The clocks went back on Sunday. We forgot. We arrived for 11.30 mass at what we thought was 11.45 (punctual as ever). It was in fact 10.45 and the priest was finishing 10.00 mass. As we walked through the door, he said, “The mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” Daniel, who had been the cause of our lateness, was very taken aback. He had been told that, if he hurried, he would not miss the Sunday school thing in the sacristy. Now, mass had ended. He started to howl at the top of his voice (a very loud place), “Mass is ended, oh no, mass is ended.” You might have thought that fellow worshippers would have rejoiced at this evidence of youthful enthusiasm, but no.
Ireland
On a Railway Platform
Small girl to me: I’m Ciara.
Me to small girl: Hello Ciara, how old are you?
Her: I’m 4, except on trains and buses when I’m three.
Bad News/Good News
My bike, my beautiful expensive bike with a child seat on the back, was stolen.
I’d taken the lights off though.
The End of Culture
I am not organising any further outings. On Sunday afternoon, we were supposed to go to a worthy theatre offering. When this treat was announced, the children were unenthusiastic. Daniel and Michael howled, “no”. Due to a series of accidents, we arrived 5 minutes late and latecomers were not admitted.
Oh I was cross. I have announced that I am organising nothing further and that the children might therefore miss seeing some architectural gems during the Open House weekend. They were gutted, as you might imagine.
A Tale of Two Cities
Dublin won the All-Ireland football final a couple of weeks ago.
This is what the north side of the city looked like:
The south side of the city looked just the same, except there was no bunting. All of Dublin’s inner suburbs were built by people who liked things to match.
The north of the city is GAA heartland. The south, not so much. A friend of mine went, along with thousands of others, to see the Dubliners show off the Sam Maguire cup. The master of ceremonies asked the crowd, “Is there anybody here from Raheny (north city)? The crowd went wild. “Is there anyone here from Dalkey (distant southern suburb)?” Complete silence, this despite the fact that one of the squad is actually from Dalkey.
While not wishing to single out Dalkey for punishment – it is a perfect pleasant place – I must tell you about the ad for “exclusive luxury homes in Dalkey” in the paper the other day. Among the benefits which the developers claim is that “it would be difficult to find a more appealing address”. They also point out that “There is no social and affordable housing within the development”. Do you think that I’m making this up?
Event Guide
Some colleagues said to me recently that I am like an event guide. This may be true. Sometimes I think the children wish that they could be let stay at home a bit.
We have been harvesting fruit:
Cycling in the city:
Watching canoe water polo (you haven’t lived):
Observing the man-made desert island in the Liffey (it’s art, someone lived there for a week, except for a break during the gale)
Chopping wood and doing other outdoorsy things in the forest:
Sampling culture night. The only actual culture we experienced was a quick concert for children in the Ark. This was a mixed experience. The performance, a violinist and a guitarist, was delightful [I subsequently discovered that they are married to each other and have two small children – her sister was in school with a colleague – welcome to Ireland]. The performers were terrific and very good at engaging the young audience. In one segment they played themes from television shows. On the very first one my boys were out of their chairs yelling “Ben 10” before the performers had played two notes. Mortifying but a triumph at the same time – see all those hours in front of the television weren’t wasted.
And then, on Sunday, I took my mother to watch the Solheim cup.