belgianwaffle

Dublin

Palm Sunday


Posted in: Boys, Dublin, Ireland, Michael

Today is Palm Sunday. A fact I had forgotten until I entered the church this morning and Michael began loudly complaining when he saw the size of the missalette. “It’s three times longer than normal,” he hissed. “That means mass will last three hours.”

While it didn’t last three hours, it certainly was grand and long. The priest read the first gospel (which I think is not compulsory), he read the longer version of the long gospel (you know the one, it’s the miniature passion play) and then, crowning indignity, he gave a sermon which is normally unheard of on Passion Sunday. The elderly lady in the pew in front fainted. A group of older mentally handicapped people who were behind us made noise throughout the mass much of it mournful. One could hardly blame them. At communion, one of them ran up to the altar scattering pensioners in her wake; it was a difficult Sunday for the pensioners.

As our neighbour’s teenage daughter came down from communion, Mr. Waffle asked whether I thought her top was entirely appropriate for mass. She was wearing a pink hoodie and it was only when she passed me that I saw that the legend on the back was: “Hockey is my religion.”

It was that kind of Sunday. How was your own weekend?

Rockin’ the Suburbs


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Reading etc., Work

Last week, I was having a cup of tea with a colleague and she mentioned that she was going to see Ben Folds perform at the American ambassador’s residence. Who was he? Did I have any idea?* “Oh yes,” I gushed, “I love Ben Folds!” I was slightly overstating my enthusiasm, I mean I had bought an album and I’d been to a concert but that was before my children were born. And then, I’m not really a music person (insert gasp of outrage here).

Anyhow, my colleague was adamant that I should go and went to the trouble of asking her contact in the embassy to send me a ticket. It seemed churlish to point out that the night of the concert, last Friday, really didn’t suit me. Mr. Waffle was away and I was busy at work. I arranged for a babysitter to come to the house at 5.45, intending to peel off early from work and be at home at 5.30 to see off childminder and ready at 5.45 to welcome babysitter.

Regrettably at 5.45, I was sitting in a meeting, squirming in my seat. Meanwhile the babysitter had arrived at home and finding the house in darkness (childminder and children late home from school, not part of my calculations), texted Mr. Waffle (at that point in Heathrow) and me. Mr. Waffle texted me and generally, I was feeling a bit under pressure. My boss of bosses, who is a kindly soul with young children asked whether I needed to leave. Gratefully, I said that I did and he said we could talk on Saturday which, frankly, didn’t fill either of us with joy, but was very welcome at that moment.

As I was going down to the garage, the babysitter called. She and the childminder were exchanging posts. I spoke to the childminder, “Would he pick up the timetable for his hours for mid-term on the hall table?” He would. I got home, kissed the children, ordered Domino’s pizza and ran out the door again.

So, frankly, Mr. Folds would really have to deliver the goods to make it all worthwhile. And it was so worthwhile. The Ambassador’s residence is lovely. The President and his wife turned up from their house across the road, adding to the sense of occasion. There were only about 100 of us there. It was recorded live for the radio (listen here, if you fancy) and the session was delightful. Not just the live part but the impromptu tunes in the commercial breaks and the numbers that Ben Folds did afterwards for the audience. I was enchanted. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a musical occasion more. I had to leave immediately after the performance as I was collecting Mr. Waffle from the airport so, just pausing to cram some of the ambassador’s delicious canapés in my mouth (insert your own Ferrero Rocher joke here), I ran out the door. I gave up an opportunity to chat to the great man, but Mr. Waffle was suitably grateful. And I got a signed poster which I am half thinking of framing and putting up on the wall like a teenager.

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*Obviously Ben Folds, not the American ambassador. Don’t be pedantic. Although that is what I love about you.

Cycling


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Ireland

Cork has got a city bike scheme like Dublin and it is extremely convenient for me as I can now zoom into town from my parents’ house. The bikes have cute gears too:

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But what really impresses is the effort that has been put into building up a dedicated cycling infrastructure around the city. There are lots of cycle lanes with a curb to stop cars pulling in with their hazards blinking. There are contraflow lanes. It is terrific. In Dublin, I cycle home from work 5 days a week by an admittedly busy route. It is served by a cycle lane most of the way and I have NEVER completed the journey without having to pull out into fast moving traffic to avoid several cars parked in the cycle lane. I would love to see greater enforcement and dedicated cycle lanes that you would need to take your chassis off to park in.

Did I tell you that I am half thinking of joining the Dublin Cycling Campaign?

Is There Snow in the Mountains?


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland

You can see the Dublin mountains from our front garden. Every morning for the past couple of weeks, I have asked the (keener sighted than me) children, “Is there snow in the mountains?” Often there is and I would so love to get up there and look at the snow but the rest of the family are less keen.

When I was growing up, my mother would often say, “I love natural phenomena.” I can remember, as a small child standing by the window in the dark after the electricity had been cut in a storm. We had lit candles and I was watching the lightening with my parents and my mother was delighted. It’s funny how you turn into your parents, isn’t it?

Last weekend I was in Cork and when I came back, herself said to me, rather heartlessly, “You should have seen the mountains, it was like the Alps up there.”

In related news, the children and I walked in to school in the snow last week. It was horrible, cold, sleety snow that didn’t stick but they twirled around in it, crowing in delight.

And it was definitely very cold:

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Weekend Round-Up


Posted in: Boys, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Michael

On Saturday we went to an old friend’s house for lunch. We’ve lost touch a bit over the years for no reason really just continuing our busy lives. It was delightful but, regrettably, we can never have them back as their house is undoubtedly the tidiest and one of the most beautiful we have visited. I particularly admired the floors which were varnished and had no gaps between the planks. They made the builders re-lay them as “you could see the foil backing of the insulation underneath in the gaps!” As I sit here looking at the foil backing in the insulation visible in the gaps between my floorboards, I can’t help wishing that Mr. Waffle and I were more forceful people. I am often reminded of Mr. Bennett’s assessment of Jane and Bingley when I think of us:

“Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed you income.”

I am not sure about the generosity but I can vouch for exceeding our income.

After visiting our friends, we called around to the grandparents. Of late, Michael has become obsessed with getting home before dark. It is hard to be home before dark all the time in January. Michael spent his time looking reproachfully out the window which made for a not entirely restful visit.

Sunday saw the Princess up to do the first reading at mass. This was a huge relief as the second reading which she normally gets was 1 Corinthians 6:13-15,17-20. One of the unfortunate teenagers had to work her way, very gamely, through that one.

On Sunday afternoon we prodded the children out. They were not happy. We went into town to get Herself runners and wandered around Trinity a bit aimlessly. We went into the Book of Kells and the Long Room library – interest levels from boys despite being told that it was the model for the Jedi archives (or was it): zero.

It’s nice though:

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And it was all pretty empty on a late Sunday afternoon in January. Of course, we weren’t home before dark. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth in outer darkness.

Glamour, Excitement, Bins*


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Ireland

Bin services in Dublin have been privatised and are no longer provided by the city council.

This has led to much woe, not least of it related to the truly phenomenal amount of dumping of domestic refuse in lanes around the city. Apparently the private contractors are not as willing to continue providing for rubbish collection when the punters do not pay. I happen to know that the city council will provide this service free of charge for 5 years as that is the length of time they continued to collect bins from our tenants while we lived in Brussels – happily collecting the bins while the tenants happily ignored the bills and reminders. When we terminated the lease, said farewell to the tenants and moved back to our house, the city council presented us with a steep bill for rubbish collection for the previous five years and refused to collect our bin until we paid it. Appeals to the (departed) tenants were unavailing and we ended up having to fork out a fortune.

While this did not leave me with any particular affection for the council regime, the move to private providers has been appalling for us. Greyhound, the only bin company which serviced our last house regularly forgot to collect the bins at all. Mr. Waffle had to ring them most weeks. They only began collecting your bins when you had made payments in advance. But they didn’t tell you that. It was shambolic. When we moved house we had the option of another company and we transferred with delight to Oxigen (I don’t know why they spell it that way but please don’t think I can’t spell oxygen) and all has been sweetness and light until today when they did not collect the bin. Mr. Waffle called them. “Oh sorry, you should have got a letter, we are no longer collecting from your area, we have transferred your account and your credit to City Bin.” Call to City Bin follows. They don’t do our area. Oxigen agree to mediate with City Bin to persuade them to cover us. Oxigen will do one last pick up for us. In fact, it looks like there is only one provider who will service our area. Oh excellent, we’re back with Greyhound.

The free market is not doing it for me. Total disclosure requires that I reveal that privatisation of city bin services in Cork has created no problems whatsoever. Cork is perfect, though.

*Only two of these words are relevant to the content of the post. Honestly, could this be more exciting?

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