It’s November. I will be posting every day.
Aren’t you delighted? No theme suggests itself. Posts will be random musings. There’s excitement.
Archives for November 2011
On a Railway Platform
Small girl to me: I’m Ciara.
Me to small girl: Hello Ciara, how old are you?
Her: I’m 4, except on trains and buses when I’m three.
There’s always one
The clocks went back on Sunday. We forgot. We arrived for 11.30 mass at what we thought was 11.45 (punctual as ever). It was in fact 10.45 and the priest was finishing 10.00 mass. As we walked through the door, he said, “The mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” Daniel, who had been the cause of our lateness, was very taken aback. He had been told that, if he hurried, he would not miss the Sunday school thing in the sacristy. Now, mass had ended. He started to howl at the top of his voice (a very loud place), “Mass is ended, oh no, mass is ended.” You might have thought that fellow worshippers would have rejoiced at this evidence of youthful enthusiasm, but no.
Unanswerable
Michael: Why is the light for the bathroom outside the door?
Me: So that you don’t electrocute yourself turning it on and off with wet hands.
Michael: But when the light is outside, your enemies can turn it off when you’re on the toilet.
What I did on Thursday
On Wednesday, I took herself to Cork on the train to stay with my parents for a couple of days.
On Thursday, I had a particularly full day as follows:
01.00: Sister arrives into her bedroom (where I am spending the night in Cork), turns on light, rubs in hand cream, chats.
01.00-02.00: Drunken students sing rebel tunes on the street, apparently directly under my sister’s bedroom window.
02.30 – 04.00: The Princess comes into the bedroom at 5 minute intervals to ask whether it is morning yet.
05.00: I get up to get the train back to Dublin.
06.15: Get on the train.
08.45: Arrive in Dublin in driving rain (only comfort – surely this means tonight’s tennis match will be cancelled).
08.45-09.00: Queue in rain for Luas ticket behind a number of people who cannot use the machine. In the end, cannot forebear from offering advice as I have already missed two trams.
09.15 – 18.00: Work (including lunch meeting, the pain).
18.00 – 20.30: Cycle home, bond with boys, put them to bed, do grocery shopping online, calculate and print out childminder’s payslip and, conclude, alas, that it has cleared up enough to play tennis.
20.30 – 22.00: Cycle up to tennis club. Play tennis. Lose.
22.20: Arrive home. Realise that I have yet to pack for my weekend in Cork – boys are to join their sister in my parents’ house, Mr. Waffle and I are to flee the coop. Hurrah. Further realise that I will need to schedule a post for NaBloPoMo.
23.10: Write post.
Linguistic Diversity
Her: Mummy, what’s an airing cupboard?
Me: It’s what English people call a hot press.
