Henry VIII has a lot to answer for:

We dropped the keys back to pub and went to explore the abbey.

And zero effort wasrequired to get photos without anyone else in them. We pretty much had the place to ourselves until a family arrived with a number of children to climb the walls. I’ve been that soldier.

We then went for a short circular walk back to the town. A bit flat but that’s the midlands for you. Basically perfectly pleasant until the heavens opened but it stopped again shortly. The only true thing that is in Irish Wish is when the love interest says , “Don’t like the weather in Ireland? Wait five minutes.”

At each of the village there are stone gates. These are all that remain of the walls that once surrounded the town. It’s part of the Irish walled towns network but I think this is really pushing it.

Anyway when we got back to the village we had a drink in the pub before going on to explore Tullynally castle, ancestral home of the Packenhams. It’s huge and, God, really ugly. I don’t know what Francis Johnston who was employed to gothify it was thinking.

Distance lending enchantment to the view or arguably, to paraphrase a line my mother used to enjoy quoting – “where every prospect pleases and only man is vile”.

The castle was closed on Sundays but the gardens were open to the public and huge. Though it lashed rain prior to our arrival, the rain stopped when we emerged from the cafe and we spent a good hour walking around the grounds. Lovely.

Monday 8 April

I had a baptism preparation meeting. Will I ever get out of this? My children are in college. My fellow sufferer said that when she went to her baptism prep meeting with her first baby (now in her teens) the prep team were in their 80s. We’re doomed. Anyway there were three lovely couples. All fine but I raced away afterwards as I was hosting bookclub that evening. It was a slightly exhausting but nonetheless satisfactory evening.

Wednesday 10 April

Herself came back from America some time before the crack of dawn. Her time there was full of incident: her friend got sick; there was a huge storm; there was an earthquake; and then there was the eclipse and the plague of locusts. Only one of these is made up. Notwithstanding the various natural phenomena she had a terrific time and is keen to go back. I am horrified at the prospect. It’s a lot further away than England. But she loved, loved, loved New York.

She brought us all back presents. I got a tea towel and I was delighted. If you had told me when I was 20 etc. It was from some trendy spot in Brooklyn where all the stuff was made locally or in Kyrgyzstan. Surprising.

Thursday 11 April

Herself was due to turn 21 on the 12th so we went out to dinner for her birthday. One of her siblings had tickets for a ball on the Friday so we went on the Thursday. We were all making our way there from our diverse locations.

Mr. Waffle was there first. I got this message from herself as I was leaving the office.

Followed quickly by this one.

I texted Mr. Waffle an update and he replied sadly, “Sometimes I wonder if my family is German at all”. Still once we got there a good time was had by all.

Friday 12 April

Herself turned 21. I was surprised how big a milestone it felt even now when 18 is the age limit for everything. Though herself pointed out, having been in America the previous week, this is emphatically not the case everywhere.

She asked, “Where is my birthday post?” I was touched that she would want one and it will follow just as soon as I do posts on her siblings whose birthdays were on September 27. This is a demanding hobby, I can tell you. Anyway, the summary is that she’s great. Honestly, she really is.

I asked whether she wanted anything special for dinner and she asked for spaghetti Amatriciana. To my absolute astonishment we got guanciale from the Italian wholesaler down the road and it was pretty good although I significantly underestimated how long it would take and we ate at 9 so possibly anything would have tasted good by then.

Saturday 13 April

Mr. Waffle, like all Dubliners, hates Temple Bar but I have a soft spot for it. We went in there for a nice breakfast. Then we took in a photographic exhibition that Mr. Waffle had read about in the the Guardian (somehow better than the Irish Times, doubtless a post-colonial hang up). The exhibition was mostly photos of the Troubles but some from the South as well. The photographer was a Japanese guy who made his name in Vietnam as a war photographer. He moved to Ireland in the late 60s with his wife and children. Worth a visit.

When we emerged, we heard the sound of singing. I realised that it was the Messiah anniversary performance. The Messiah was first performed on Fishamble Street. The concert hall where it was held is long gone but every year there is an outdoor performance on the street nearby. So delightful. Even if we only stayed until the rain started, unlike the Lord Mayor who looked gloomily resigned to staying put for the duration. Is Temple Bar not pretty good notwithstanding all the pubs and tourists?

My sister arrived in the afternoon with presents for everyone. In particular herself who always does very well from my sister and brother (she met him earlier in the week for lunch and I gather it was a satisfactory engagement from her perspective, he hasn’t said) at birthdays and indeed other times.

My sister also brought four photo albums from the attic for me. There were photos of the burning of Cork that my Uncle Dan took in 1920. This is a great photo of my father at school in South Pasadena in the late 1920s/early 30s before the family decamped back to Ireland. My father is fifth from the right. If any of the others are still alive they would be 99 or so, so I suppose all dead now. But you never know. There are loads of photos from when my grandparents and my father and aunt lived in California.

I actually recognised lots of the pictures of my great aunts and uncles but by no means all. Labelling is very inadequate. For example there are many pictures from the 20s of people in Paris or Milan or whatever. The locations are instantly recognisable Paris (Eiffel Tower), Milan (cathedral) but the people are often a mystery. Labelling a picture Eiffel Tower is USELESS. Tell us who the people are. There are many, many more like this in Ireland. This tiny cyclist is a classic. I think it could be my father from his cycling tour around Ireland with a friend when they finished school in 1943. But honestly it could be anyone.

But were you wondering where it was? I bet you were, well not to worry because someone has gone to the trouble of clarifying that. Look at this and imagine the sound of audibly gnashing teeth. I enjoyed the several attempts to spell tunnel also but let he who is without sin etc..

As well as all her presents, my sister had made bets on a range of horses in the Grand National for all of us. The excitement. My mother used to do this when we were children but I hadn’t watched it in years. And then Daniel’s horse won! I don’t think this has ever happened in all the years we watched with my parents. Herself got a horse called Mr. Impossible who provided all the entertainment. He managed to unseat his rider relatively early on but not before he had provided endless enjoyment to those watching (except herself). The newspapers described him as “quirky”. This is fair. Apparently, recently as Leopardstown, he refused to start at all. A horse with a mind of his own.

Sunday April 14

Herself went back to England at the crack of dawn. Her father took her to the airport and it was bright and finally felt like spring – it feels like it has been grey and rainy since the end of last summer. It’s always sad when she goes.

I took myself to a worthy talk on the latest exhibition in the Gallery “Turning Heads” which is head studies by Dutch painters – Van Dyck, Rubens, Rembrandt etc. Though technically is Rubens Belgian as from Antwerp? I suppose not as there was no Belgium then (welcome to the inside of my head). Fine but perhaps I was not in the mood for it.

Monday April 15

Still at it with the new year’s resolution – we went to “The Teachers’ Room“. This is a German film about a school where there are accusations of theft and everything that can go wrong does go wrong in the investigation and Mr. Waffle kept muttering about fair procedures. Good but definitely worthy.

Wednesday April 17

I took a half day from work and we went to see “Philadelphia Here I come” where Michael, she said proudly, had one of the lead roles. It’s set in rural Ireland in the 50s/60s and it’s about a young man who’s emigrating. One actor plays his outer voice (Michael) and another guy plays his inner voice. I thought Michael was excellent. I’d never seen the play before and I found it really, really sad. Mr. Waffle said to cheer up as Michael was not in fact emigrating to Philadelphia in the morning. Afterwards Michael came out and smiled (as we thought) at his proud parents, but some young girl flew past us and gave him a big hug. Should have gone to specsavers etc. Still, all good.

Thursday April 18

Mr. Waffle was away for work and I abandoned my children to go to see an exhibtion based on the Druid O’Casey trilogy of plays. Grand and fun to be brought in on my friend’s Druid membership. And we had dinner afterwards while my children at home dined on take away pizza. At least Daniel did, Michael was out late every night this week, returning ravenous at midnight each day.

Friday April 19

Mr. Waffle came home. Hurrah. We were all delighted but the cat was ecstatic. She was really concerned about her food security in his absence.

The run of Michael’s play finished and he arrived home exhausted but pleased, I think.

Saturday April 20

An absolutely glorious day which really highlighted that some work needed to be done in the garden. “The hedge hating peasantry,” as my father used to say. I worked until the compost heap and the brown bin were full and collapsed exhausted on the sofa where Daniel and I watched the end of Dune 2. Overrated in my view.

Mr. Waffle told me that Mr. Incredible was running in the Scottish Grand National and I was moved to put a fiver on him each way. The paper said he was well rested after the Grand National at Aintree. Indeed.

He was out of the race before the first fence. To add insult to injury, other Willie Mullins trained horses came in first, fourth, fifth and sixth. I think our relationship with Mr. Incredible and his quirky ways may be drawing to a close.

In other news, Mr. Waffle is enjoying the AI art generator functionality.

Sunday, April 21 – today, I have caught up with myself at last.

The weather was beautiful (apparently this weekend is our summer, sigh). I was delighted that we already had a plan. Is there anything more stressful than fine weather in Ireland and no plan to take full advantage of it? I was very amused when in Kamila Shmsie’s book “Best of Friends”, the narrator’s father is on holiday with her in England from Pakistan (where presumably he has plenty of sunshine) and – as he is taken out to yet again enjoy the sunshine he basically says, “Would it be possible not to take advantage of the weather some time?”

Anyway, Mr. Waffle and I had planned to go for a walk in Mullaghmeen forest in Westmeath. I had never been but he told me that his mother always tried to get there at this time of year to see the bluebells. It’s a beech forest and carpeted in bluebells. It was lovely and really quiet. We hardly saw any other people. It really made me think of the wood between the worlds in CS Lewis’s “The Magician’s Nephew” – so quiet and peaceful.

You’ll have to take my word for it that the bluebells were lovely as the pictures don’t really do them justice.

We were slightly exhausted after our longish walk in the forest but very pleased with ourselves. Would recommend (part of my continuing programme of gentle outings for the middle aged within an hour’s drive of Dublin). After our walk we were, in fact, adjacent to Tullynally castle where we had so recently disported ourselves so went back there for a restorative cup of tea after our exertions – and very nice it was too.

And how have things been with you?