Saturday, March 16
I was up with the lark. Mr. Waffle and I went into town for breakfast. We got absolutely soaked on our bikes as it was lashing. However, we dried over breakfast.
At 11 we went to Temple Bar to begin yet another Dublin Decoded walking tour. Honestly, I cannot recommend these highly enough, if you’re from Ireland. I sort of feel tourists from abroad might struggle with the level of knowledge assumed but perhaps not. There were some happy Americans on our tour as well as the locals. Which was impressive given that it was quite damp.
When we went to collect our bikes
, I slipped on the wet pavement and had my fall broken by a Sheffield stand. It caught me right in the ribs. I have never fallen on a rib before – quite hard to do – but it was sore. However, I cycled home and went straight to play a tennis match.Although I won in straight sets (just saying), this may have been a mistake as my ribs were quite sore afterwards.
That evening the four of us went out to dinner and then on to a comedian promoting Irish (funnier than it sounds). All reasonably satisfactory but after training during the week, I think Daniel is concussed again. So probably, he would have been better off recuperating at home than out and about.
Sunday, March 17
They sang “Hail glorious St Patrick” at mass which is really all I ask of St. Patrick’s Day mass. I discovered this year that the woman who wrote it is a Mercy nun from Cork. Small world and all that – I went to the Mercy nuns for school myself.
Mr Waffle and I went off to Altamount Gardens which I recommend if you are in your 50s and would like a mild day out. I was made aware of it because there is a lovely flowering plant in our front garden which our predecessor in title – now deceased – grew from a plant illicitly snipped from the garden (or so her friend from across the road told us).
The daughter plant:
The mother plant, still living her best life in Carlow:
I found the gardens absolutely charming.
The house is closed pending the OPW restoring it to its former glory (the OPW move in geological time but they do – eventually – do an excellent job).
And I bought myself a gooseberry bush. Stay posted for updates on that front. It looks a bit spindly and sorry for itself at the moment but I have great hopes.
I then watched the round up of parades from around Ireland on the news – a heartwarming story of a nation battling against inclement weather that never fails to appeal.
Monday, March 18
My tennis match was cancelled. Probably for the best as my ribs were still pretty sore (in fact still a bit painful as I type – is this the beginning of the end etc?). Mr. Waffle offered to take me out for breakfast (twice in the one weekend, we live like oligarchs etc.) instead and, eschewing our usual haunts in pursuit of change, we went to a place called Lemon Jelly in town. We had to queue to get in and we were the oldest people there by a good 20 years but not bad. I find it exciting to behave like a tourist in my own town, Mr Waffle not so much.
Tomorrow, tragically, will see me return to work. Alas.
