Last October I was cycling up Capel Street when I saw a line of men walking towards me. They stretched right across the road so I got off my bike and went to the side of the road. A young woman started filming them and one of the men took her phone and threw it on the ground. It was all pretty intimidating. I learned later that they were Schalke 04 fans. When they’d passed I saw that the Guards were following them in a van. I can’t say that I found it very reassuring.
One for Sorrow
A magpie got into the utility room. When I returned from my tennis this morning, all of the utility room windows were covered with towels and the back door was open. Mr. Waffle (himself returned from his run where he had a 5k personal best, who even are we any more?) was trying to help the bird to leave the house and the towels were to discourage it from banging itself against the windows, a process which was unlikely to yield positive results. Our two children at home had already cravenly fled the coop (bird pun intended) leaving Mr. Waffle and the cat to tackle the problem as best they might (hard to say that the cat was really a help as such).
I went upstairs to have a shower and when I came down I went into the utility room confident that I could resolve the issue but what I would say is that a magpie is a large and slightly intimidating bird in a small space. I hotfooted it back to the kitchen and closed the door behind me. I pointed out to Mr. Waffle that, historically, the issue of birds in the house fell to his lot. “Why?” he said plaintively. “It’s bigger than all of us, probably the patriarchy,” I said and then proceeded to flee the house like my craven offspring.
This rather bitter message arrived in the family group chat some time later:
Mr. Magpie has left. Thanks to all who stayed to help.
In case anyone was unclear, he added: That was sarcasm.
A Successful Campaign of Indoctrination
Herself cycles in London; middle child cycles in Dublin; even youngest child is prepared to give it a go occasionally. I feel I have secured them for the cycling revolution.
I was surprised and delighted to discover that the middle child – with no prompting from me – has, this summer, begun to cycle longer distances with friends for fun. To Maynooth (about 30kms away); to Greystones (also about 30kms away); and back! I feel an inner sense of achievement, I can tell you.
Nine Lives
I’ve got a bit out of the habit of blogging recently. This is a shame because it is the only way I remember anything.
So, baby steps here, let me tell you about the (relatively brief) trauma of June 16. The cat went out the front door about 7 in the evening. Sometimes she likes to sit on the front step and survey her kingdom. She usually starts to meow to get back in about an hour later. On this evening, about 10.30, there was still no sign of her. Mr. Waffle and I walked up and down the road calling her name (does she know her name? I doubt it). I kept an eye out for a corpse in the middle of the (very quiet) road. I thought death was the only thing that would stop her coming back to enjoy the comforts of home.
Mr. Waffle goes to bed at 10.45 and feeds the cat then. From about 10.15 she sits on the corner of the rug keeping a weather eye on his movements. This prolonged absence so near feeding time was very unlike her. I put out a message on the road group chat and people started hunting for her in their gardens. Could she have dragged herself off to die somewhere of natural causes? Like all of us, she’s not getting any younger; 17 this year. I began to wonder how I would tell the children of the death of their beloved cat. My own cat died while I was teaching English in Italy and my mother felt it would upset me to know so I was kept in ignorance. When I went to visit my friend in Switzerland (train from Rome very exciting) who had seen everyone at home more recently than me, I asked her how everyone was and all was well until I came to the cat. “The cat is dead Anne,” said she baldly. So, you know, a moment I didn’t want to repeat for my children.
At 10.44, one minute before feeding time and about 10 minutes after my anxious alert to the neighbours, there was a meowing at the front door. She was back! It took a lot out of us. She seems fine, thanks for asking.
We Love to See It
My beloved youngest child returns from his Erasmus term abroad tomorrow (he’s been gone since the start of February, so long). I asked my beloved middle child who seems to have enjoyed being the only child in the house whether the return of a much beloved brother on Wednesday was a source of joy. “What, Wednesday, already?” yelped middle child. Apparently not counting the days.
Other People’s Content is Still Content
A friend was telling me about her adorable 6 year old nephew. He put hair spray on the mirror at home and his mother was pardonably annoyed. “What did you do that for?” she asked. No answer. “You know who’s going to have to clean that up? Muggins here,” she said grumpily. Her little boy looked puzzled and then said, “I thought Muggins was Dad?”