Today is my favourite aunt’s birthday [or possibly not, this was a matter of some dispute between the American authorities and my grandmother; to be fair, you would think she would know]. When I was forced at age 11 to move from a larger house to a smaller one, the only comfort was that my aunt lived next door. And she still does and now when we visit Cork, my children wander into her house and eat her food, watch her television and play her piano just like my brother and sister and I have been doing for 30 years. I had better not tell the children that in summer she played soccer with us in the back garden until it got dark.
Cork
Nice, Polite Boys
I was in Cork alone (!) recently. As I sat in to my seat on the train back to Dublin with my newspaper in my sweaty little paw, I was distressed to see that every other seat in the carriage was reserved for school boys. As it happened, 13 year old school boys from my husband’s old school. I felt that my quiet reading would be disturbed.
But I had nothing to fear. Mr. Waffle had always assured me that his old school was full of nerds but I didn’t really believe him until the moment I saw the young men pull out their chess boards and timers and start playing while singing Ave Maria. Unless Ave Maria is sitting high in the charts at the moment, I find this detail particularly baffling.
Brave New World
Spotted advertised recently – A Céilà Speed Dating Event. The mind boggles.
A Day Out
As I mentioned we were in Cork at the weekend. I decided to take the children to Charles Fort.
Me: Tomorrow, we’re going to see a fort!
Daniel: I don’t want to go.
Me: It’ll be great, it’s a really big, impressive fort.
Daniel (dubiously): But forts are invisible.
Me: Not this one, it’s huge.
Princess: A fort Daniel, not a fart.
The next day we set off to walk two long kilometres to the fort. We did not get off to a good start. Daniel had a sore knee which I thought would go away, but didn’t. He just limped there and back uncomplainingly. My saintly middle child. Michael meanwhile dragged himself along saying “My legs are so tired”. He was the first to realise that once we got to the fort we would have to walk back again. He wasn’t pleased. I wasn’t so pleased myself, I had three unhappy children and I was carrying two guns – a pistol and a nerf gun – and a light sabre (to attack the fort).
However, once we reached Summercove, things began to look up. We were fortified by lunch at the Bulman (which I cannot recommend highly enough – herself had an enormous bowl of mussels, I had crab claws and the boys a portion of chips each – in our own way, we were all happy). Then the fort was great. And it didn’t rain on us. Always a plus in any Irish outing. And, as always, the road back didn’t seem quite so long.
Herself:
Saintly middle child:
Patrolling with Nerf Gun:
Scenery (obligatory):
Hot
I took the children to my parents’ house at the weekend. Mr. Waffle’s parents’ house is always a bit on the cold side for me and my parents’ house is always much too warm for him. This means that at home, I wear my fleece of an evening – mmm synthetics – and Mr. Waffle wanders round in t-shirts and shorts.
The children take after him. Herself couldn’t sleep with the heat in Cork and even I was quite warm. I took off my fleece. Ah, my Cork family observed, you have become a Waffle. Still, my mother, who feels the cold terribly couldn’t really believe that any human being could really be so warm. As herself lay sweating under a single sheet, my mother asked me anxiously, “Do you think that she’d like a hot water bottle?”
This is What Living in Ireland is Like
Me: I see there’s a reference to you in that new book by [mildly famous person].
Friend M: I am so mortified.
Me: I didn’t even know you knew her, how do you know her?
Friend M: Through Anna.*
Me: Who’s Anna now?
Friend M: She’s the woman who was married to J before Mr. Waffle’s friend C.
Me (to my mother who was listening): Oh you know C, Mum, she’s the younger daughter of Mrs. H who taught me in Senior Infants.
*Names changed to protect the innocent.
