I am recycling a story from a friend here. I suppose it is a new low but I rather liked this one so you will have to suffer. My friend’s father, a retired neurosurgeon and all round no nonsense man, went walking with my friend’s sister and sister’s son by the river. The child, aged four, was on his bicycle with stabilisers. His grandfather described his outfit thus to my friend with mounting outrage: the child was wearing a helmet, a high visibility vest, knee pads, arm pads and…water wings.
Ireland
Nah Nah Nah NAMA
The country is seething today as details of the sums that will be poured from our pockets into the banks were analysed. The Irish Timessummarises it thus:
“In reality, nothing that could have been said yesterday would have altered the fundamental risk associated with Nama. At its most simple, it is a calculated gamble that the all-in upfront cost to the State of bailing out the banks will be less debilitating than the wider costs of letting them fail. That upfront cost is still not clear but based on the information that was released yesterday it could involve capital injection of up to €31.8 billion in fresh capital and close to €40 billion in debt issued to the banks to pay for their discounted property loans.
The cost of having let the banks fail is unquantifiable and is inextricably linked to the impact on the State’s own credit worthiness and ability to borrow. Ultimately the view was taken that standing behind the banks and their obligations to international debt markets was preferable to letting their bond-holders suffer the consequences of the banks’ greed and stupidity.”
As my loving husband said, if the banks can transfer their loans to the State at a 60% discount then why can’t we transfer our mortgage with a 60% discount too. I guess the bottom line is that the international bond-holders are a lot more important than we are.
The Princess and myself watched a news report on NAMA and she asked me what it’s all about.
Me: Well, the State has pledged a lot of taxpayers’ money to the banks to keep them from failing.
Her: Who’s he?
Me: Who’s who?
Her: The taxpayer.
Me: Well, everyone who has a job and pays taxes to the State to run it. And everyone who is going to have a job in the future. You’ll have to pay for this too, sweetheart.
Her: Really?
Me: I’m afraid so, honey.
Her: You’d better up my pocket money then.
A Mother’s Lot
A (very religious) friend said to me that he thinks that some people take their children to mass like they take them to swimming lessons – it’s something useful for them to know. I felt a distinct twinge of guilt. Especially when I recollected my maternal pride on hearing that the Princess had collected an Easter egg at her Sunday school thing by identifying the man who helped Jesus carry the cross. Your best guess in the comments below please. No googling.
The Princess has dropped out of her holiday course in the Alliance Française. Due to her idiot mother’s assumption that the course would be for bilingual children, she was forced to spend the day learning to count in French. Although she explained to the teacher (in French) that she could already count and even say her name in French, she was not let out (well where would they send her?). She was very cross. I was very guilt ridden. On the plus side, the Alliance say that they will give me my money back. Hurrah.
As I entered the house after a long day at work, the childminder was leaving it. “What’s it like in there?” I asked her. Normally she is resolutely upbeat. “It’s murder,” said she, “they are all tired, cranky and whacking each other.”
Michael wants a Nintendo DS. He can’t have one. “Why? Jack has one.” “Because you’re four and I say no.” A river of tears follows.
The country has given all its money to the banks. In fact, money that it hasn’t got. Every public servant in the country got pay cuts of between 10 and 20 per cent and it saved the exchequer 4 billion. Apparently we’ll need 30 billion to keep the banks going. Do you think that the public servants would like to work for nothing? I am annoyed with the banks. I am also unclear who benefited from the reckless lending. Not the shareholders, not the taxpayer, not the banks and, it appears, not even the developers who took out the massive loans we and our children will be paying back. Unless the developers all have Swiss bank accounts. Aha. Of course, now that the State effectively owns the banks, we can regard the forthcoming increase in interest rates on our mortgages as a saving really.
And it’s snowing today. Appropriate.
What does fancy mean?
Herself asked me this question this morning. “Well, it’s an old fashioned way of saying imagination or it could mean ‘like’ as in ‘do you fancy a cake?'” “What does it mean when they say at school that everyone fancies J?” They’re SIX, six, is this normal?
I see that the Irish Times using its extensive research arm (SOURCE: The Voice of Young People – A Report on Attitudes to Sexual Health, commissioned by Pfizer Healthcare), reports on the matter thus: “Despite the introduction of the Relationships and Sexuality Education (RSE) programme in schools, the study found that children still learned about sex outside the classroom, mainly from friends and older siblings. Most young people surveyed were critical of the sex education offered in schools, saying it was often “too little, too late.” Well since, it appears to be needed from age 7, I’m not hugely surprised.
The organ of record continues: “The primary fear for parents appears to be that they might shock their child or ‘steal their innocence’, something they are very mindful to protect,†the report said. What innocence?
Hail Glorious Saint Patrick
The Princess and I went to 8 o’clock mass this morning. We were the youngest people in the congregation by some distance. We arrived late (just as the priest was starting into his sermon) and scurried to a pew. The priest gave a rousing sermon about evangelising in our daily lives. He pointed out crossly that the church was nearly empty on St. Patrick’s Day. Apparently 83% of the population of Dublin is unchurched (what I previously referred to as “lapsed catholic”) and this represents a rich seam which we, the faithful must mine. Every time we go to a restaurant, coffee or to the pub we should try to work the conversation round to whether our companion has found Jesus. Personally, I can’t help feeling that this is a recipe for driving away friends rather than converting them, but maybe I am just craven. The Princess asked me nervously whether she was too young to evangelicise and I reassured her that she was. Though doubtless the priest would be furious, if he knew. It was all fire and brimstone round our way. We finished up with “Hail Glorious Saint Patrick” which he commented, surely everyone must know. Only the first verse, it turned out.
There was very little real shamrock in evidence today, apparently the dreadful winter has been tough on shamrocks and the best of it was exported to foreign dignataries. I could extend this into some kind of metaphor but I will spare you.
We all then went to the parade. I had considerable misgivings about this but it all passed off very well with all five of us getting a view. Have some pictures, why don’t you?
Hope you passed a happy Saint Patrick’s Day too.
Day out
Today Mr. Waffle and I both took the day off work and went walking in the Wicklow Hills leaving the children to the care of school and childminder.
It was very pretty:
But rather cold:
And boggy:
We spent some time recovering by the fire here.
