The other morning I was cycling in to work and I saw a schoolgirl cycling in front of me. I was delighted as you so rarely see schoolgirls cycling. The Princess’s friend E from primary school is one of the only girls, aside from herself, I know who cycles to school. I peered more closely at the child ahead of me and when I arrived at the lights, I confirmed that it was indeed E on the bike. She’s in her last year of secondary school now and while waiting for the lights to change we covered a variety of topics including how her parents and sisters were; what subjects she was studying for the Leaving Certificate and what she was hoping to study in college. I felt it was poor form of me to put off one of the few girls who cycle by introducing the additional danger of being interrogated by her friend’s mother to the already considerable dangers for cyclists on Dublin streets but what can I do, I am a middle aged mother of three and I live to torture teenagers with hard questions about their lives.
Dublin
Miscellaneous Cultural Adventures
We went out on the town on Culture Night. It was only somewhat successful. We visited the Mansion House and the Royal Irish Academy which were both fine in their way – beautiful buildings with interesting contents – but as we’ve been to both of them before, we were resolutely underwhelmed. I dare say there are fresh things to see on every visit but we did not appreciate them as we ought.
Probably a highlight of the evening was meeting a misfortunate teacher from the children’s school who was out with her fiancé and not entirely delighted to meet students and their parents in the wild. She left after a quick hello hauling her young man behind her at speed. Who would be a teacher?
It was also the theatre festival and the Dublin fringe festival. We went to see the comedian Alison Spittle in the Fringe. I was unamused but the venue was Dublin Castle chapel royal which was nice to be inside, so there was that.
We went with my in-laws and their friends from London to one of the worst plays I have seen in years. It was called “The Bluffer’s Guide to Suburbia” and the premise was musician who fails in London moves back to Dublin suburbia. Promising I felt. It resolutely failed to live up to the promise of the billing and although I fell asleep half way through and was spared some of the worst, I was quite mortified to have brought everyone there. The English visitors were very nice about it (there was no question but that it was dreadful
The following evening we had tickets for a play called “The Alternative”. The theatre festival is a cruel mistress. We were bringing the children and I was afraid. The premise of the play was that Ireland had never split from the UK and we were now having a present day independence referendum like the one they had in Scotland a couple of years ago. It was so good. We all loved it. It was clever and funny and inventive. The best thing I have seen in years. The children noticed the new deputy principal in the audience but we not to frighten another member of staff at a cultural event and nodded from a distance rather than approaching more closely.
In the visual arts, I forked out €15 to see the Sorolla exhibition in the National Gallery. I had never heard of him before; he’s a Spanish impressionist. I mean, fine, but I was not overly impressed, some nice interesting paintings but overall, I didn’t feel excited or delighted to have visited. In contrast the free Bauhaus exhibition in the print gallery upstairs is outstanding and well worth your time. I was also pretty impressed by the finalists in the National portrait competition which are on temporary exhibition at the moment. The Crawford in Cork is showing an exhibition about children called “Seen not Heard” around the theme of childhood and that’s pretty good. A smaller exhibition upstairs of the works that the Gibson bequest committee bought during the Emergency (known as World War II elsewhere) I found less impressive. One or two things I quite liked but overall, not the finest moment in Cork art collecting.
Herself meanwhile had been invited by a friend to hear Oscar Wilde’s grandson reading his poetry at the Abbey but had to turn down the invitation as she had too much homework. Alas.
On Holidays
I finished work on Friday. We are off on our Baltic adventure tomorrow. Since Friday we have been to a successful family barbecue notwithstanding apocalyptic weather warnings; admired the prowess of extended family members who ran the Dun Laoghaire 10k;
and been to Taytopark – the amusement park devoted to the crisp, you will recall.
This morning I went to the school uniform shop – not my most exciting adventure – it was heaving. “Today is child benefit day,” the shop assistant explained to me. A depressing thought made even more depressing by the costliness of my own purchases. My purchases limited, following an extensive trying on session at home, to two tracksuit bottoms and one tracksuit top came to €88 which is pricy for pure nylon with a crest in my view.
This afternoon, Mr. Waffle and I went to St. Audeon’s for a visit. I love this church. If I were a Protestant, on Sundays I would make my poor misfortunate children go to services in the range of neglected churches in the city centre. God, they would hate that. Here is a picture of George Petrie’s picture of St. Audeon’s when it was already falling down in the 19th century:
And here it is this afternoon (much preserved by the Office of Public Works, you will be glad to hear):
We went to Christ Church to see the restored heart of Laurence O’Toole. Somebody stole it from the church but they brought it back. Sadly it was locked away in a side altar and inaccessible.
When we were leaving, Mr. Waffle mentioned to the woman on the desk that it was locked. “Wait a minute,” said she and leaving other more exotic but less well informed tourists outside, she took us in to the altar. Very gratifying. I can confirm that the metal casing remains unchanged.
Now we are largely packed for an early departure tomorrow. What further excitements might await?
Posting will be light to non-existent until our return at the end of August.
A Paean to the Public Library
I cannot speak with enough enthusiasm about the library service. I never went to the library much as a child. This quote from CS Lewis has always spoken to me:
“I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books. My father bought all the books he read and never got rid of any of them. There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parents’ interest, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not. Nothing was forbidden me. In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves. I had always the same certainty of finding a book that was new to me as a man who walks into a field has of finding a new blade of grass.â€
That said, although I similarly had access to all my parents’ books suitable and unsuitable, the library would have brought some welcome additional variety to the stock of children’s books available. My sister became a youthful aficionado of the library and was always going in to the book club run by the librarian. I looked upon her with disdain. Foolish me.
Mr. Waffle as a child was a regular at the local library so when our own children came along, we got into the habit of going to the library. The scales fell from my eyes. What a truly wonderful service.
I continue to marvel at the ability to go into a library anywhere in the country and take out a book and then return it in my local branch or vice versa. When my sister-in-law and her family were in Cork recently (a triumph, of course), they went to the library in the city (it’s a good one) and borrowed some books to return in Dublin.
I have not bought a book in ages; almost anything I read, I order from the library. I am at a bit of a loss to understand how, on this basis, our house continues to be absolutely falling down with books. A mystery.
I recently went to investigate the newly renovated city centre library in Kevin Street. It’s a delight. My photo is of the children’s library in an attempt to lure my sister-in-law and little niece there but the adult reading room is quite lovely like an old study.
And the other day, when I was in the library, I noticed that they have a new digital borrowing service called Borrow Box where you can download ebooks and audio books. Just as I am setting off on my holidays. What is not to love?
Latch Key Children
I haven’t been entirely delighted with how much time the children have been at home alone this summer, particularly Michael. Today was a bit of a low point.
We live in a trendy, urban up and coming area, if you’re an estate agent. A bit too edgy maybe, if you’re not. For example, I was not totally delighted to discover that my daughter knew how to recognise people doing a drug deal before she finished primary school. Our leafy road is lovely though: the houses are great; we know most of our neighbours many of whom have been there a long time; it’s close to town and it’s quiet without much through traffic.
I came home from work this evening and the two boys were home alone as expected. Mr. Waffle was at a work thing and herself was at her residential camp. Daniel had come in about half an hour before me. Michael was still in his pyjamas although he had showered. I’m trying to spin this as a win. I asked for news from their days. They had a talent contest at Daniel’s camp; it was a bit dull. Michael had risen at lunch time, showered and, undoubtedly, spent the rest of the day glued to his phone although this was not how he put it to me.
After a while Daniel said, “Oh yeah, I forgot to say, there was a man sleeping on the doorstep when I got home.”
“Sorry? At the gate or on the doorstep?” I asked.
“On the doorstep,” he said.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “I hung around for a while not sure what to do and then [the very nice, quite senior in the FCA man] from across the road came and helped me in.”
“Michael, did you know there was someone sleeping on the doorstep?” I asked.
“Not until Daniel came in,” he said. The advantage of remaining in pyjamas all day.
I took myself off across the road to thank my neighbour but he was out and I spoke to his wife. He hadn’t mentioned his good Samaritan act to her. I can’t help wondering what was the story with the person, quite possibly, passed out on our doorstep. It’s hardly a welcome development, I think we can agree.
It turns out, even my bleeding heart liberalism has a limit. My very conservative father who has been waiting for this development for some time will be pleased to hear it.
Summer Activities
I have a school friend who ended up living in a coastal town in North County Dublin. A fellow exile we meet about four times a year for dinner and exchange of news and views. We always meet in town but it was summertime and I said that I would drive out to Skerries and go for dinner there. It was a Wednesday, which is daring and I felt like I was on holidays as we went for a walk on the beach and then out for dinner in a lovely new restaurant in the town which I can truly recommend if you find yourself in that part of the world.
Michael has been doing a tennis course for the past fortnight with mild reluctance but a certain degree of resignation. This has spurred us all to take a greater interest and for the past fortnight, most evenings we’ve gone up to the local courts to play doubles (herself is off at camp so not available). It’s good fun and somewhat justifies under the stairs which has an extraordinary quantity of sporting equipment for a not very sporty family.
I brought my mother’s spare golf clubs to Dublin after she died. My brother took out the putter on the grounds that it was a special putter made for her in some golf club in Limerick and we might lose it. We managed to make good the deficit by taking a putter from my father-in-law’s old clubs and also the husband of one of my mother’s old friends. His son lives up the road from us and his wife and son came and dropped us down a spare putter and we sent them off with a pot of jam. After all the effort, I felt we ought to use them, so Michael and I went out to a small local pitch and putt course. As you know, I am a big fan of the bike but, let me tell you, that there is no easy way to carry golf clubs on a bike, even if it’s only a pair of putters and a couple of nine irons. Anyhow we made it. The club was deserted and initially we were refused admittance on the grounds that it was members only. I offered to pay green fees and my knowledge of this technical terms softened their hearts towards me. “Did we have our own clubs?” Oh yes indeed, though I forgot to bring tees, like a fool. However, they made good this deficit.
I went to the first hole to tee off. I used to play a bit in my teens but I would say it’s 35 years since I raised a club. I had a practice shot. The three elderly gentlemen came out from the shed to have a look at me play. I was a bit unnerved. However, all those hours spent practicing in front of the bored and indifferent club pro with other teenagers came back to me and I was pleased and surprised to see the ball loft up into the air and land squarely on the green. The men said, “Good shot,” and shuffled off about their business.
Michael teed up and sent the ball scudding along the fairway (such as it was) but, as he pointed out, he was nearly as close to the hole as me and it was his first time ever playing. Pitch and putt is not challenging. And that’s the way we like it. Later one of the elderly gentlemen asked me if I’d like to play on their team. I have arrived, I never want to go back to proper golf. When I offered to pay green fees at the end, the elderly gentlemen waved me aside and told me that it was on the house. Very pleasing.
We were cycling along beside the canal last Saturday as part of our summer of sport extravaganza, threading our way through crowds of GAA fans heading to Croke Park. I ran into my cousin with her husband and three little boys marching determinedly towards the stadium. She is from Limerick and has Meath children but they were all dutifully dressed up in their Limerick kit. So far their loyalties are relatively undivided as it’s going to be a while before Meath challenge anyone in the hurling. Alas, Kilkenny defeated Limerick by a point so not a great day out for them in the end I imagine.
We had a barbecue at the cousins’ house. It lashed rain and we all huddled indoors while my brother-in-law cooked burgers outside sheltered from the elements by his aunt who held a large golf umbrella over his head. The boys went down to the tennis club and got soaked to the skin. A successful outing which my brother-in-law is minded to repeat the August bank holiday weekend.
How’s your own summer going?
