We had some correspondence with the children’s old school recently about going in to give a career talk. Mr. Waffle, whose Irish is much better than mine, nobly volunteered. I was copied in on the email correspondence. It was in English and I hadn’t noticed at all that it was originally written in Irish and seamlessly translated by Gmail until I came to the end of Mr. Waffle’s missive. It was google translated as “Bring a greeting” and I was stumped for a moment until I realised it was translated. I switched to Irish and saw that the Irish version featured “Beir bua” which, yes, is literally “bring a greeting” but translates as “best wishes”. Some work still needed.
Mr. Waffle
Celebrations (Various)
I forgot to cover Valentine’s Day. We don’t usually do much but we had dinner out this year. And Mr. Waffle bought me roses. I was slightly discombobulated.
Proof of love, of course, but not as much proof as this cheeseboard that he put together for me one evening when I was exhausted. Tea and cheese, the perfect combination. Fight me.
Hot on the heels of my birthday comes Mr. Waffle’s. Everyone’s a bit exhausted from the celebration of mine but we rally. He seemed reasonably pleased with his presents (an enormous pile of books) and I took him out to dinner.
Mr. Waffle and I went to England for the St. Patrick’s Day weekend to visit herself. Low levels of celebration of the national saint but a good time had by all.
After all that goes before, Mother’s Day (where should that apostrophe go? an abiding problem) is generally a bit of a damp squib. As Mr. Waffle put it – there are only a certain number of chips to go around and I have definitely cashed mine in on my birthday. Noble Mr. Waffle bought me flowers and chocolates all the same. A better show than the priest at mass; it was the parable of the prodigal son and he said, “There’s a lot of talk about the father in this gospel reading but no mention of the mother.” Thanks Father. I thought of my own mother who died in 2019; it seems a long time ago in some ways but in others not so long at all. Time is funny that way. I do miss her.
At Least You Have Your Health or Happy Birthday to Me
I was 56 last month which is a surprise to me. I took the day off work. Mr. Waffle, sadly, was stuck at work on the day of my birthday but the previous day we had gone out for an adventure to Carlingford which is always nice. There is a new greenway around the edge of the bay. It’s a shared pedestrian/cycling space and on this beautiful day, it was lovely to see so many families out and about but it did not make for an exactly speedy cycling experience.
I was surprised just how close Warrenpoint across the water was. I always thought it was a bit further away. I also didn’t realise how industrial it is. To the left of the photo below is a lot less appealing.
The route goes as far as Narrow Water Keep. For years, I’ve been hearing about the progress of the Narrow Water bridge which will link Carlingford (Republic of Ireland) with Warrenpoint (Northern Ireland) across the water. In my mind’s eye, I saw it as an enormous bridge requiring huge engineering works but honestly having seen the distance, I half think I could throw it up myself. Whatever is delaying it, I can’t imagine that it’s engineering problems. If you look closely at the (not great) picture below you will see the keep which was tantalisingly close across the water.
Mr. Waffle found the greenway a bit cabined, cribbed, confined but I quite liked it. In fact it was all very pleasant except for the signs that said, “Cooley peninsula says no to the Greenway” which made me feel that we were not entirely welcome.
There was also a house with a Trump flag flying. I have to say I have not seen one of those in Ireland before.
Undeterred by my cycling adventure the previous day, on my birthday I took myself off to the southern seaside suburbs for another cycle. Here is your correspondent on Killiney beach. They say Killiney Bay is like the Bay of Naples. Honestly, it’s all very nice but it’s no Bay of Naples.
Herself called me and we had a long and quite delightful chat on the phone as I cycled along. She was on video call and I had her in my handbag in my basket and she said that she felt like a small dog as she peered out the top.
I got presents, I got cake, I had a day off, the sun shone. All in all a pretty satisfactory birthday.
I had gone down to Cork a bit before the big day to have a birthday dinner with my brother and sister (more presents, thank you, I don’t mind if I do). That was nice but I found Cork a bit depressed; a lot of closed shops and Patrick Street down at heel. I hope that this is not a portent of things to come in the new world trade dispensation. My sister found a picture of my father on his graduation in 1949. Taking it all very seriously, clearly.
My brother and sister got me Blue Book vouchers. If you ever want to stay somewhere in Ireland, North or South, I strongly recommend a Blue Book venue (not always super pricey, particularly north of the border, but always, always lovely). My sister also got me a bird feeder and I have reached an age where I was genuinely thrilled. So far the birds haven’t been as interested as I would like and the tableau below may tell you all you need to know.
At my great age, I decided no harm to go for a pre-birthday check up with the GP. I was fine. On the advice of a friend, I asked her to send me for a Dexa scan. It checks bone density. Since both my mother and maternal grandmother had osteoporosis, I feared the worst. But I am perfect. I have often lamented that in dimensions I take after my paternal grandmother’s family (round and low to the ground) but I tell you what they were all healthy and lived forever and I have reached an age where I am no longer quite as keen to be tall and willowy (still somewhat keen though, I cannot lie) and very keen to remain healthy; so I am pleased that I appear to be like them on the inside as well as the outside.
Playing tennis recently I injured myself and have taken a couple of weeks off tennis going around like hop a long Cassidy. I diagnosed my injury with the help of google (as recommended by all professionals, ahem) as Achilles tendonitis. The Mayo Clinic was almost insultingly accurate in describing my problem “It’s also common in middle-aged people who play sports, such as tennis …only on the weekends”. Fine. I’ve been asking around and so many people I know have had it that I am sure I am right. However, you will be pleased to hear that if I am not fully recovered next week, I will, sigh, make an appointment with the physio. It’s a weird injury in that it only hurts when walking. I completely forget about it when I sit down and get a mild shock every time I start walking which, I have discovered, is hardly ever. I thought I was always hopping up from my desk for various reasons. Not so, in fact. This is not an entirely welcome discovery.
Celebrating any birthdays yourself?
Arts etc.
Mr. Waffle and I went to see “Dr. Strangelove” at the Bord Gáis Energy Theatre. It’s where all the big shows that come to Dublin go. I find it unsatisfactory as a theatre as it is ginormous and a bit lacking in atmosphere. The sets were amazing but the play only alright. I don’t mind Steve Coogan but I don’t love, love, love him. However, the rest of the audience were apparently only there to see him and when he appeared on stage he had to break character to acknowledge the rapturous applause. I only went because Armando Ianucci was involved and I love him and had heard him interviewed about the play on “This American Life”. Honestly, I wouldn’t say it was his best work but I may have been prejudiced by the fact that everyone else found it hilarious and it only occasionally made me smile. I thought the woman beside me was going to have to be stretchered out such was her hilarity while I smiled thinly at the very odd joke that appealed.
Michael went to see “And Juliet” which was recommended by a commenter. His friend got tickets for her birthday and invited him along. He found it reasonably enjoyable. I am coming to the conclusion that my family may be hard to please.
I took a half day from work to see Michael in a lunchtime performance of a college play. It is doubtless his mother’s prejudice but I thought he was really excellent.
Mr. Waffle and I investigated an Argentinian Bakery in the Liberties. It is called Bakeology and I would recommend. Our empanada needs are met for the foreseeable.
There has been plenty of cinema in my life since I was here last. I enjoyed “A Real Pain” as did the Oscar voters. “Bridget Jones” did not trouble the Oscars but I must say I really enjoyed it. A friend and I went for dinner after work and then saw it in the Stella in Rathmines which I would recommend for a little treat.
Mr. Waffle and I went to see another Iranian film – “Seed of the Sacred Fig”. You would want to be in the whole of your health for these Iranian films, I will say that. Very worthy and good and all but I was a bit wrung by the end.
As part of the festival of the Francophonie we went to a Moroccan film (and international buffet – can I deny that this was the major temptation? I can not). The film was “Animalia” and it’s about a girl who marries into a rich family and struggles to adapt; she stays at home one day while they are all out and – plot twist – gets cut off from the family by an alien invasion. The budget doesn’t really stretch to aliens so it’s just lights in the sky and fog. It was ok, I would say. Buffet was great – lots of Moroccan specialties. We met the Moroccan ambassador (who had introduced the film) having a cigarette outside afterwards. “What did you think?” he asked. “It was delicious,” said Mr. Waffle. “No, the film,” I hissed. “Um, very thought provoking,” he said politely. “It was a bit strange alright,” said the ambassador “and what a time to screen it early evening during Ramadan.” Not something that had occurred to me, I must confess, but it certainly made me think that he had performed his part admirably for someone who hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since before dawn.
I saw Edmund de Waal give a talk in the Chester Beatty library. I found him an amazing, fascinating, heart warming speaker. If you ever get a chance you should definitely go and see him. This was all the more amazing as it was online (only the elect got in person tickets and I was consumed with envy as he passed around netsuke for people to hold) and online things are, as we all know, not as good as in person, and it was still absolutely amazing.
I went to a talk on the Flying Dutchman in art which appeared to be largely a plug for the Flying Dutchman which the Irish National Opera are running in the Bord Gáis theatre. My guess is that they may have overestimated the appetite of the Irish public for opera (it’s a big, big venue) but who knows? I once saw “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg” from the gods of the Brussels opera house and it has effectively extinguished any desire I might have to ever see another Wagner opera so it’s a no from me. I was chatting to the INO people afterwards and told them how the Princess had done a project with them during Covid and it had saved her sanity. Like many another thing the Princess does, her application to take part in this project took her parents by surprise as we are not particularly in opera and she had certainly never seemed interested before but then she is a constant series of surprises to her parents.* This lovely woman Sharon Carty put in loads of time online one on one with her and she has an abiding enthusiasm for and interest in opera. So, it’s not like I’m not grateful to the INO, just not grateful enough.
I also went to a talk on Mazzolino and the renaissance in Ferrara. I mean, alright. Can’t say that I now love Mazzolino of whom I was entirely ignorant previously but interesting enough. I went to a talk on Sarah Cecilia Harrison whose portraits I really liked and who seems, in life, to have been a very interesting and extremely contrary person. Finally, in visual arts news did I mention that I went to a talk on Eileen Gray? I will say this, the more I hear about Le Corbusier the less I like him. While I was there I had a look at the Harry Clarke stained glass which is temporarily in Dublin as Cork’s Crawford museum is closed for renovations. It was strange to see these old friends in new surroundings. I think the detail below is a self-portrait of the artist. A handsome man whose private life was, I believe, complex.
Let me throw in some more pictures of his glass from Bewley’s cafe in Grafton street. Because I can.
As I mentioned above, the Crawford Gallery is closed for renovations. Alas, alack. It’s not open again until 2027. It is being extended. Here is the text about the extension.
Here is the artist’s impression of the extension.
Really, the glass box on the roof will ensure that the character of the gallery is “maintained and enhanced with great sensitivity”? It’s appalling. I mean, I feel you King Charles. I’m sure it will be lovely from the inside but it’s quite dreadful from the outside.
My sister is still cleaning out my parents’ house and I am generally pretty ruthless about saying I don’t want things but books are my Achilles heel. My grandmother bought a large mahogany book case and its contents from Canon Mulcahy in Kilmallock at some point – maybe in the 40s. The bookcase and all its contents made their way to my parents’ house probably in about 1970. This means that my parents’ house had a fine collection of 19th and early 20th century books with a strong focus on theology, if that was your thing, but also other books: Thom’s directories, etiquette books, (worthy) novels etc. My sister pulled from this range of books a physics primer from 1874 and asked whether I would like it. Well, as you can imagine, I should have said no but we have a physics student in the house and I was weak and said yes. I showed it to my physics student who said a lot has changed in physics since 1874 but whose eye was caught by the name on the flyleaf. We found our man – JJ Joyce – in the census. He was a Jeremiah Joyce son of James W Joyce who was a successful businessman in Kilmallock and who was very active in the land league. Kilmallock (which has a great deal of local history for such a small place) has an active local history society and we were able to find out much more about James W. He was gaoled for his activities in the land league and kept a diary – it mostly seems a bit dull about managing his business back in Kilmallock – but look, look at this entry, what did he get sent to himself in Limerick gaol? Yes indeed, the physics primer which we now held in our little paws.
So that was pretty cool. I rang my sister to tell her and she thought I had discovered that the book was valuable. Alas, no. But still, my physics student brought it in to college where it was an object of fascination to the young people. One of them had an uncle in Kilmallock so he got to keep it. This seems a much better fate for it than any other I can imagine although I do wish I’d taken a photo.
Yesterday Mr. Waffle and I went on a nearly 3 hour walking tour of the city – v good, I recommend Arran Henderson for all your walking tour needs; I always learn something new and I have lived here a long time. As we were looking at a Dominican church he said how intellectual and clever the Dominicans were. As though reading the minds of his audience, he said, “Have you heard the joke about the Dominicans and the Jesuits? As you know the Dominicans dealt with the Cathars and the Albigensian heresy and the Jesuits were set up as a counter reformation force. Have you ever met a Cathar?” The poor old Cathars. As we walked on Mr. Waffle murmured to me, “Just brute force, no subtlety or intelligence.”
In the afternoon, we went to a talk by fantastic author Jan Carson who I nearly saw in 2022 and have been keen to see since. The French literature festival put together an excellent programme – all free, you’ve got to love the French – and who was on it? No prizes. The links to French literature were a bit tenuous, I mean Jan Carson’s French publisher was there? I think Jan Carson is an extraordinarily talented writer and I loath magical realism which, honestly, is a big feature of her work but somehow it’s ok when she does it. But, you know, being a great writer does not necessarily translate to being a great speaker so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. As they say, I need not have worried.
I found her really interesting. She comes from a very strict religious background. She’s from Ballymena in the North and when she was a little girl there was a sign on the roundabout saying “Ballymena still says no” and she thought it meant to line dancing as she had heard so much against it from the pulpit. Her family seem to have been very strict: no cinema, no theatre and the Bible as, if not the only book, certainly the main book available for reading at home. She attributes her interest in magical realism to hearing sermons on the Book of Revelation every Sunday between ages 10 and 12. When asked about her family and community’s attitude to her work she said that that was the first question she was always asked. She told a very moving story about a children’s play which she wrote which is currently on in the Lyric theatre in Belfast. Her mother a woman of 70 who had never been inside a theatre before, came to see it and sat and cried throughout the show. The mother said, “All these people are here, and they’re enjoying themselves and you wrote this.”
After this very touching reply, the next question came from an older gent with a booming voice and apparently unshakeable self-confidence. “Which lady writers have influenced you?” he said. “Do you like Simone de Beauvoir?” There was some hilarious confusion as she had just not heard the word “lady” and thought he meant French writers but the interviewer clarified. “I like Flannery O’Connor,” Jan Carson offered helpfully. “Is he an American?” our patrician gentleman boomed back slightly disapprovingly. He seemed not one whit discomfited by the information that Flannery O’Connor was a woman and it was poor old Jan Carson who seemed momentarily discombobulated.
Anyway recommended and not as well attended as it should have been. A win for me I guess as I got her to sign a book for me and there was almost no queue. She mentioned that she has another new book out next year. Bound to be worth a read.
Any cultural outings of your own?
*Text received last Monday: “I’m on a plane on my way to Warsaw. Did I mention I was doing this???” Reader, she did not.
Nach Berlin!
At the start of February to celebrate the new St Brigid’s Day long weekend (a Covid dividend, finally) Mr. Waffle and I went to Berlin to visit friends who moved there from Ireland last year.
Day 1 – Friday, January 31, 2025
Our friends live in the beautiful Grunewald a very genteel suburban part of town in the forest which we had never visited when we were in Berlin in the baking hot summer a couple of years ago. In retrospect, that might have been a good idea.
After admiring our friends’ very luxurious house where (oh my goodness yes) we felt we would be very comfortable for the weekend, we all went out to a local pub for dinner admiring some charming and many large houses as we walked to our destination.
Day 2 – Saturday February 1, 2025
February 1 is my mother’s birthday and it was nice to be with a friend from childhood who had known her very well. We had a nice chat about her over breakfast. My friend’s husband is a bit of a breakfast guru and made us all a delightfully elaborate breakfast.
Then off we went to the station to get the S-Bahn into the city. On the way we passed Judith Kerr‘s house.
There’s a plaque about her father but, sadly, no reference to her. I think it is time to trot out one of my favourite Judith Kerr stories. When she wrote the first Mog story her German publisher insisted on making Mog a male cat despite her objections. In the next book Mog was pregnant. I don’t know, if this is true but I really hope so.
The train station in the Grunewald has a memorial to all the Jewish deportees. It’s sad and really well done.
It seems almost unbelievable that they deported more than 50,000 people from here to the camps and almost certain death. The last deportees went in February 1945.
The cute little station is, I imagine, largely unchanged since then and it is incredible to think of such vast numbers of people being herded through here to their deaths not so very long ago.
We pushed on into town. We were keen to revisit our Place Savigny stomping grounds from when we were last in Berlin. What a really lovely part of town. Just outside the airbnb where we had stayed, we noticed for the first time Stolperstein with details of some people who had fled to Ireland. In fairness to the Irish Times, they had a great article about the family.
We had lunch in town. Then, we decided to go to the Gemäldegalerie. Honestly, it is impossible to find. Even though I forget everything, I vividly remembered how hard it is to get there as I nearly died in the attempt in 2022 trekking miles across a soulless, sign-less concrete desert in 40 degree heat. It’s absolutely excellent when you get there. A really superb collection and you have it to yourself because, obviously, no other tourists will be able to find it.
There was a temporary exhibition there with paintings from Odessa and, no shade to Odessa which I would love to visit and which is obviously having a tough time at present, it is the collection of a regional museum with all the limitations that implies. However the main collection was, as ever, superb.
I enjoyed this picture painted by the subject’s husband, a man called Lampi, who honestly, I expect got a piece of her mind as soon as the sitting was over.
I am a big fan of the quiet charm of Chardin and I loved this beautiful little portrait which is typical of his work.
Who isn’t a fan of Botticelli? Nobody, that’s who.
This picture by Joshua Reynolds of an East India company grandee and his family has faded rather badly but it’s interesting for lots of reasons – you know, Joshua Reynolds, always good value; the Indian maid and also, the mother who was née Austen and an aunt of the more famous Jane.
This guy was a former governor of Ireland – 1st Marquis of Camden from whom I presume we get Camden street in Dublin where the young people like to go of an evening – by Hoppner. It may well be a flattering work but I wouldn’t really be delighted if I were him.
I’m not a massive fan of Rembrandt myself but a Rembrandt self-portrait is always interesting.
All I can say about this one is you would have to feel sorry for the inbred Hapsburgs. Even my children instantly recognised this picture as being a Hapsburg due to the extraordinary chin. I bet it was even worse in real life. It’s King Charles V by Christoph Amberger in case you’re wondering.
There was lots and lots more – amazing paintings in a nearly deserted gallery. I cannot recommend it highly enough provided you can get there.
We were a bit exhausted after all the culture but fortunately our hosts had a voucher for dinner in a lovely restaurant which they chose to spend on us so we were all picked up by this. Incredibly, our waitress was from Kuldiga the tiny town in Latvia that we had visited over the summer. It was like meeting someone from Leitrim: so unlikely because almost no one is from there.
Day 3 – Sunday, February 2, 2025
The following day we went to Potsdam. Poor Mr. Waffle who bought train tickets for us both made some terrible error with the ticketing and ended up spending €50 rather than about €10 due to some difficulties with automatic ticketing. We move on.
Potsdam is very pretty but somehow feels quite Eastern European though, I am pleased to report that Berlin specialty Curry Wurst is available there. A classic.
We’d gone to Potsdam to check out Sans Souci the summer palace of Frederick the Great. It’s impressive. Great grounds but, just so as you know, the palace closes at 4.30 in winter.
We had a rather hurried inspection of the interior of the principal palace but, honestly, pretty good for our needs. Many more palaces are available for inspection on a future visit but I believe we saw the main one. Pretty luxe for a summer palace, I can tell you. We had it pretty much to ourselves except for the security guards who followed us from room to room locking each door after us. It felt a bit…pointed but I suppose they were keen to finish up work for the day like the rest of us.
After our cultural experience we went for a reviving cup of tea and a wander around Potsdam. We got a bit lost on our way to the station and Mr. Waffle asked two German ladies whether they knew the way to the station and one of them said grumpily, “Haben Sie kein Google maps?” Definitely not feeling the love from the locals. But the centre of the town, doubtless reconstructed by the East Germans because they did a lot of that, is very attractive. Though kind of weirdly empty.
We found the station eventually with the aid of google maps and took ourselves back to the Grunewald where our hosts gave us dinner.
The next morning we were up at cock crow to get back to Dublin. Our hosts warned us that security was really slow in the airport. Never was a truer word spoken and myself and another Irish woman in the queue bonded about how they made Dublin airport security look like paragons of efficiency. Anyway despite waiting an unnervingly long time, we made our flight no bother.
My friend will, I’m sure, be delighted to learn that I’m contemplating an annual trip to Berlin. It’s so nice there, lads, and there’s lots more to see.
Does this happen anywhere else?
The 46A bus in Dublin is being discontinued. The petitions to retain it, the news coverage, the discussion by local elected representatives and the half page article in today’s Irish Times all strike me as a bit excessive. Mr. Waffle commented to his sister in London that he is hoping for a coffee table book by Irish Times commentator Fintan O’Toole (lamenting the loss of the route) and explaining how things would be better if Fintan were in charge. Just in case you’re wondering, this bus route is being replaced by, apparently, faster more frequent buses on the same route (although you will have to change buses, a subject of much discussion).
The 46A also features in the chorus of hit Bagatelle number “Summer in Dublin“. The line is “My humming was smothered by a 46A and the scream of a low flying jet” so, if you ask me, not really a ringing endorsement for the 46A. However, the singer “hopped on a bus to Dun Laoghaire” (those of us in the know are aware that the 46A goes from town to Dun Laoghaire) stopping off to pick up his guitar (honestly, madness even now to get off a bus and hope to get on another any time soon but presumably a lyrical requirement). Bagatelle are not known outside Ireland (other than weirdly for one song in Uruguay) but “Summer in Dublin” is still popular in Ireland with a certain age demographic and their unfortunate children.
My insane husband felt impelled to take the 46A somewhere during the week. How was it? “Very like a bus journey, had to wait ages and then, you know, I was on the bus.”
Dublin bus has put out the old 46A buses for the last day of service and my neighbour posted a picture to which Mr. Waffle commented, perhaps mindful of his recent experience, “Two together – typical!”
Updated to add: More 46A content, was a bus route ever more loved?
