We get Le Soir at the weekend. This weekend the colour supplement had an article about how cool Dublin is. It was slightly bizarre to see what the Belgians make of Dublin. On the whole, it wasn’t what you would call entirely accurate. Bono was described as a sort of patron saint of the city which, I suspect, locals would find particularly irritating. Certainly, I did, but then, I’m from Cork, so I can’t speak for them. Most of the article was about Temple Bar and how hip it is. Well, yes, in a sort of full of pubs and stag parties kind of way. Mostly locals wouldn’t be seen dead there. However, some merited praise of the Powerscourt Centre as a shopping location of interest. Didn’t mention at all some of the best things about Dublin like the boardwalk on the Liffey or, star sight (though a trifle inaccessible) the Casino Marino. Latter not very hip I suppose, but strolling on the former, definitely is. Lots of quotes from author Marian Keyes who was Mr. Waffle’s next door neighbour when he was growing up, so felt very well-connected ourselves.
Ireland
Party on
We had a party on Saturday night for friends in Dublin. This was kindly co-hosted by Richard who agreed to let us use his house for our nefarious purposes. When I started writing this blog I was going to keep it deathly secret and build up a following by stealth on the internet but, frankly, two weeks in and with no one reading it, I felt that the party was the ideal opportunity to do some publicity. I told my friends, they were…interested. Sort of. My friend Cathy (I’m tired of thinking up imaginary names, it’s very tiring – I asked her siblings for suggestions for a code name but I just feel that their suggestions wouldn’t go down terribly well) rolled her eyes to heaven and said “My God, you’re already terminally indiscreet, are you sure you need a wider audience?” Yes, of course I do. However, I see that none of them has seen fit to comment on my blog. Very distressing. I am driven to the conclusion that they have not read it. I am quietly confident, nevertheless that a couple of days at home in the bosom of their families will force them to look for unusual avenues of entertainment and they will peruse this with, um, interest.
Party was slightly odd as Mr. Waffle was ill and we had to leave early so waved goodbye to our friends and left poor Richard holding the fort. I apologised profusely for abandoning him. “Not at all” he said affably “your friends are lovely people, whoever they are”. I understand that there were a number of exciting rows later in the evening. I particularly regret missing the row on benchmarking as the combatants were quite evenly matched…I understand it was a clash of the public and private sector titans. Richard said he was picking up glasses in the hope that the rowing parties would leave but they just dug their heels in and started to enjoy themselves while he gave up hope of ever getting to bed. A successful evening all round then.
In other news, I have done a lot of visiting since we returned. My friends are buying up the nicest houses in Dublin. I’m torn between envy and excitement. Largely envy.
Tomorrow will see our arrival in the real capital. I understand the local populace is waiting agog for the first viewing of princess waffle in some months.
The Republic
Illness continues to stalk our household. Most trying. However, you will be delighted to hear that we are recovering and hope to be healthy for our trip home on Friday.
Somebody asked me where in Ireland I was from. I am from Cork. We are an independent and proud people brutally subjugated by the nasty east coast Dubliners. My loving spouse comes from Dublin so our Christmas holidays will be scrupulously divided between the two locations. Well, reasonably scrupulously. More of this later.
I think perhaps the following story would help to explain the Cork spirit. I met my husband in Brussels and, despite the fact that he was from Dublin, I liked him straight away. I rang my mother and said to her “I’ve met a great guy”. My mother, like many another Irish mother was concerned that, as I lived in Brussels, I might meet a local and settle down far from the ancestral home so she said “Not a foreigner?” “No” I said.? “Ah”, she said in tones of great relief “he’s from Cork”.
Our holidays are not as fairly divided between Cork and Dublin as they might be. A friend of mine from school (the “heart surgeon”) is getting married. As a 34 year old mother of one, I thought that my bridesmaid days were over, but apparently not. I am supporting actress in the wedding which is taking place in Cork on January 1 so we are staying in Cork a little longer than we might otherwise have done.? My friend has selected really lovely dresses for her bridesmaids but there is one tiny snag. Cork is chilly in Winter and wearing a strapless dress on January 1 is definitely going to take from my enjoyment of the occasion.? Particularly since there will be a photo session on the beach.
Finally, have been surfing around and have to plug this site which tells of the adventures in Brazil of a friend of ours from Brussels.? Makes me feel most uninteresting which is quite distressing but is very funny and worthwhile.
