Sign in alterations place:
“All garminds must be clean”
Ireland
Random Cork Information
I visited Cork alone at the weekend to celebrate my father’s birthday. It was during the time without the children that I had the chance to speak uninterrupted to my loving family and learnt the following mildly surprising things:
1. I asked my mother who gave us our breakfast and got us up when we were small as I couldn’t remember. Apparently, C, who minded us did and then our loving father drove us to school. “Didn’t you see us off?” I asked her in indignation. “From bed,” said she.
2. Before he was married, my father used to go out fishing in Cork harbour on Thursday nights. One night they caught plaice and my father put it in the hospital fridge (where he was working) with a view to giving it to my grandmother on Friday morning (fish on Fridays, you will recall). Apparently plaice survives for quite a while out of water. Some poor nurse came to the fridge in the middle of the night, poked the bag in which the plaice was sitting and it moved and she brought the house down.
3. My sister, despite being very interested in food and fond of cooking, and despite the fact that my mother loves the market and goes there a couple of days a week, would rather shop in Tesco than the market. The shame.
I said it was random, I didn’t say it was interesting.
St. Patrick’s Day
Last Thursday was St. Patrick’s Day. I dutifully started the day at mass. Further exposure to Saint Paul who continues to show his excellent turn of phrase and unbearable smugness:
“I have fought the good fight to the end; I have run the race to the finish; I have kept the faith; all there is to come now is the crown of righteousness reserved for me, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that Day..”
We took the children to the parade which was based on a short story by Roddy Doyle. Unfortunately only one of us had got around to reading the story and she was reluctant to share any of the details with her loving family. Nevertheless, it was all moderately entertaining.
In one aspect, it failed to please. The children had been saving their pennies to spend with the hawkers of St. Patrick’s day tat. Unfortunately, as we arrived, the gardaà were rounding up the illegal vendors’ stock for confiscation. One guard in his high-vis vest, was vigourously pushing a large old fashioned pram weighed down with horns, wigs, scarves and flags while being impotuned by an elderly, extraordinarily wrinkled lady. As he unloaded her tat into the van, my children went rushing up to ask whether they could buy some of it. Not a happy scene, I have to tell you.
Happy Birthday to Me
I am ancient. It was my birthday yesterday. Mr. Waffle and I went for a walk in the Wicklow mountains. It snowed on us. I’m hoping that this isn’t a metaphor for something.
Why you Should Try to Keep your Small Children away from Police Stations
To renew the children’s passports, we have to bring them to a police station and let a Garda look at them. This may or may not be because Mr. Waffle was not born in Ireland but in a country well known to harbour dangerous subversives (Canada, since you ask). So on Sunday we trooped into the station where the Gardaà duly looked the children over and pronounced that they matched the photos. During that time, I fielded the following questions from the Princess based on a series of posters on the wall:
What is rape? [Having looked at these excellent but disturbing posters]
What’s human trafficking?
What’s a drug dealer?
While doing this, I had also to break up a fist fight between the boys on the subject of Daniel’s wellingtons.
Unrelated: Praxis, please advise on the capitalisation of the title.
Why hello negative equity, I like the way you’re doing your hair
Did I tell you that we are thinking of moving house? Well, we are. The man from the estate agent’s came around to look at the house and after some humming and hawing told me that it is now worth only just over two thirds of what we paid for it in 2002. Oh the pain.
