If you had asked me which of my children would be the first to learn to drive, the answer would not have been Michael who always had very little interest in driving. But due to a combination of circumstances (herself was caught by Covid and then went abroad; Daniel injured himself), he was the first to do the 12 mandatory lessons and last weekend Mr. Waffle and I both took him out for a spin (he can only drive with a fully- licensed person). I was honestly petrified at the prospect but, do you know what? He can drive, it’s grand. I am amazed. With the waiting lists it will be a year or so before he can do his test and he needs some practice anyhow , I suppose. Insurance until August when our policy renews is…wait for it…drum roll…an extra €812. And Daniel begins mandatory lessons this week. I genuinely think we’re approaching the point where insurance and maintenance might be more than our 9 year old car is actually worth.
Winter Ready
The HSE now address me as follows all the time: “Hi Anne, aged 54”. I cannot say I love it. Anyhow, I have booked myself a Covid booster for later in the month on foot of their email.
And work gave me a free flu jab which I felt it was probably best to take. No after effects happily not even a sore arm. Look, we take our wins where we can at the moment.
Return to Work
I put in four days last week. Monday was a bank holiday. It definitely felt like five.
I spent the week trying to get to grips with my new role, meeting my new team, sorting out the office, the IT, the HR stuff and all the rest of it. My boss is lovely. Thank God.
So far I have identified four advantages of my return to work:
- My weekends are back. Honestly, when you’re not working, Friday evening loses all its magic and Saturday and Sunday are just days.
- I’m getting paid.
- I am no longer Santa’s main liaison. Mr. Waffle will be reprising that role this year. It’s very stressful, I assure you.
- This is probably more about me than other people but I find it much easier to justify my place in the world now that I am back at work. It shouldn’t be so , but I’m afraid it is.
Advantages or no , I am feeling strong Sunday night feelings tonight and I do not like it.
The Condemned Man
Earlier this week, I went for a cycle in the park with my loving husband. The place was pretty much deserted on a damp Monday afternoon.
We had a cup of tea at the lake.
Then we headed for home where we arrived safely notwithstanding the fact that this stag looked pretty dubious about our bikes. You have to imagine the sound effects – Mr. Waffle saying in increasingly urgent but low pitched tones, “Don’t stop to take a picture, keep cycling.”
The weather was lovely on Wednesday and I went for a swim in the sea with my friend who swims in the sea every day of the year. She has several pairs of magic little bootees which fool your body into thinking it’s not going to be unbelievably cold. I am a big fan. I think I might buy my own for summer time swimming which would look stupid but do I even care anymore? It was lovely swimming – yes really – and then we went for lunch afterwards.
We went to Wicklow overnight with the in-laws. Of the younger generation, only Michael and the youngest cousin (6) came but they both seemed to have a good time. Daniel was home alone for the first time. Delighted.
It was lovely to see everyone and my only regret was the bank holiday traffic which was horrendous. In fairness Wicklow (the garden of Ireland as it styles itself) was looking pretty good.
My sister was in Dublin for the weekend and came to dinner last night. It was great to see her. To my absolute horror I realised that her birthday is coming up in November and somehow, in all of the other excitement, I am not as on top of her present as I might be. Never mind, there’s still time. She filled me in on her extensive building works – she’s moved out until Christmas at least. Terrifying.
Today Mr. Waffle and I cycled to Howth, stopping off for breakfast on the way. I raced him back – I wanted to cycle and he was going to get the suburban train, the DART which allows you to bring your bike on board on bank holidays. I got home first but, alas for him, he had to cycle as well as the DART was undergoing bank holiday Monday repairs. I feel that correct competition conditions were not observed. Howth was looking lovely although there was a woman photographing a rat sitting up and eating some fruit and nuts on the pier. “He’s only a baby and people keep leaving stuff out for him,” she explained. He looked very large for a baby, if you ask me.
I am fully decorated for Halloween tomorrow.
Although none of my decorations are as effective as those of my neighbours up the road who have impaled turnip heads on the spikes of their garden fence.
A busy week. What am I trying to avoid thinking about? Why the return to work tomorrow. It has been fantastic being off. I’ve been lucky to do it. And the job I’m going back to will be grand, I think. But currently this music is playing on repeat in my head. As the young people say, “If you know, you know.” Wish me luck.
Ouch
The car has its NCT on Thursday (an annual check of roadworthiness) and in preparation it went in for a service yesterday. Many repairs needed including four new tyres (someone, probably me having damaged the new tyre we got in May) and, of course, a new wing mirror. And it would have been €60 to spray the wing mirror so we decided against leaving it in scraped majesty. And we still have the scrape on the side of the car from Cork. Total bill for this imperfect result? €1,830. Though, I suppose, as they used to say on the old Mastercard ad, total value of staying alive while in the car? Priceless. Just as well I’m going back to work all the same.
Not Celebrity News
Apparently there was a thing on the internet some time ago (I am always late to these trends) where teenagers would say to their middle-aged parents that celebrities who were alive and well had died. The parents would be shocked and horrified “Dolly Parton is dead?!” Their heartless children would then record their reactions and put it on the internet. Mildly funny.
Slightly related herself told me when Justin Trudeau and his wife split up. They had actually split up. “Oh no,” said I, “I am absolutely gutted.” “You and all of Canada,” she said. Alas.
