I did not update on 22 November because I came home from work and crawled into bed with a hot water bottle. But I will date this post yesterday and all will be well. I’m feeling a bit better today, thank you, but mainlining lemsip.
Ireland
Products in the Spar as Described by Dublin Estate Agents
I saw this on kottke: ads for bodega items if they were written by NYC real estate brokers.
Now, the style of Dublin estate agents is quite different from that of their NY counterparts so I started trying to think how this would look here (I am driven to this by Nablopomo).
A timeless classic which buyers will have to drink to fully appreciate. Lovingly encased in a cardboard wrapping combining the best of tradition with all modern conveniences. This milk is in turnkey condition although the new owner may want to put his own stamp on it by pouring it into a glass.
An opportunity to acquire a unique product. Each individual egg is one of a kind. The discerning buyer will instantly see the potential of this classic to make a tasty dinner or a sponge. The well-proportioned egg has retained its value over the years and is an ideal investment opportunity. It could also be the first step on the cooking ladder for the first time buyer; its versatility and affordability make the egg the perfect buy.
Bread hunters, your search is over! This loaf of bread is new to the market and early viewing is recommended. Adjacent to all conveniences (butter, cereal etc.) but away from the hustle and bustle of the sweet aisle. This is a much sought after loaf and could not be better located. Behind a simple yellow exterior lies a beautifully appointed and newly made loaf of bread with manicured crusts. Eating is a must!
I’m exhausted. Your own witty descriptions in the comments, please.
My Teenage Years
Kara suggested that I might fill in some NaBloPoMo posts with stories from my teenage years. I am not sure that I can give a story a day because that would just be too traumatic but I will give one story.
When I was about 17, I went down town with my mother and there was a tall handsome Pres boy collecting money for SHARE. “Hello William,” said she. “Anne,” said my mother, “you remember William, you used to play together all the time, you were great friends when you were children.” And I did remember William, last seen when I was eight. But I had not been aware that he was handsome then. Remember, gentle reader, I attended a single sex school and my exposure to young men consisted almost (although not entirely) of exposure to my younger brother’s friends. I blushed to the roots of my hair (and I was a brilliant blusher) and was unable to say a word. I muttered something. I died.
About ten years later who did I run into in Dublin, only William. By then I had been through college and my relationship with men was entirely different. I was filled with confidence. What a co-incidence: what was he doing? Was he working in Dublin? How was his mother (great friend of my mother’s and source of our limited acquaintance)? “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in years,” I said. “Yes,” he said, with deplorable, though accurate, recall, “not since that time when I was collecting for SHARE on Patrick St and I met you with your mother and you went bright red and couldn’t say anything.” I died.
The motto of this story is that, contrary to what your mother says, not all of these things are forgotten and actually, people do notice.
To Hell or to Connaught
Daniel: Is that a prison?
Me: No, actually, it’s a former mental hospital.
Daniel: It looks like a prison.
Me: It does a bit. When it was built, people with mental illnesses were treated a bit like prisoners and locked up in really unpleasant places. In fact, in Ireland, we have a very bad history of locking people up in mental asylums just because they were a bit strange or difficult. I read somewhere that in the 1950s there were more mental patients per head of population than anywhere else in the world.
Daniel: That Oliver Cromwell was really terrible, wasn’t he?
Bookish
Yesterday we cycled up to the library en famille. Some of us went on the pavement but that’s ok because the stretch between the top of our road and our local library must be one of the busiest roads in the country. When we came home, this was the happy scene:
Have I mentioned how much I wish that our budget would stretch to either changing the previous owner’s sofa or her curtains [Mr. Waffle describes the combined effect as “do not adjust your set”].
Then today we went to the launch of “The Hatching” at the Dublin Book Festival and it was terrific. The author [a ghost-writer for 12 year old Annie Graves] gave a couple of great readings and the children were spellbound. We then went to the book clinic where the book doctor diagnosed your reading needs and gave you a prescription for books you might like. The Princess particularly enjoyed this as, having read everything, she put them to the pins of their collars. She was interviewed by the man doing a documentary on the festival and she enjoyed that too.
I was particularly impressed by the man who worked with Michael and seemed very familiar with the work of Dav Pilkey and other authors Michael particularly enjoys. Have you not heard of “Captain Underpants”? You haven’t lived. Daniel did not go to the book doctor as he was curled up on a beanbag reading and preferred to stay where he was.
And then we went for pizza.
Cellar Infill Works
They’re building a new tram line in Dublin. As part of the works, they’re backfilling old Georgian cellars.
It’s a little odd to think of these old vaulted cellars under the road for centuries. They are all that remain of once grand houses long since pulled down and replaced by unlovely corporation flats. Many of the flats themselves are now boarded up and abandoned.
The Irish Georgian Society is displeased.
I can’t help but remember when Mr Waffle and I were dumbfounded many years ago in Canada by a chance to inspect grain silo number no.2 which was preserved as part of Montreal’s industrial heritage. Mr. Waffle feels that this is better than a cellar but I am unconvinced.
So is this
a) wanton destruction of Dublin’s Georgian heritage or
b) necessary for progress after all they are only cellars for God’s sake.
Your views in the comments, please. Ah go on.
