A very happy new year to you. We have been celebrating Christmas offline. Santa came. Everyone got lots of presents. We visited Mr. Waffle’s parents. We visited my parents. We went to our friends’ house in East Cork which has neither computers nor television. We snuck up to Dublin for a new year’s eve dinner leaving my parents and siblings to the mercy of our children. We have no news. I hope that your Christmas was equally delightful and uneventful. Tomorrow the Christmas tree comes down and normal life resumes on Monday.
Dublin
The Middle Classes at Play
We went to a performance of “The Snowman†in the Concert Hall with a live orchestra. I saw it advertised in September and thought it might be nice for us to go. A family Christmas outing. I forked out €70 (non-refundable) for this piece of Christmas cheer. When I announced the proposed treat at the start of December, the children all groaned. “We hate the Snowman, we’ve seen it loads of times before.â€
The children’s best friends decided to hold their birthday party on the same afternoon as the Snowman. After much agonising we decided to stick with the Snowman even though a) our children would have loved the party and b) all three of them would have been gone from 2.30 -5.00 and we could have read the papers. They still don’t know that they missed the party. I really hope that they never find out.
On the day of the treat, we dragged them to the Concert Hall. The foyer was abuzz with excited children and their parents. Sample conversation: “Have you put little unpronounceable (aged 3) down for secondary school yet?†“No, actually we haven’t, but imagine the local primary school is no longer taking names for its waiting listâ€.
Despite their best intentions, the children did actually quite enjoy the show. In addition to the Snowman it had a range of other attractions. It featured Santa and, in a complicated plot development, the Grinch. The latter was stealing clothes from a washing line. When Santa asked where the Grinch was all the children in the audience roared out “behind the line†except for Daniel who shouted in his best demotic Dublinese “behind the li-onâ€. He is great at picking up accents. We have a CD of Irish songs and when Daniel sings along, he sounds just like a little boy from the Connemara Gaeltacht. I am hoping that this will be useful to him in later life. Have I told you this before? I digress. There were some songs from Glee all of which the Princess seemed to know (mental note – how?). There was much talk of the X-factor. There were carols. When asked afterwards whether they enjoyed it, the Princess and Daniel said that they did but Michael (despite ample evidence to the contrary during the show) said that he did not.
Emboldened by the relative success of the show after a poor start, we decided to go to Milano’s. The children were ravenous – having refused to eat lunch – and the sight in the foyer of a Christmas treat box sent the Princess wild. She really wanted that box. But we were going for pizza and her mean, horrible parents would not let her have it. Cue unfortunate meltdown in the foyer as a number of people we knew tripped out of the stalls. Sigh. The trip for pizza passed off peacefully though. We should be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.
Tomorrow: the pantomime.
A Right On Christmas Tale
Recently, some of the children’s friends came to visit. In the car on the way home from school, we saw a Christmas advertisement for Coca Cola with a happy Santa and a large lorry. “Coca Cola is poisonous,†opined our five year old visitor, “we are not allowed to drink it at home.” “No, it is not poisonous,” said his eight year old brother. “Do you know,” he asked me, “where Coca Cola is mostly made?” Without pausing for a reply, which was as well, really, he continued, “In South America, in Brazil and they won’t let their workers unionise.” This conversation was somewhat beyond Daniel but he was trying hard to follow the general gist, unlike his sister and brother who had lost interest. He turned to his little friend, the five year old, and asked anxiously, “Is Santa really poisoning the Coca-Cola?”
Cats of the Chattering Classes
Our cat is called Hodge. She is called after the cat my family had when I was a child. That cat in turn was called after Samuel Johnson’s cat.
This afternoon, the children had some friends to visit. Over dinner, they mentioned their cat. “What’s it called?” we asked. “Bakunin” said the five year old. “My father is an anarchist,” explained the eight year old. Retired, I’d say.
Circumstances Alter Cases
On Tuesday the children had a bookfair at lunchtime in the school. I went up to help them choose books and pay for them. Then I went back to my warm, dry place of employment leaving the children and the childminder to trek home through the snow. It is fair to say that I felt pretty guilty. At regular intervals during the afternoon, I rang home. No answer. They’re stuck on the bus I thought guiltily to myself. When I got home, early because of the snow, it transpired that they had been at the library. The childminder who, crucially, is from Grenoble is unfazed by the snow. She was happy to trek outside rather than rushing home as we would have done. As Mr. Waffle hurried her out the door to get home because of the snow she was coolly saying words to the effect of “Snow, what snow?” And shrugging. And as it got worse and worse she remained unpreturbed (there is a joke about sang froid to be worked in here but I decided to let you do it yourselves).
The children’s school has been closed since the ill-fated book fair Tuesday. I saw the childminder off into the very heavy snow this evening wearing her runners. I had walked home from work in my ski gear and hiking boots. When I rang later to check she had made it home, she said that she was fine and clearly thought I was insane. Just wait until she sees what happens to the bus services with another 5cms of snow.
Oh and Edinburgh is off as is driving anywhere. We will be taking the train to our weekend destination.
Mass Appeal
In his sermon this morning, the priest told us a story about how he was sitting in the grounds of All Hallows when he was approached by a well dressed woman. She told him with great frankness about her relationship with a married man. And then explained that he was about to be sent abroad by his company. She said that she did not think that she could live without him and asked the priest to pray that he would not be sent abroad after all. Two questions occur. Firstly, why would she think that this was a good line to take with a priest? Secondly, why would the priest think that this was a good story to tell at the children’s mass?
Later there was a collection for the Sick and Indigent Roomkeepers Society. Daniel got a pile of change from his father but kept back 2 coins for himself to buy sweets after mass. I pointed out that the collection was for people who didn’t have enough food or clothes. “Alright,” he said reluctantly, “I’ll put one coin in the collection.” I suppose we have to consider this to be the equivalent of the widow’s mite.
