Archives for June 2023

Keep Fit Novice

9 June, 2023
Posted in: Reading etc.

You will recall (I am sure) that in early May, someone sent round an invitation to keep fit classes in the neighbourhood group chat. The venue is five minutes away. I had no excuse. I felt it was time. Despite my age, gender and the fact that everyone I know does yoga or Pilates, I have never done either so it was…a learning opportunity.

My first Pilates class was grand. I mean, I was stiff for a week but it was an exercise class and it reminded me of PE in school a bit. This feeling was possibly in part due to the fact that the class was held in a sweaty hall.

Then after two lessons, the Pilates teacher went on a week’s holidays and she was replaced by a yoga teacher. Dear God in heaven. She told you to put your limbs in weird places, and when you were knotted up a bit like Twister, she would say, “Now, gently raise yourself in the air.” I mean, I wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t seen a whole room of people (including pensioners) doing just that. I had unwisely settled my mat between two expert practitioners who were like bendy rubber people so that didn’t help either.

Also on offer was pickleball which is basically tennis for pensioners. At least, it is the way it’s played locally. The scoring is truly peculiar and the ball bounces delightfully slowly. I was entirely unsurprised to learn that it was invented to entertain small children. If you play tennis at all, you will star at pickleball. I may have been a dud at yoga and only alright at Pilates but by gum, I was the star of pensioners’ pickle ball from day one. It helps that I don’t limp.

Of course I was riding for a fall here. All was well and despite the fact that on week two I was hit on the thigh by a smashing pickle ball which drew blood, I remained keen for three weeks. Unfortunately at an unrelated incident – a very mild cycling accident* – I appear to have wrenched my elbow somehow and although it is not a problem in general, it is quite sore when pickling. I have retired temporarily, felled by pickling elbow.

On Fridays there is what I am now casually calling S&C – like I have ever actually been in a gym – and I was a bit unnerved at first, but I have been three times and I kind of like it. The first time the trainer was a bit worried about me when my face turned into a tomato – a constant when I exercise – and I said, “I’m not doing as badly as you think, it’s just that my face always goes red when I exercise.” “Do you have low blood pressure?” he asked. I do, and apparently that’s a thing because your heart is so anxiously pumping blood to your head to deal with concerns that your brain may be deprived of oxygen, it turns your face bright red. I am glad to have this explained after all these years. I am surprised how much stronger I seem to be getting after only a shortish time. I am no longer bottom of the class but proudly second from bottom. I fear it might be like skiing where you become alright very quickly and then never manage to progress from there.

So you are reading the words of someone who has been engaged in consistent weekly intensive exercise for the first time since she gave up hockey in her late 20s. I am really surprised how much I am enjoying it. I feel way more energetic and I am becoming surprisingly stretchy. Perhaps if I do yoga again, I may even be able to rise gracefully into the air. Perhaps not. We will be stopping for the summer and by the time we recommence I may be back at work but perhaps I will look into evening classes. Perhaps not.

*I was cycling into town to meet a friend for lunch and I was a bit late. It was raining and I turned too fast (although my maximum speed is VERY slow) into a street which is now pedestrian and bicycle only expecting it to be pretty empty which it was, except for the cyclist I bumped into. We both pulled our brakes pretty hard and the actual collision was very slow and I didn’t even fall over. He did in extremely slow motion. I was mortified and apologised profusely. The odd pedestrian scurrying by in the rain paused hoping to be amused by the bike on bike violence but the man was really nice, very gentle and quietly spoken. As he got up, saying he was ok, he added “Please try to cycle more carefully in the future” which was pretty mild, all things considered. However, in braking hard and turning my front wheel, I do seem to have done some mild damage to my elbow. Let us hope that my temporary retirement from pickleball will give it time to recover.

Further Gallivanting

10 June, 2023
Posted in: Princess, Siblings, Travel

In the middle of May, I went to England for a couple of days. Stay tuned for a thrilling description of my trip.

Thursday, 18 May

First, I visited herself just for 24 hours. We had such a nice time. She is a devotee of the schedule and she sends me a programme in advance of my visits. “Weird,” you say. “Absolute genius,” I say. It allows us to tweak and decide exactly what we are going to do and when packing maximum value into any visit. Also, she books stuff. On arrival, after dropping my things at the lovely guest house, we went straight for afternoon tea. There’s a girl who knows her mother. When I don’t see her for a long time, I forget what great company she is, we did have a nice time.

Sadly, she was slightly under the weather and went back to her room to recuperate after the tea but thanks to the schedule (TM), I was able to take myself to the piano recital she had booked us into. It was free (I love free) and absolutely amazing. I am not generally a fan of musical concerts of any genre (I know, shoot me) but this was an event aimed at students and there was just the right amount of explanation and music. The setting – England on a summer evening, old buildings, wisteria out – was absolutely beautiful. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a concert more.

Later I went to a student poetry reading event where herself was going to be reading some poetry. It was informal in nature and upstairs in a pub. As I arrived late, in the middle of herself reading a poem, the assembled young people chorused “Hello [the Princess’s] Mum!” You get the vibe. I was the oldest person there by about 100 years. Surprisingly enjoyable. English young people are very polite and quite formal in some ways. Whenever one of them was about to read a slightly risqué poem he or she would say, “Sorry [Princess’s] Mum.”

Friday, 19 May

We went out for a lovely breakfast herself had booked. I was pleased to see that she is back on her bike. I believe it spent its first year in storage and I was beginning to fear that it might have been an unwise investment. Here is a selfie using the iphone portrait filter which I love because it removes all my wrinkles and she hates because it makes her look like she’s made of plastic but whose blog is it, I’d like to know?

We had a little boat tour and the guide said that we were like sisters. I was pleased herself was outraged. Until the guide said, “No not that you look like sisters but the way you bicker is like sisters.” Cue reversal of sentiments.

Afterwards we went to her room where we were able to shelter from torrential rain. This was particularly important to genius here who decided to travel without a coat. Though, in fairness to me aside from that, arguably fatal, flaw, my packing was impeccable and I wore everything I brought.

A slight let up in the rain gave me a chance to scurry to the art gallery where I had a quick look around before meeting herself back in the hotel. Then, she escorted me to the bus stop, told me where to get off and how to get to my destination in London where I was meeting my sister. Very competent too. It’s weird that she knows London so much better than me now. Your correspondent struggled to find the underground entrance (right beside the bus stop) and then floundered around finally reaching her hotel safely without undue incident.

My sister was arriving in very late so I arranged to meet for dinner an old, old friend who I first met more than 30 years ago when we were both the most junior, the lowest form of life in our jobs in Brussels. We partied, we rose up the ranks a bit, we went to each others weddings then, we both moved out of Brussels permanently – me to Dublin, her to London – and had less opportunity to see each other. But R and I have stayed in touch over the years with Christmas cards and the odd whatsapp messages. When we were in Finland some years ago, we thought we might catch up with them on the Åland islands (her husband is from there and they go there in the summer). We did not. Åland is a long way from mainland Finland, I will tell you that. I digress. Anyhow, I’d say it’s at least 15 yeas since I’ve seen her. I was worried that I might not recognise her but I need not have feared, she looks broadly unchanged. It was so much fun to go for dinner with her. She had lots of news – sometimes that doesn’t work so well when you are apart for a long time – but it worked really well. It was great fun. Even though some of her news and mine was a bit grim, she had that very day installed her father in a nursing home, it was overall brilliant and so interesting to hear about each other’s lives and families in detail.

Inspired by our meeting we got in contact with some other (female, as it happens) members of our gang from that long ago time. They’re all on the internet. I was struck by their lofty job titles. It occurred to me that we are the first generation of women whose careers have progressed that way. Most of my mother’s friends went to college but very few of them remained in the work force once they got married. Those who did, like my mother, almost all had part-time roles which were never going to be the most senior (that’s the way of overwhelmingly female part time jobs, perhaps a subject for another post). I can honestly only think of one senior professional women who worked full time among my mother’s friends and she was unmarried. My mother’s friends’ husbands sure, yes, they had senior jobs but their wives whom they had often met in college not so much. Now, I know tons of senior women across many walks of life. If you needed a professional female role model in 1980s Ireland, basically, good luck with that, whereas now, I feel that things are very, very different. I am certainly not saying that things are perfect but, maybe worth acknowledging how much better things are than they were.

Saturday, May 20

My sister having arrived the previous evening, we had breakfast together in the hotel. After considering our options we decided to make a little trip that turned out to be something of a pilgrimage. I know that this is a hotly contested issue but I would say that for most of his lifetime my father was Samuel Johnson’s greatest living fan.

So, we went to Samuel Johnson’s house. We loved it and, if you are a fan of the great lexicographer (and who isn’t?), I can truly recommend it. It is run by volunteers and the little shop is full of enthusiasts telling their favourite Samuel Johnson stories. I returned home weighed down by Dr. Johnson tat.

My saintly sister-in-law and her family are based in London. I sent her a craven message saying that the shortness of my stay did not permit me seeing her and her loving family (of whom I am genuinely v fond) and, to add insult to injury, could she recommend some good places to eat. I find she is extremely solid on such recommendations. She did not let me down.

We went to Noble Rot on Lambs Conduit Street for lunch and I can heartily recommend both the lunch venue itself and the delightful browsability (is this a word? you know what I mean) of the street itself. Sadly, the lovely Persephone book shop which used to be here has decamped to Bath (note to self for future reference) but otherwise an entire success.

My sister decided to go back to the hotel before dinner but I was determined to get into the National Gallery. As predicted by my esteemed sister-in-law, it was heaving. I was a bit surprised, I definitely remember having it more or less to myself in the past. Maybe it was the time of year or the fact that it was a Saturday. Nevertheless, very pleasing. As a friend of mine says, every room you walk into, it’s like seeing an old friend on the wall.

We had dinner in the Piazza in the Royal Opera House. Yet another stellar recommendation from my sister-in-law. Sadly, as it was a beautiful evening, we were not seated on the balcony and I was too afraid to ask to be moved. I am sometimes a timid, shy creature. I later overheard a waiter refusing to sit someone on the balcony as it was for snacks only, that was all that was wanting to set the seal of delight on my evening; I was not missing out after all.

I’d booked us in to a play (2.22 Ghost) which was reasonably enjoyable though a certain amount of jump scares which I do not love. I was irritated by one of the main characters who was a Catholic (code for will believe anything which was in itself annoying). She kept blessing herself at various dramatic moments with her left hand. Surely to God there is someone left in England who could put them right on that.

Sunday, May 21

Our hotel, paid for by my kind sister from her hotel points (hurrah) was in South Kensington so we thought we would take a look around the Natural History Museum. Heaving with a big (though ultimately speedy) queue to get in.

I was quite taken aback by how crowded the London cultural institutions were although the V&A seemed reasonably empty, at least there was no queue to get in. My sister is not a fan though so we gave it a skip.

We went to mass in Brompton Oratory. There were a lot of people there who could have given the “2.22 Ghost” people a steer on how to bless yourself. The priest was from a non-English speaking country but spoke really good English aside from a problem with the “th” which is unfortunate as he was surrounded by people who have really mastered that trying sound. Vatican 2 appears not to have reached Brompton as the priest said mass with his back to the congregation. There were some women in mantillas which is something I have literally never seen in a church in Ireland. I noted that there was a Tridentine mass available earlier in the morning. I’d say you’d get the full pre-Vatican 2 experience there.

Inevitably, everyone knelt for communion at the altar rails which is something that has really gone out in Irish churches but was a feature of my youth. I was surprised how quickly I remembered the ritual of lining up behind and going forward in a wave as the previous kneelers rose. This reminds me of my friend who had a crush on the boy up the road (one of a family of seven all of whom were ferociously bright and brilliant at sport, including this boy who was also very handsome – I see from the internet that he is a doctor in the US now and, although he has kept his hair, he is not what he was in 1983). He was an altar boy in her local church. It was non-stop fun being a teenager in the 80s in Cork. When the priest came to give out communion, she was kneeling at the altar rails. The handsome altar boy followed behind the priest holding – as was standard – a golden salver under your chin (I am sure there is a proper name for this, but I do not know it) in case of disaster, I guess. Anyway my friend was fixated on the altar boy instead of turning her mind to higher things and when the priest said, “Body of Christ,” to be clear correct response, “Amen” she said, “Hello”. Which I still find hilarious.

One of the prayers of the faithful was for King Charles and a just and lengthy (seems unlikely) reign for him, it was kind of wrapped up in world peace and I faithfully gave the response but I noted that my sister did not, doubtless concerned that she was being fooled into swearing fealty to himself.

After mass we went to lunch in a nearby Pain Quotidien (my ardour remains undimmed and I was pleased to see that it was heaving unlike the ones in NY which are busy closing down).

Then my sister was off to see her friend in distant Chiswick and I headed to the airport. I got there in very good time. The “two hours before your flight takes off” is excessive. Not helped at all by the fact that my flight was late.

Mr. Waffle had to fly out on a work trip on the Sunday night so he left the car in the short term car park and I picked it up. I felt that this had the potential to go disastrously wrong but all was well although Aer Lingus’s delay meant that the parking cost me €16.50 which was still a lot cheaper than both of us getting taxis. So, a win I guess.

Endings

12 June, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Princess

The nice young man who gave conversation classes to the boys this year has gone back to France. We had him round for a cup of tea before he left and he stayed for two hours. That is such a long time. We gave him a small present. When we gave him a present at Christmas (a coffee pot and some coffee), he told us he didn’t like coffee while expressing his gratitude with great charm. Our present this time was two books: Dubliners by Joyce and some Yeats poetry. Later he texted me his thanks while commenting that he had previously started Dubliners but had given up. This would give him an incentive to try again he said. During the afternoon when he came around he mentioned in passing that the French regard hypocrisy as absolutely the worst vice. Honestly, this explains a lot. Anyhow, he is the last person who we will be having round to speak French with the children. It’s the end of an era. We have had Francophones (mostly French people) in the house since we came back from Belgium in 2008 talking to them, minding them and giving them the kind of values that mean when Michael hurts himself he still says stoically, “La douleur ça passe”. I’ll miss them.

This year has been a bit of a disaster at school with teacher supply. History and Geography, both of which Michael wanted to study were timetabled back to back in school so he did History outside school. We picked History to study outside because the Geography teacher in school was so good. He had her for fifth year and she was amazing. But – good for her but bad for us – she had her first child at the start of this academic year and over the year her role has been taken over by a range of subs of varying quality. The Maths teacher went on maternity leave in January and since then, the boys have been taught by a number of people with no teaching qualifications. I mean, you would like it to be a bit better. I had a neighbour’s child up the road who is doing a PhD in maths give them a grind. Daniel’s fantastic Physics teacher got a job in a new school at the end of the last school year. She was replaced by a zoom class after school once a week with a less than stellar substitute. I paid for extra physics classes for him on Saturday morning. The German teacher is off on maternity leave too. She was great but both boys say that the substitute is even better. I guess you’ve got to win some of the time. Anyway, all things considered, it has been pretty disruptive for them both. However, now all grinds and extra classes are mercifully over as they have started into the worst exam any Irish person will ever sit – the Leaving Certificate – go on ask any Irish person you know, I’ll wait.

Their school graduation was on a Thursday. They had various mild pranks (they were all going to wear a mustache to school) planned in the run up to it. Monday was “anything but a bag day”. They all brought stuff to school in wheelbarrows or whatever their vivid imaginations suggested. The principal sent a text message to all parents at 10 in the morning saying “6th year students are finishing now in order to prepare for the Leaving Cert. We will see them on Thursday for graduation.” This was news to the parents, students and (rumour has it) the teachers. They got given breakfast and black plastic bags to clear out their lockers. The kids were really upset. I felt it was disrespectful and horrible for them and, apart from anything else, those three days in school with their teachers wouldn’t have hurt given how interrupted their schooling has been. To be fair to the authoritarian authorities, there had been something of an incident with a water pistol in a previous year and it seems to have marked them.

On the Wednesday, a really nice teacher invited them all in for a cup of tea so that was good. And then the graduation itself was lovely. They gave the principal a present while I gritted my teeth. They did an amazing video which made us all laugh and many of us cry. It was really super and helped to make up for the previous Monday’s debacle. It made me feel really sorry for herself who had a graduation with parents watching online.

The children, the teachers and some parents (not us at the urgent request of our children) went to the local GAA club afterwards and stayed late. They seem to have had a great time. One of the other students asked Michael (yes, 17 year old Michael, all the rest of them, except his twin obviously, are 18) why he wasn’t drinking. “Is it because you’re a Catholic?” he asked. There seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of the rules of engagement among the younger generation.

Anyway, there we are. I have no children in school. What a weird feeling.

Keep your fingers crossed for my guys in the Leaving Cert, they are in the middle of it and they are not exactly having the time of their lives.

No more uniforms though, so there’s that.

A Catalogue of Activities with No Real Unifying Theme

13 June, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle

Was it the title lured you in?

Tuesday 23 May

School having been cancelled on the Tuesday, Michael and I went out for an adventure to enjoy the beautiful weather. Daniel sensibly, it subsequently transpired, stayed at home.

We climbed the Sugar Loaf. It was a beautiful, beautiful day for it. I’d told Michael to bring a snack and he had water, a packet of crisps and a packet of water biscuits. He ate the crisps on top of the mountain leaving a whole packet of water biscuits for later.

By the time we got down, it was about 2.30 and we headed to Enniskerry to get lunch. Google Maps, as is sometimes does, sent us by a remote and circuitous route. By 3 we weren’t a lot nearer to Enniskerry and in the middle of nowhere. It was at this moment that we got a puncture.

My brilliant husband had put the emergency number in the glove compartment (you think I can change a tire? think again) and the emergency man when we called explained to us a nifty trick where you can send your exact location via Whatsapp (necessary as we had no real idea where we were). Also I had failed to fully charge my phone in the morning and had only 10% battery which was not charging on the in-car charger. Tense times. I rang Mr. Waffle who was in a foreign airport but able to tell me that the car had a spare tire and where to find it. Not obvious.

Anyway, the car repair man eventually came, fitted the spare tire, pumped it up and set us on our way after a hot, hungry and sweaty 90 minutes in the car. Michael said, “We stress ate those water biscuits like a herd of buffalo”. I ate them like someone starving. Anyway we went straight home. We’d gone off Wicklow in the sunshine.

A busy evening followed collecting my sister from the train station, leaving her with Michael who filled her in on Bulgarian politics (yes, really), deciding it was safe enough to let Daniel cycle into town to meet his friends in the pub and collecting Mr. Waffle from the airport. I was exhausted. That’s what you get for trying to make the most of the fine weather.

Wednesday, 24 May

My sister was up for a project management conference and she sent me the funniest text I’ve received in a while.

Mr. Waffle dropped her to the conference and I collected her. Although the venue is not far from our house, it took forever. I was very glad to get back on my bike to go in to have dinner in town with some old college friends. We are old. Only one of us has any children in school. Surprising.

Thursday, 25 May

We had the school graduation. All things considered a surprisingly good time had by all.

Saturday, 27 May

We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother and the in-laws. I went for a swim afterwards which was lovely. Mr. Waffle was not to be tempted though. We took the boys out for dinner to celebrate the end of school. I am still wrestling with the idea of having no children in school.

Tuesday, May 30

Inspired by my success at the weekend I went for another swim. It was a beautiful day and basically just me and pensioners enjoying it. Hah. Lucky old us, I guess.

I went to a colleague’s mother’s removal. It was in Massey’s funeral home. For years I have wondered what kind of name is “Rom Massey”. I mean is it Ronald? Anyway the removal was advertised as being in Ramon Massey’s funeral home. Ramon? Raises more questions than it answers.

The preliminary census results came out. Michael nearly died of happiness going through them and offering us little insights. It appears that we are now a country of 5 million people having been 3 million for as long as I can remember. The thrill.

Friday, June 2

Mr. Waffle and I went to art school grad show. Yeah, I know, but is it art? And I went out for dinner with a bunch of former colleagues which was very enjoyable indeed.

Saturday, June 3

God, it was baking. Mr. Waffle and I went to a fair of produce from Normandy- I am on the French embassy mailing list and this is the kind of thrill available. Almost all dégustation of French products which, yes, absolutely, I am willing but very little to actually buy. We bought some cheese from Évreux and I told the bored French teenager selling it that Devereux is a common Irish surname and dates back to the Norman conquerers from her town. Was she interested? Are you joking me?

Sunday June 4

In what became a weekend of exploration by public transport, Mr. Waffle and I took the DART to Malahide Castle.

Honestly, can’t really recommend the house tour (the house is mildly interesting but the guides are, more’s the pity, not the super knowledgeable OPW ones) but the gardens are lovely.

Portrait above of one of the Gunning sisters who married two Dukes (consecutively) and about whom our guide, sadly told us nothing. And as you will see, it’s a good story.

Monday, June 5

Mr. Waffle and I took the DART again with our bikes and cycled to Kilruddery. I honestly would have thought it impossible but it’s actually quite close to the DART station. On the other hand, do I recommend taking your bike on the DART on a sunny bank holiday Monday? Probably not. I was, possibly excessively, pleased to see bike stands right by the entrance to Kilruddery where we had a nice lunch and a stroll around the grounds.

Needless, to say while Mr. Waffle and I were out gallivanting in the sunshine, that they had so kindly provided, the boys were at home studying. As everyone said, it was real Leaving Cert weather. A friend sent me this.

Tuesday, June 6

After my weekend of exciting cycling and swimming, I decided to cycle to Sandycove and have a swim. I went off in my light summer dress. I nearly froze. Leaving Cert or no, Irish weather does not reward complacency.

Wednesday, June 7

At last, at last after two tense weeks of swotting with increasing gloom at home, the Leaving Cert started. Day 1 was alright.

Still, much stress.

Thursday, June 8

I managed to give away a box of old cables and a broken printer. To think of these items, utterly useless to me and destined for a life in landfill, being reused warms the cockles of my heart. The man who took the printer further filled me with delight as he was a Dutchman and he took it away on a bike. He works at Drimnagh Castle and they are on a shoestring and he reckons that he can fix the printer and use it there. How truly gratifying.

The guys rescued the Nintendo DS from the box of cables and have been happily playing on it for the first time in about 10 years.

Friday, 9 June

Much like the rest of the nation, Michael did not enjoy Maths paper 1. His brother thought it was fine.

Sunday, 10 June

My friend sent me a flyer about a Finnish choir who were visiting Ireland so Mr. Waffle and I went to the pro-Cathedral (for historic reasons, Dublin has two Protestant Cathedrals and no Catholic Cathedral – this is what it got, known to its friends as “the Pro”).

It was all a bit more elaborate than I had anticipated. Not only was there this Finnish choir but it was also Corpus Christi (had forgotten) and the new Papal Nuncio’s welcome mass to Dublin. Many pews were roped off for the Diplomatic Corps and heads of religious orders and Provincials. There were 3 (count them!) archbishops on the altar and loads of priests. All, except for two younger black men, looking pretty elderly and grey, if sprightly. The church had lots of room notwithstanding the ranked masses of diplomats, provinicials etc. I don’t know, if that mass isn’t going to be full, it really looks like the end. I am old enough to remember when Corpus Christi mass was standing room only and there was a procession and everything.

Anyhow, the newish Archbishop of Dublin did the welcome bit and I was curious to see him in action as I hadn’t seen him before. He commented on the recent census results which show numbers of Catholics had declined by 10 percentage points since the last census (to 69%, I am Michael’s mother, I have these statistics at my finger tips) and how heartened he was by the immigrant communities who are, basically, better Catholics. Certainly more devout. Anyhow, he welcomed the visiting choir who were Lutherans from Helsinki Cathedral and made some noises about ecumenicism. As a friend of mine pointed out this was funny on Corpus Christi which is basically a feast day designed to highlight the differences between Catholic and other faiths but I suppose they were there. The new Papal Nuncio gave the sermon and try as I might, I kept zoning out, so what his views might be and whether he conveyed any special messages, I cannot say.

The choir were superb which was just as well as mass was an extended 90 minutes. What are we, Orthodox? Afterwards, the 86 year old nun who is attached to the children’s school whom all the students adore, came up to us. She only lives around the corner it appears and is a regular attendee at the 11.30 Sunday mass. She had no difficulty recognising us and we had a long old chat where she tried to inveigle me into joining the school’s Board of Management. She is in absolutely terrific shape. The children keep her young, she says.

There was one of the Finnish choir children’s mothers on the door when we went out drumming up business for their concert at 3. She was very cross that it wasn’t advertised and I sympathise but what could we do. I said that I had been notified via WhatsApp and wasn’t it busy this morning? “I gather you went to Cork as well?” I said winningly hoping to divert the conversation into happier channels – who wouldn’t love a trip to Cork in June? Apparently only 12 people came to the concert in Cork. I was mortified. “And it was free, unlike when the Palestrina choir came to Helsinki and you had to pay and I put up two boys from the Palestrina in my own house”. Alas. However, the youngsters in the choir seemed to be having a great time. When we came out they were standing beside their bus singing an incredible version of happy birthday – volume and harmony breathtaking – to one of their number.

Tuesday, June 13

The Leaving Cert continues unabated. Maths Paper 2 yesterday was better than paper 1 on Friday. The nation is convulsed by the trauma of paper 1 – letters to the paper, articles, phone in radio shows (you think I’m joking, I’m not). As I said to Michael, “At least you’re not alone”.

While my poor children laboured today, I took the DART off to Sandycove for a very pleasant swim. Somebody has to do it.

Biology and Irish paper 2 today. Dan not a big fan of the biology paper but look, onwards and upwards.

It’s Not Just Me

14 June, 2023
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

My lovely Ukrainian cleaner comes on a Wednesday and I try to be out of the house to give her a clear run at it. Inevitably, I say goodbye and almost immediately after I’m back to grab something I have forgotten. I mean, often, I am back more than once. I feel pretty foolish when this happens.

She said to me, “Don’t worry, as I say to all my friends, Irish people always come back three times.” Not, I think, as comforting as she intends it to be.

At least I get to practice my Ukrainian as I flit back and forth:

?????? ??? ?????? ??? ?????? ???

It appears Cyrillic is not supported by WordPress but in a way the above is a much better representation of what is actually happening when I speak Ukrainian.

It’s an ill wind and all that.

Anniversary

15 June, 2023
Posted in: Siblings

Today is the fourth anniversary of my mother’s death. It seems like there is an awful lot of water under the bridge since June 2019.

My sister sent me flowers. I sent her a text message. Balance in all things eh?

The Princess did quite well in an exam adjacent exercise today and I can’t help imagining that my mother’s benign influence was at work. If ever there was a woman who loved exams (doing them, prepping for them, analysing them and getting the results), it was my mother.

I really miss her, even the exam prep bit.